In The Company of Trees

by Zach Rahed

In the company of trees I fear nothing. I am free and independent like the uninhibited ocean. My conscious spirit is as pure as a lake reflecting the infinite sky on a summer day. Trees speak to me too. Call me crazy but they do. I had heard a white pine yawn irreverently one time in the twilight glow of evening as I perambulated along the eastern ridge of the Berkshires. Perchance it was a dream—distant, remote, merely half-imagined. When in the company of trees, thoughts which concern life and death pulsate madly like dream frequencies ebbing and flowing in the darkest hours of the waning night. The dreams, then, like the trees, have the same purpose. They set me free from what is kept hidden from me. That is, subconsciously.

By studying the lives of trees the human race is examining the nature of life. Yet, what is life? What does it mean to be alive? Does it have anything to do with the ability to interact with the external environment using specific electrical signals transmitted through the brain? If so, dendrologists have now validated what nature lovers dream of as belonging to a world of the fantastic.

Since the times of ancient Greece, pertinent researchers have expressed tremendous interest in the study of tree taxonomy. Theophrastus, a disciple of Aristotle, had documented in his works the characteristics, growth patterns, and even the propitious uses of various tree species. Eventually, his works would inspire future dendrologists to develop their own innate hypotheses as it pertains to dendrological intelligence or plant neurobiology. Today, researchers are presenting to the world how trees and plants communicate with each other. For example, German author Peter Wohlleben, who has written books on the lives of trees, has said in an interview, “We know that trees also exchange information. When one tree is attacked by insects, we can measure electrical signals that pass through the bark and into the roots and from there into fungi networks in the soil that alert nearby trees of the danger.”

In the past a number of poets have attempted to show the true beauty and significance of trees in nature. A select few succeed. Others fail. Robert Frost’s Birches as well as Maya Angelou’s When Great Trees Fall are, truly, the cream of the crop. Yet there is a 3rd poem which deserves the highest of marks. I would like to read it, if I could, in an honest effort to emphasize the poet’s most venerable message. Joyce Kilmer is the poet. Trees is the title.

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.

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