Kimberly Steele

True confession: I talk to trees. Better yet, they answer back and we have conversations. I'm aware that this isn't "normal". I believe I'm far less crazy these days -- talking to trees, my car, the gods, thanking my food -- than I was when I didn't believe nature could answer back if you talked to it.

People (freaks) like me who talk to trees don't discriminate. I talk to trees in the forest preserve. I talk to trees I pass driving to my office. During breaks, I talk to a tree who is growing against the back end of the building where I work. I'm so fond of chatting with trees, I made a video about how I do it in an effort to encourage others to strike up conversations with the trees in their lives:



Let's call the tree in the back of my work Mama. She is the same tree I was leaning against in the video. Mama is an Eastern cedar. She's had half her upper bulk sheared to accommodate the building. Mama isn't a particularly happy tree and she's also by power lines. I knew this when I entered the relationship. Unfortunately, both Mama and I foresee a high probability that the building will be torn down (it's a rickety piece of crap) along with Mama, prematurely ending her life. The town where I work is infamous for its ruthless appetite for demolishing independent, beloved small businesses in order to install mega-chains. That's why Mama and I suspect it's only a matter of time.

After I made my video, I came back to visit Mama and she sent me a jolt of panic. Only then did I see a small version of Mama about ten feet away from her growing in the crack between the building and the ground. I'm not sure how, but Mama reproduced. Her little baby grew along with a bunch of weeds in the unkempt area between the decrepit wooden steps and the parking lot.

"He's in trouble!" She said, and I don't mean aloud. I heard her say this to whatever part of my head is able to perceive feelings from others. I suspect it's the exact same part of the brain that can tell someone is mad at me or pleased with me before they speak; that is to say clairaudience of this nature is a talent I believe every human being possesses.

"You have to save him!" Said Mama.

Of course Mama was right. Modern city dwellers would never dream of seeing a tree growing in the crotch of a city commercial property and its parking lot as a being worthy of a second thought, let alone respect. The small tree was destined for removal as a nuisance. How dare anything wild grow where Man's sacred concrete has been erected! To most modernites, communicating with trees is a relic of childhood at best and an omen of schizophrenia at worst. But I digress.

My inner thoughts were something akin to "Ugh..." The little tree was close enough to underground wires to be dangerous if dug with a metal spade.

I just happened to have a small plastic garden shovel, so I fetched it and began carefully and laboriously digging through the gravel and weeds with no promises to Mama. Fifteen solid minutes of struggling and sweating later, I somehow managed to finesse the baby cedar out of the corner, landing square on my behind several times as I jockeyed for the right position and shimmied to avoid potential electrocution.

Once the literally dirty deed was done, Mama sent me a feeling of relief so palpable I can still mentally conjure it months later. This overwhelming rush of emotion was tinged with bittersweet melancholy. Her child was free and safe but she would never again be physically with him. As a result, I felt tired and wired. The little tree was unearthed and temporarily housed in a busted popcorn bowl serving as an impromptu pot.



I was mentally and physically drained. I could feel Mama's gratitude and sadness reverberating through me in alternate waves, and I knew I had to get home as fast as possible to plant Cedric in his new forever home, my front yard.

The neighborhood's cedars whispered across blocks and the great oaks, elms, plentiful maples, and copious elms and black walnuts bore witness as I dug a hole for Cedric the Unplanned. I placed him into the soil as a light spring evening rain began to patter on my receding hairline of a lawn. I said a silent Druid prayer as I watered him in.

A few months later, I am happy to report Cedric is doing swell. He seems to have taken root and sports lively chartreuse on the tips of his branches. After work, I talked to Mama today to let her know he is OK. She thanked me again and said that she has already been updated through the "tree grapevine", whatever that may be.