If I Were a Tree . . .
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Funny how our ears will deceive us when we’re not paying close attention or when we have no immediate frame of reference. For many years I thought Eric Clapton was singing “I’ll be your four-letter man” in his song Forever Man (and I came up with more than a few vulgar expressions for that sentiment). Similarly, in the Pink Floyd song If, I was positive there was a verse that went “If I were a tree I would leave,” which is patently absurd unless one happens to be an Ent or assumes that it was intended to mean “to put out leaves” (although “to leaf” is probably the correct verb). I could find no evidence of this verse on the various “song-lyric” websites.
In this essay I want to elaborate on Sallie Nichols’ observation that a tree — from root to trunk to branch to twig — is emblematic of Carl Gustav Jung’s process of individuation from the ground up. When considered in that light, every tree of the same species germinates from a nearly identical seed, but various environmental factors — soil, water, sunlight, temperature and competition — dictate what it will become as a mature specimen. A handful of distinct categories can be applied to organize the individual examples. My experience is mostly limited to the Northeastern US and Canada, where I’ve spent much of my life (I did encounter the giant sequoias on one trip to California and the close-packed but ruthlessly tidy coniferous forests of West Germany), so that fact and my almost 40 years of sawing, splitting, stacking and burning firewood will narrow the scope of my observations.
Oak, ash and sugar maple (aka “rock maple” or “hard maple”) trees are sturdy, hardy, slow-growing and long-lived hardwoods that can reach tremendous girth (although they were similarly solid, all of the heirloom elm and chestnut trees in the Northeast succumbed to non-native diseases long ago). The intermediate slot is filled by “soft maple” (red, silver, sycamore, etc), beech, cherry, black birch and silver birch (both tough but not strong), while the weakest of the local trees are white birch and poplar. Softwood evergreens are in a class of their own, with fir being the most substantial, followed by various spruce, hemlock and pine varieties; white pine is the “white birch” of the group, being light in density and shallow-rooted. If you’ve ever experienced a severe ice storm in a northern forest, the “rifle-shots” you’ve heard would most likely have been the sound of hundreds of white pine branches snapping off under the weight.
I once met a shamanistic young woodsman who apologized to every tree he harvested with his ax and chainsaw. I thought his humble show of appreciation was a noble gesture that offered appropriate honor and respect for the sacrifice of its life. I spent my early years roaming the woods and fields with my younger brother, and the trees were our constant companions and the sylvan setting for our adventures. Pagan cultures of the Northern Hemisphere had an enduring reverence for them, as reflected in numerous myths. Youths are sometimes described as “straight as a young sapling” and the elderly as “gnarled as an old oak.” But these are physical allusions, while I’m more interested in the psychological implications. Trees that have seen many summers are thought by mystics to possess great sagacity of a ponderous nature.
Tolkien knew about trees and gave his ancient Ents a suitably pensive, “non-hasty” temperament, and Peter Jackson completed the picture by creating for them a deliberate voice and manner (although my first impression was that they should have been a little more burly). As a youngster (when I could still climb trees) I once encountered a venerable example deep in the forest, and I spent many spellbound hours in its branches, listening — against the backdrop of its profound silence — to bird songs and the sound of a small stream that trickled through its exposed roots. This long-ago connection has colored my attitude toward the presumed sentience of trees ever since; I felt acknowledged and quietly accepted without reservation in that magical glade, but before reaching that milestone I also detected a somewhat unnerving scrutiny and pointed curiosity that raised the hair on the back of my neck. At a later date I painted a picture of it from memory that attempted to capture its spirit of omniscient awareness.
Not long ago I responded to a brief online quiz that asked which tree we would like to be if that were possible. I chose the red oak for its abiding patience (deep roots), arresting presence (commanding height and reach) and meditative aura (massive, well-formed crown) that can endure for decades beyond the lifespan of a human being. We have many oaks in our backyard — although they are of the less-imposing white oak variety — and I occasionally gaze up from the lawn (when the mosquitos leave me alone) and commune with them. I also created a druid ring from white quartz and granite stones that I relocated from my old home on the other side of the State to my new one, and planted a small oak sapling in the middle of the circle. While the white birch as a psychological archetype can symbolize early maturation and premature decline, the red oak is in it for the long haul and only gets bigger and better with age. The hand we’re dealt may be of only modest “white-birch” potential, but by conquering our shortcomings and developing our strengths we can always aspire to the majesty of the oak.
Originally published at http://parsifalswheeldivination.wordpress.com on December 11, 2023.
