The Man in the Tree

I first met the Man in the Tree ten or so  years ago. I was standing in front of the garage adoring my 28 year old John Deere 445 lawn tractor. 

"Hey asshole."

 The deep gravelly voice made me jump. I turned around and no one was there.

"What was that?"

"Yeah, I'm talking to you standing there with your commemorative Iowa Tractor Fair John Deere hat parked on your noggin. ..... So, do you have a belt buckle to match?"

I was unnerved.  My skin crawled. I could feel my heartbeat pick up its pace.  I walked over to the side of the garage and peeked around the corner.  Nothing there.  

"Where and who the Hell are you?'

"Behind you jerk wad."

I turned around and stared.  Nothing there but shrubs, a house and .......... what a minute, did I just see the bark move on the Weeping Cherry?

"Yeah, I live in this tree.  Been here at least the last 50 laps around the Sun."

I couldn't speak.  My mouth fell open.  Why I never noticed him before was.........  I watched his bark flex and bend as he began his story.

Turns out his name was Charlie. I asked him why it was Charlie, but he ignored my question. Charlie had been living in that tree in my dooryard since he was a sapling.

"How come you never spoke up before?"

His bark crinkled just right to make it look like he was glaring at me.

"Tree People don't waste their time talking to Humans because frankly, we think you all are a bunch of assholes.....  Destructive and selfish assholes at that."

My heart had slowed down; I had collected myself. I was able to respond in a normal voice.

" I can't argue with you there Charlie. We are indeed assholes who have treated you and your kind horribly. .... I'd say we were ignorant and didn't understand the damage we were doing. But I can't. Enough of us know full well we humans are collectively a bunch of self centered thoughtless parasites who think the bounty the planet offers is limitless and who cares if it isn't anyway, we gonna get ours, screw everyone else."

The bark over Charlie's eyes settled some into a softer and kinder countenance as he realized he had found a sympathetic ear. Several minutes went by before he responded. Turns out most trees weigh everything they say carefully, giving each word enough time and consider to make the point they want to make with as few words as possible. They hate being caught with a root in their mouth. But not Charlie. Charlie just could not keep his trap shut. ...... 

"Among my peers, I am still considered a kid. The other trees still call me a brainless punk who cannot or will not keep his trap shut. And even though I knew it was never a good idea to get trapped into a conversation with a stupid Human, after 50 years, I just could not bite my tongue any longer. I am tired of being a tree suffering in silence."

"So you wait until you've got one root in the grave to speak up, huh?" 

Before he could answer, I added, "Between the rot and the Pileated Woodpeckers, it looks like you ain't long for this world, Charlie." 

The bark over his eyes shifted again as he crinkled his brow and wondered if  he had been insulted or not. A dead branch broke free and just missed my head. I realized then I had touched a nerve.

"Well, not all you humans can have conversations with trees. All of you used to be able to back in the day. Now only a select few are allowed into our conversations."

I accepted that I could talk to trees because well, one was talking to me and I had not consumed any hallucinogens for more than a few years, so I asked, "Back in the day?"

"Yeah, according to the big Maple across from our dooryard, you Humans bred out your natural connections to the planet around 100,000 years ago when notions like property, tribalism, and greed infiltrated your minds. It took awhile, but here you are finally evolved into flaming assholes who consume way more than you put back. There is not a plant on the planet that likes you.  Hell, you can't even get along with yourselves."

Charlie went completely silent at that point and did not speak to me again for several weeks. The morning after the last of his blossoms had disappeared, he caught me throwing some demo in the trailer I take to the dump. He picked up right where we left off as if no time had passed since we last spoke.

Out of thin air I hear, "And you know what the real crime here is? You humans are in the driver's seat. There is a good chance your fate is our fate. And I gotta tell you, trees are not holding out much hope for a positive outcome."

I turned and looked Charlie in the one eye that was in permanent squint. 

"Me neither Charlie. Me neither."

______________________

Again only one song came to mind when I finished writing this. Here is Joni Mitchell singing "Big Yellow Taxi" at an outdoor festival in Great Britain in 1970. 

PS - I began this post ten years ago and dropped it not even half way in. It's a done deal now. Not sure how I feel about it.

The Weeping Cherry is not what it is officially called. My dad planted it in 1967 and he called it a Weeping Cherry. My next door neighbor who is more of a plant person told me once what it really was. I immediately forgot what she said. It will always be a Weeping Cherry to me.