“Then shall all the trees of the forest sing for joy.” Then shall our black walnut tree scream in agony.
I’m sorry for the dramatics, but I dread the day when the black walnut tree on our property is taken down. I understand the logic: the chemical juglone in its fruit, leaves, and branches wreaks havoc on many plants in its vicinity. The roots conduct their business underground.
But I treasure the shade the tree imparts—especially on hot summer days. And honestly, it’s nice to have a refuge from the exposure of the sun. (I’m speaking as one whose eyes are quite sensitive to bright light.) And perhaps speaking as a vampire wannabe, there’s something to be said about having a place to hide!
Still, it’s not just about me.
The quote about joyfully singing trees is from Psalm 96:12. There is that in creation which serves the Lord, and does so with selfless abandon. (It might be a legitimate question to ask, “To what extent does awareness of ‘self’ play in the makeup of trees and other plants?”) Can we say there is no level of sentience whatsoever in them? Stepping back, are there ways in which praise transcends sentience, however it is reckoned? Is merely—and gloriously—being perfectly true to one’s nature a state of praise?
In the case of this particular tree, for some reason it was planted right beside a wall which bounds a room with an indoor swimming pool. There is no telling what damage the roots have done to the foundation. (That is also part of the logic of it being taken down.) I know it isn’t the tree’s fault for its placement. “Bloom where you are planted” has, for it, been a disservice in more than one way.
Special note: there is an ash tree similarly planted, though it doesn’t cast as much shade as its companion. Still, its passing also is to be mourned. (In the photo, it is visible to the right.)
So, to sum up. Though there be mitigating reasons on our part, one hopes your suffering will be brief. I will miss thee.