What is the nature of our relationship to trees? CJ Stone goes beyond a mere hug: Just around the corner from me there is a little park, known as the Castle Grounds. It is called that because there is indeed a “castle” in the middle of it: a small late-eighteenth century folly, complete with crenellated roofs and a mock ruined wall.Parts of the park are very formal, with sunken gardens, square cut hedges, a fountain, and a very fetching statue of an eighteenth century milkmaid, complete with bucket. Personally I always fancied that milkmaid. It’s a pity she’s made of stone.Other parts are more wild, with crumbling footpaths twisting beneath overhanging trees. There’s also a bowls green in the middle of it.When I’m feeling depressed or restless or confused with my life, I like to go and sit in that park and contemplate. I will park myself on a park-bench in the dark cathedral space beneath one particular oak tree, and look out at the shimmering world outside. Usually after an hour or two just watching the fountain, or listening to the wind, I will feel a little better.There are one or two trees in there that I regard as friends.Now it’s quite difficult to make friends with trees, as their conversation tends to be limited. Also, they don’t get around much, so their point of view can be dismissed as static; but what they lack in variety they make up for in depth. Their conversational style can appear tedious if you are expecting sparkling repartee, but their statements are deeply considered and portentous, and it can take up to a year for them to finish a single sentence.Patience is a virtue, so they say. In the case of trees, patience is the whole of life. Perhaps it is this that can have such a calming effect upon the human psyche. Let’s face it: we are rushed, restless, impatient beings, always running about looking for the next surge of excitement; whereas a tree remains where it is, accepts life for what it is, and merely contemplates life’s changes.Actually, when I say I regard these trees as friends, I really can’t say for certain whether they return the affection or not. They may, they may not, who knows? Perhaps “affection” is the wrong word in any case, implying, as it does, some warmth and animated intent. I suspect that the nature of a tree’s being is wholly different from ours, being conditioned by slow growth and steady awareness - a kind of stretching towards the light, like an old body waking up in the morning, full of aching determination over countless years.Of course, it is in the nature of human beings to want to project onto the world our own thoughts. This is known as the “pathetic fallacy”, the presentation of inanimate objects in nature as possessing human feelings.
We see a face in a tree-trunk, and we ascribe human characteristics to it: as good, or evil, as happy, or sad. And yet - and yet - are we not creatures of nature ourselves? Were we not born of the Earth? Who is to say that we didn’t learn these characteristics from contemplating the world around us in the first place?And trees are full of emotion, however you want to look at it.Take those roots, for instance, like fierce knuckles clenching the soil, the merest fraction of which will extrude above the earth. Can we not read determination into that grip: a powerful unwillingness to let-go, a mighty holding-on against all but the most outrageous winds? That determination for survival is something we share. It is life itself.And in the Maytime, when full of blossom, is not a tree gay, in the original sense of the word: meaning carefree and merry, brightly coloured and brilliant, full of joyousness and life? And when the sap rises in the trees, is it not also rising in us, urging us to music and merriment, to love and laughter, and to the celebration of our lives? And in the autumn, when the leaves are falling, does this not bring to mind the passing of our lives, and the sweet melancholy of remembrance?It’s no wonder that the ancient druids worshipped trees. There is nothing in nature more worthy of our attention.Trees are not only our companions, they are also our main historical resource. In fact, I would argue that what we call the Stone Age - the vast bulk of human history, lasting many tens of thousands of years - was not the Stone Age at all, but the Wood Age.
The stone implements were just our working tools; what we worked with was wood. And if you look at Stonehenge, the earliest known stone building, you will see that it is held together with mortise and tenon joints: that is with wood joints, transposed for stone. Stonehenge is a copy of a wooden building, implying that there were equally magnificent structures about at the time, and for centuries before, only they haven’t survived, being made of wood.In fact I would go even further than this, and say that the human race - like a number of other species - are symbionts of trees: that is, that we have evolved in a specific relationship with them, as co-dependent beings. >From our earliest times upon this earth, we have lived with trees, which have provided us with shelter, with warmth, with food, with resources, with inspiration maybe, and with guidance. Meanwhile we have learned to plant them, to nurture them, to feed them and to harvest them, as part of our yearly cycle.Maybe this is why we feel so at home with trees. Not so much our companions or our friends, as part of our very soul.