Do you ever contemplate what trees mean to you, personally? As I looked out of my window at the evergreen trees surrounding the property, spread throughout the city below, and on the distant mountain, I was struck with how much trees have meant to me in my life.

Growing up in Southwest Colorado, I remember as though it were yesterday walking to school every autumn along a boulevard median lined with deciduous trees and kicking or jumping into big piles of leaves. I admired the densely growing evergreen trees visible a hundred miles away on the high mountains, all purple to the eye. All the trees were a comfortable distance away. I was awed but not overwhelmed by them.

When I moved to Honolulu, Hawaii, I felt myself in another world. Flying into the airport and seeing the green of the island surrounded by the deep blue of the Pacific Ocean, I thought it one of the most beautiful sites I’d ever seen. The two principal volcanoes, long inactive: Waianae and Koolau, which formed the island of Oahu around two million plus years ago, rising high above the city, provided for a delightful scenic drive. The palm trees, plumeria, hibiscus, bird of paradise and fence-high poinsettias (incredible that they grew so high!) created an exotic landscape that I couldn’t have previously imagined.

Later, living in northern California, I found another kind of landscape, also profoundly beautiful. Although I had previously seen the gold of the California hills, which seems to last for the majority of the year (and now longer and longer), I was not prepared for the brilliant green of the grass in springtime and the abundance and brilliance of the bougainvillea, poppies, asters and much more. The beauty of the magenta ice plant that covered the ground along the coast at Monterey and Pacific Grove took my breath away.

Then, wintering, in Tucson, Arizona, I found the desert landscape very different and also delightful. I was particularly enchanted by the palo verde trees, with their yellowish bark, leaves, and flowers, which seemed to be everywhere. Nor could I get enough of the iconic Saguaro cacti, which mimic an array of human postures, such as someone standing with arms akimbo, and which grow beautiful white floral pillbox hats atop their heads in the springtime. Of course, I couldn’t ignore the brilliant flowers of the prickly pear and barrel cacti either! At the same time, I had a healthy respect for the jumping cholla, whose fishhook spines could reach out and grab you, which, so I heard, inflicts excruciating pain. I didn’t care to find out firsthand.

Over the years, in these and other places, I was blessed to be able to attend retreats in natural settings among the trees. We were led to touch the trees, feeling firsthand their tactile nature and differences among the variates, to smell and feel the surrounding air, and just to relax in nature. In doing so, I experienced a deep feeling of oneness with all the world and a profound sense of wellbeing and peace.

Later, moving to the Pacific Northwest, first to the Portland, Oregon, area and later to western and then eastern Washington, I was a bit intimidated at first, even a little frightened, by the evergreen forests. I couldn’t see into them. What lurked there beyond my field of vision? The trees seemed to be too close, too dense, too intrusive.

In the years since my introduction to the Pacific Northwest, I’ve come to realize that I prefer seeing the forests from a distance. From my second-floor window, the circle of evergreen trees around the green space, the trees dotting the city below, and in the distance, the violet trees on the mountain, are the perfect distance, not so different from that of my childhood years.

Over the decades, I’ve learned how trees provide much more than simply a beautiful, soul-enriching landscape. As the oldest living things on the planet, they are to be revered. After I learned about their role in sequestering carbon, helping to clean our ever-dirtier air, I was deeply saddened to learn about the loss of about 17 percent so far of the Amazon rain forest for farming and ranching, according to the National Geographic Magazine. Equally devastating are the wildfires burning thousands of acres of trees each year, especially in the western US. In the Pacific Northwest, we must often stay inside to avoid the harmful smoke on many days in summertime. I was heartened, however, to learn that our neighbor, Canada, has one of the world’s largest intact forests that is protected and managed sustainably. The decades-long Armenian tree-planting project is also an encouraging sign.

The practical contribution of trees to our planetary and human wellbeing cannot be overstated. At the same time, neither can the contribution to our emotional and spiritual wellbeing be overstated. Taking time to look and smell and feel the trees and other plants around and take in all the landscape offers a feast for the senses that can at least temporarily make the ills of the world disappear. It can foster a deep sense of gratitude for the beauty of the world. And, as all of this soaks in, it can provide a sense of joy in simply being alive and a part of all the beauty.

Sources:

“Deforest explained.” National Geographic website. https://www.nationalgeographic.com/environment/article/deforestation

“Boreal Forest.” Government of Canada website. https://www.nrcan.gc.ca/our-natural-resources/forests/sustainable-forest-management/boreal-forest/13071

……………………………

Dr. Barbara A Coe is an international planning and development consultant and professor who has worked throughout the US and in many other countries. She has published more than 100 articles, many about sustainable development, and four books, including : Joyful Journey ; Sharing the Road from Vietnam to Italy and Joyful Journey Two: Sharing the Road from Georgia to Brazil.

She currently resides in Spokane, Washington, near her extended family.

www.barbaracoe.net