Ed, That story really makes you think doesn't it? Trees are one of the most beautiful of God's creations and people take them so much for granted. They are worth so much more than what people can get out of them for money.
James P. On Nov 5, 8:14 pm, "Edward Frank" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote: > Death of a Pine Tree > by Henry David Thoreau > > December 30, 1851 > > This afternoon, being on Fair Haven Hill, I heard the sound of a saw, and > soon after from the Cliff saw two men sawing down a noble pine beneath, about > forty rods off. I resolved to watch it till it fell, the last of a dozen or > more which were left when the forest was cut and for fifteen years have waved > in solitary majesty over the sproutland. I saw them like beavers or insects > gnawing at the trunk of this noble tree, the diminutive manikins with their > cross-cut saw which could scarcely span it. It towered up a hundred feet as > I afterward found by measurement, one of the tallest probably in the township > and straight as an arrow, but slanting a little toward the hillside, its top > seen against the frozen river and the hills of Conantum. I watched closely > to see when it begins to move. Now the sawyers stop, and with an axe open it > a little on the side toward which it leans, that it may break the faster. And > now their saw goes again. Now surely it is going; it is inclined one quarter > of the quadrant, and, breathless, I expect its crashing fall. But no, I was > mistaken; it has not moved an inch; it stands at the same angle as at first. > It is fifteen minutes yet to its fall. Still its branches wave in the wind, > as if it were destined to stand for a century, and the wind soughs through > its needles as of yore; it is still a forest tree, the most majestic tree > that waves over Musketaquid. The silvery sheen of the sunlight is reflected > from its needles; it still affords an inaccessible crotch for the squirrel's > nest; not a lichen has forsaken its mast-like stem, its raking mast - the > hill is the hulk. Now, now's the moment! The manikins at its base are > fleeing from their crime. They have dropped the guilty saw and axe. How > slowly and majestically it starts! as if it were only swayed by the summer > breeze, and would return without a sigh to its location in the air. And now > it fans the hillside with its fall, and it lies down to its bed in the > valley, from which it is never to rise, as softly as a feather, folding its > green mantle about it like a warrior, as if, tired of standing, it embraced > the earth with silent joy, returning its elements to the dust again. But > hark! there you only saw, but did not hear. There now comes up a deafening > crash to these rocks advertising you that even trees do not die without a > groan. It rushes to embrace the earth, and mingle its elements with the dust. > And now all is still once more and forever, both to eye and ear. > > I went down and measured it. It was about four feet in diameter where it was > sawed, about one hundred feet long. Before I had reached it the axemen had > already divested it of its branches. Its gracefully spreading top was a > perfect wreck on the hillside as if it had been made of glass and the tender > cones of one year' s growth upon its summit appealed in vain and too late to > the mercy of the chopper. Already he has measured it with his axe, and > marked off the millions it will make. And the apace it occupied in the upper > air is vacant for the next two centuries. It is lumber. He has laid waste > the air. When the fish hawk in the spring revisits the banks of the > Musketaquid, he will circle in vain to find his accustomed perch, and the > hen-hawk will mourn for the pines lofty enough to protect her brood. A plant > which it has taken two centuries to perfect, rising by slow stages into the > heavens, has this afternoon ceased to exist. It sapling top had expanded to > this January thaw as the forerunner of summers to come. Why does not the > village bell sound a knell? I hear no knell tolled. I see no procession of > mourners in the streets, of the woodland aisles. The squirrel has leaped to > another tree; the hawk has circled further off, and has now settled upon a > new eyrie, but the woodman is preparing to lay his axe to that also. > > http://www.whitepines.org/Thoreau.html --~--~---------~--~----~------------~-------~--~----~ Eastern Native Tree Society http://www.nativetreesociety.org You are subscribed to the Google Groups "ENTSTrees" group. To post to this group, send email to [email protected] To unsubscribe send email to [EMAIL PROTECTED] For more options, visit this group at http://groups.google.com/group/entstrees?hl=en -~----------~----~----~----~------~----~------~--~---
