Deer graze on the abundant harvest while sparrows plunge from the sky scraping the grass seeds with their bellies before rising again. The activity on the prairie announces the winter to come. Yet for all the autumn changes, no one has yet noticed the approach of the aspens and birch growing tall and white in the distance. In the years to come, they will shade out the grasslands not with their size, but numbers.

Now this place is forest. The short lived aspen and birch are outgrowing their own bones and will soon topple. Yet the forest prospers for in their shadow, the shade loving hemlock and beech have been waiting for an opening to the sky.

A hundred years later the forest is tall and magnificent. The chatter of birds is nearly defining as they speak of rainclouds overhead. Lightning slices the sky. The long awaited rain has become a curse as flames leap high. The forest is ablaze. In the aftermath, all is quiet except for a few blue birds searching for the nearest prairie. One drops a seed from his beak and it lands on the forest’s funeral pyre. The following spring the seed will sprout and propagate. Soon the grassland returns.

This story has been repeating itself since before we imagined the potential of fire. In its repetition, thousands of variations have developed creating the diversity of trees we know today. Often, however, we see only what we can use for fuel, construction, ornamentation. Perhaps there are lessons to be learned from the tree the axe has spared. To see the unkempt majesty of a white pine bowing to the prevailing winds may teach us something about the strength of flexibility. The jack pine speaks of true sacrifice while it burns so that its cones might open and bring forth a new generation. As a cedar clings to a limestone cliff it whispers of determination. It is in these details of the lives of trees we will find meaning for ourselves. Yet, if we wish to learn, we must learn to see.

Emily Gray Koehler, 2008