The stubborn tree
Across the street from work a strip mall went
up a couple of years ago and on the service road behind it they
planted a row of maples. All through the winter I would drive down
this road on my way in to the office and see this straight little line
of identical leafless saplings, until one day I noticed that the one
tree positioned across from the truck access had a sharp kink in its
trunk halfway up, as if when someone had taken a wide turn they had
given the thing a hard knock. The bark was mostly intact, but every
gardener knows that the most fragile part of a young plant is the stem
between roots and foliage. No grounds crew came to bandage up the
break or to attach support wires to help hold the thing up. As spring
came on the other trees up and down the road started leafing out, but
the injured tree just bent over and lost its top entirely.
Now, months later, after a fickle summer
weather-wise, the trees are sporting light green up high, except for
the one. But then I noticed a shoot coming out of the cut stump of the
broken tree and within a week there was a dense cluster of
leaves reaching up, a dark green several shades more intense than
those of its counterparts.
When I look at this tree, I see a defiance of
misfortune, a sign that even after a battering, after being given up
for dead for long months, after suffering a catastrophe on account of
a calamitous situation imposed on it from outside, life still
struggles up to stick a finger in the eye of the world that abused it,
refusing with every last bit of strength to stand there and take it
passively. It is saying that although you strike me at my weakest
point, snapping me in two, you with your stratagems and agendas, it is
not up to you whether I flourish or fade. That tree may yet find the
wherewithal to become stronger than all the rest. And if not, if next
winter brings some other calamity, or the summer after some fatal
misery, so that this tree does die and give up its atoms to the earth
and the air, then we can still say that this vigorous young mass of
green was a glory while it was.
I want to be that tree.