Mostly About Trees

Many, many years ago, back in the day when the man-made, world-as-we-know-it-ending pin prick of anxiety in the back of my head was nuclear war, I worried about the sad things that mutually assured destruction would bring. I recall feeling especially bad for trees (go figure).  

Trees, particularly if that is where we came from, seem to be a necessary precondition to human thriving. Trees provide shade, fruits, nuts, spice, building materials and small mammals and birds to skin or pluck and eat. Cultural and religious images frequently include trees. The Buddha sat under one.  Christ was crucified on a wooden cross. Newton sat under a tree so a falling apple could give him the notion of gravity. Adam and Eve also discovered something important in the vicinity of an apple tree. George Washington allegedly chopped down a cherry tree. 

We call it a tree of knowledge. We have family trees. To feel homey, snug, safe and warm, we burn trees.        

Were you to ask me if, of all the trees in the Allan Gardens, I had a favourite, I would say yes I do. It's the graceful, 100-plus year-old sycamore growing just east of the greenhouse and just south of where all the walkways meet:

Were you to ask me if I was dismayed by the toll building bike heaven is taking on the trees in front of my home, I would also say yes. Two tiny chestnuts less than 10 years old and one very big maple easily more than fifty years old have had their roots cut back and abutted by concrete. I assume the chestnuts will be dead by spring and the maple by this time next year, at which point it will become a hazard and will have to be cut down.

Some readers may recall my observation that big trees next to the sewer project excavation in the Allan Gardens were protected by boards made of the flesh of less fortunate trees. Readers may also recall my ongoing interest in the murals painted on those boards. And now, in the wake of Sandy, the wind has declared supremacy over both art and trees.

Half of the panels of the north-east facing mural have been blown away: 

And Sandy felled two old trees in one big blow. 

On Sunday a City of Toronto worker carved up and took away most of the two trees. 

I chatted with him briefly.  He said it was sad to lose the two trees - the big one was 125 years old - but they'd come by and plant two more.  I said, sure, and in a hundred years or so, it'll be just like it was.  

I was just making conversation, of course.  The disturbances my neighbourhood saw because of Sandy are nothing compared to other events in Toronto let alone the eastern United States.  Some things are never again going to be what they were.

Now the man-made, world-as-we-know-it-ending pin prick of anxiety in the back of my head is climate change.  But this problem doesn't come like nuclear war did with a handy enemy to hold in a balance of mutually assured destruction.  Climate change proposes to us nice people who do good things and who just want to live a good life, that we have to rethink how we do that. We'll either figure it out for ourselves, or the world will do it for us.

Have a great week!

Karen