Life Trees

Me atop our "takop"

Ten steps from the shoreline of Lake Pielinen in eastern Finland stands an almost lonely birch tree. It is a mere path's-width away from the other birches, aspens and pines, touching distance for the higher twigs, but it is set far enough apart from its kin to be special.

From the veranda of the wooden cottage it kind of gets in the way of a glorious view over the expansive lake to distant forest islands with rippling reedbeds along the foreshore, and yet it absolutely makes that view. It balances the wide horizontal space with its vertical presence. And birches are always lovely. I'm sorry I don't have a photo of it.

It is, in my family's eyes, perfect. And it was planted by a much-missed uncle some time in the years around my birth. We used to stay at that cottage every couple of years through my youth as we visited my mother's side of the family but I haven't seen this tree for about twenty years now and probably never will again. Yet I remember it so clearly. It is not just a birch tree, it is that particular birch tree, an individual and one of my life trees.

In the back garden of my English grandparents home in the west country used to stand a magnificent walnut tree. It had a frightening black scar running halfway down its solid trunk caused by a lightning strike many years earlier. This garden was more carefully, more precisely, managed than what I was used to, and we kids were always more tentative with our play than in our own garden. The walnut had a bed of daffodils surrounding it, which I dared not interfere with so I am not sure if I ever even touched that mighty tree that stood there with the stature of a war hero. This is my second life tree that had a special place in my childhood in helping me learn respect for nature. Again, the key is that it was a distinct individual.

Unfortunately, GoogleEarth shows me that it no longer stands except in my own memory.

My third one had a different kind of relationship with me. It was a cherry tree in the front garden of a childhood home. It was pretty in flower but not partularly large or strikingly shaped. However, it did have the perfect branch for a young boy to jump up, grab hold of and swing, swing, swing. Sometimes I would let go at full swing to land as far away as I could with no concern for ankles or the chance of not landing on my feet. If I revered my grandparents' walnut tree, I was best mates with this cherry tree. I have never found such a friendly branch since. It was so forgiving.

My point is that we all have life trees. Trees we see and remember as individuals. Trees that in some way were important to us, perhaps at times to the same level as the people in our lives. And yet we drift on passed them without appreciating their true value. They will never notice if they are remembered or not, and never care, but it does matter. It matters to us to recognise things that helped shape us, to understand that however little interest we had in the natural world it was there for us, and it may well matter to the wider world if we make the effort to embrace their worth.

The three life trees I mentioned are all from my childhood but I have one other. Actually, I'm sure I could think of more but these are the ones that need no searching.

In Thai, it's called a "takop". Jamaican cherry is one of its English names. It was planted by friends before our house was built and when we finally moved in it was already able to give our bedroom some shade. From the first year it produced fruit and does so through all seasons. This fruit is okay as a passing snack but is absolutely loved by the garden's other residents. There are always birds in it during the day and fruit bats at night with a lovely hum of bees around the flowers. It was exactly what was needed at a time when we had little and the way it provides for the wildlife in turn means it carries on providing for me.

However, the main reason that I love this tree is that I climb it. At first to trim some branches from our roof, then to put my trailcam up to video bats, and now for any reason I can find. It helps me with its well-placed sturdy branches and supporting spread. Pulling myself up is a giant step back 40 years, and as a full-body workout I know no better. Sitting up there at rooftop level, enjoying the view over our flatland neighbourhood and surprising incoming birds, is a pleasure I find hard to drag myself away from.

Now, there is a danger that, just like with dreams, nobody will be interested in somebody else's life trees. But also just like with dreams it's a personal thing and there is pleasure in the telling.

So bring it on. Tell me or your partner, friend, barber, whoever, about your life trees. What they mean to you and how they are now. Post about them on Hive. Use #lifetree and I will find it. Let's spread the seed around wherever life trees can find a home.

Or to put the same story another way:

An uncle planted that perfect birch,
A tree I've known for forty years.
A fine old walnut, my holy church,
Lightning-scarred but grand without peers.

The forgiving cherry in a childhood home,
That branch I swung a thousand times.
The gnarly oak of the fields I'd roam,
That carried me up through a hundred climbs.

The ash that threw the summer's shade,
With riffled leaves our time we'd bide.
Beside such trees our lives are made,
And to such trees we're tied.