Satire

It may be true that one should not compare apples with oranges, but what about comparing people with trees; old people with old trees? A gnarly, time-beaten old man with crooked arthritic fingers and toes and an old wind-beaten pine with its grotesquely deformed roots holding on for dear life to the rocky soils of a coastal hillside. 

The Old Pine by John F. Kensett

Holding on for dear life.

Why does all life attempt to hold on to life against all odds? There is a simple reason. If life didn’t fight for a little extension of its due date, there wouldn’t be any; no advanced forms of life at least. There might be some primitive creatures lurking deeply below the surface of earth and oceans, but no beautiful horses and sleek, slithering snakes, or even people, and no trees. Any life that doesn’t fight for survival has not a hope in hell. It would die at birth or shortly thereafter. 

A harsh environment

It’s a tough and harsh environment that Mother Earth has to offer. I know, as after eighty eight years of experience and expertise, I’m still struggling to stay alive. I’m that time-beaten old man with the gnarly fingers and toes holding on, not to the rocks but to the red clay for which Georgia is famous. Peaches and red clay. The problem with all that experience is that although it has made me a little wiser, it has also made me less resilient and very susceptible to wear and tear. By now I practically offer full time occupation to a couple of doctors. I’m like that can of sardines you have to discard, because its expiration date has long ago expired. 

Trees is supposed to be my subject and I’m digressing. Where we live there are lots of trees. We are literally surrounded and overshadowed by them, young and old. Some are my age or even older and they are also holding on for dear life. For life only. There is nothing they like better than to live a little longer, and I will not interfere with their wishes and hope they will continue to return the favor. I am not sure they are very concerned with my survival, however. One of them recently dropped a branch just as I walked by admiring its apparent strength and valor. Cheeky old bastard was trying to make my wife a widow. Perhaps he meant it just as a reminder that my days are numbered.

Overshadowed

The culprit in this case was an old, bad tempered, Hickory tree, garding one of the entrances to our property. He guards it well as no trespassers have entered through that gate since we moved here fifteen years ago. He is big, ugly and cantankerous, but I tolerate him all the same. Right next to him, less than twenty feet away, rests an equally old upright growing Oak tree that competes with the Hickory in the number of seeds (acorns to Hickory nuts) it blankets the ground with. They compete, but are good sports and friends. They must be as their roots below are as intertwined as their branches above.

One of the five hundred

Our little piece of Georgia is populated by some four to five hundred old trees and an innumerable number of young ones, mainly pines and poplars. Like kids they are pushy and bad-mannered. Some of them try to actually enter the house uninvited by rubbing their branches against the roof and windows. These young upstarts I quite ruthlessly cut back when I have to. 

Don’t get me wrong though; I’m very happy with all the trees surrounding us. They freshen the air, break the wind during stormy days, provide welcome shade during summer and in winter allow  the rays to penetrate and warm us. 

I wouldn’t want to live without our trees. Will have to watch that old Hickory thought, as I think he’s trying to outlive me by any means at his disposal.

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