At the start of National Tree Week, I'd like to share this photo…because I have a suspicion that this tree may not be with us much longer. It is purely a suspicion you understand. But I walked through The Close earlier in the week and discovered that two of my favourite trees (birches both) are no more. There was a notice up, saying that the Tree Officer had given his permission for their removal because they were "in decline". I only hope there is no such thing as a People Officer, because there are days when I think I too am "in decline".
It was interesting to me that there was no hint that the trees were in imminent danger of collapse, such that they might pose a danger to buildings or people, merely that they were 'past their best'. The notice included the information that re-planting would be carried out soon. I'm sure it will. Just as I'm sure that I will probably not live to see those new plants reach the magnificence of what I have lost.
I walk the Cathedral Close regularly and I have loved the Birches for years. The Silver Birch and the Weeping Willow are the trees that speak most to me. I love everything about them, and I see them as matched pairs, gold and silver, the one taller and straighter, the other more wayward, but both with their long trailing branches of summer, and spindling fingers of aged winter.
I am sad to see these two go. I stood by their stumps and stroked the bare heartwood, and hoped that what had been cut down would be turned into something beautiful, would be loved yet.
Then a day or two later I walked the river bank that skirts the Close and found an advance closure notice. It gave no reason for the closure merely the dates. For a couple of days this week the path will be closed on one short stretch. It seemed to me no coincidence.
Unlike the two trees in The Close, whose images I'd never managed to capture sufficiently, this fellow does look like a candidate for retirement. One can see that a fall may not be too far away, and that when it comes it will be across the footpath. It would not do to be underneath it when it occurs.
In the meantime though, he seems intent on having one last dance, like some aging hippie, uncaring that the hair has thinned, and just going with the flow, the music in the wind. I can relate to that!
I know we should not anthropomorphise plants and non-human animals, but I can't help it. Especially when it comes to trees. I blame Tolkien. I can't look at a full grown tree, with all its character and personality and not see an Ent. Then I wonder whether this is anthropomorphising at all. Is it that I'm imposing 'human' characteristics on species that have no reason to share them, or am I doing something which is very nearly the opposite? Rather than seeing plant and animal behaviour in human terms, perhaps it's more a case of accepting that there is nothing 'special' or 'different' about human behaviour – that aspects of it all we share in greater or lesser degree with all living things – and the only anthro- thing about it, is the words we use to describe it.
Scientists are comfortable with the idea that trees 'communicate' in some fashion with each other, but once we start using words like 'language' or 'character' (rather than characteristic?), you can feel them beginning to twitch.
Personally, I figure that if we see traits we recognise in trees and their behaviour: if willows weep, and birches dance, and oaks shelter, and whatever else occurs to us in the moment of looking deeply at them, then maybe we'll respond emotionally and realise that they are vital to our well-being in ways far beyond their ability to soak up our surplus carbon.
