Less than a year ago I wrote a blog
about what for the course of a few hours was my favorite tree on earth; (if one
can be properly said to have a favorite anything of this nature).
At least the tree in question has to be
singular in terms of the time and effort I expended on it. Never in the course
of my 2/3 of a century on this planet have I ever done anything quite like it;
in order to salvage what seemed too close to dying.
But to properly understand I have to
step back a bit and tell the tale again.
In order to travel between our home and
the town in which my wife and I grew up, a distance of perhaps 8 miles, we must
drive down a two lane thoroughfare referred to as “Spirit Lake Road.” And as we
pass the intersection of Spirit Lake Road and Thornhill Road, I never fail to
glance towards a pasture to my right.
For you see, near the front of that cow
pasture stands a lone oak tree; that tree upon which I expended my copious time
and effort. I once contacted the pastor of the church which owns the five acre
lot, and made what must have seemed an unusual request.
“Pastor, in my comings and goings, I
have noticed that one lone oak tree in the pasture, and you may or may not be
aware, it is covered with Spanish moss. I mean, it is overwhelmed by it. And
you may think what I’m about to ask is rather strange, but I’d like to clean
some of the moss out of its branches to give it an opportunity to overcome that
parasitic. It’s just such a beautiful tree.”
Not surprisingly, Pastor F. expressed
some reservations. He and I were strangers, and of course, anytime anyone gets
involved with ladders and trees, there is the matter of liability.
The minister responded.
“Well, that lot is for sale, Dr.
McDonald, as we’ve decided not to build there, and honestly we have no interest
in spending any money on the tree. But if you want to spend your free time on
the thing, that wouldn’t be a problem. Just one stipulation. I don’t want you
using a ladder, or climbing up into the tree. Does that work for you?”
I agreed to his stipulations, (though a
ladder would have been preferable for such a large task as this).
The next Saturday I dressed in blue
jeans, and a t-shirt and set about the task. I grabbed a couple of boxes of
large leaf bags out of my garage, and a branch trimmer mounted on the end of an
extension handle. I had discovered from experience that by lifting the thin
pole above my head, and wrapping moss around the small hand saw, I had the
wherewithal to yank gobs of moss out of my own backyard trees.
I parked my vehicle at a nearby
convenience store, notified the owner of my presence, walked across Thornhill
Road, lifted the top and second strand of a barbed wire fence in opposite
directions, and carefully made my way through the wire. I could see the task
which I had formerly envisioned would require a dedicated effort. Setting about
my task, I replicated my familiar approach to de-mossing trees, and in the
space of 3-4 hours I managed to fill 15-20 50 gallon plastic bags with the nasty
gray stuff.
I admit it. I was quite pleased with
myself, … until I examined what I’d actually accomplished. As I prepared to
leave, and walked half-way back to the fence, I turned and studied my finished
work. It was then I realized the word “finished” didn’t begin to characterize
the task I’d just completed.
I concluded that I had gotten all of 20
percent of the moss out of the lone oak tree. (And 20 percent was, to be fair,
a rather liberal guesstimate). But I’d done what I could do, and as I piled the
heavy plastic bags by the road, and got in my car, I looked towards the tree
and said,
“Well, tree, I did what I could for
you. And I won’t return again. It’s up to you now.”
Returning home from my somewhat unusual
task, I mounted the long-handled tree trimmer back on the wall of my garage,
filled my belly with large quantities of liquid, and proceeded to “hang loose”
in my easy chair. I was not only “worn slap out,” but I was sun-burned and
dehydrated. Nonetheless, I felt good about what I’d attempted to do for this
entirely different species of life.
I suppose I drive south on Spirit Lake
Road a couple of times a week, and as I have previously implied, I have studied
the progress, (or lack thereof) of the lone oak tree in the pasture. For the longest
time I have found myself disappointed. For you see, with time the lone tree has
appeared more moss-infested than when I first expended such loving care upon
it.
“Oh well,” I’ve often thought.
“I did what I could.”
(and)
“No one can fault me for not trying.”
Fall has given way to Winter, and
Winter has given way to Spring. And it was only yesterday, it seemed my time
and efforts had finally been rewarded.
For as I drove past the lone oak tree
in the pasture, and made my visual pilgrimage, I realized how utterly green it
was, and covered up with new leaves! Granted, moss still hangs from the large
branches, and its tributary limbs. But then again, every tree of its kind in
the southeast boasts plenty of the stuff.
To say I was elated is an understatement.
I was just short of ecstatic that my momentary contribution seems to have paid
such rich dividends.
I guess you can’t keep a good tree
down.
by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending
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