"Talkin' To Trees"

Sometimes creative spirits are stifled, supplanted by the more serious issues of life. Things like dinner plans, fixing the pool heater, and communications with yardmen who speak foreign languages are a few of the essentials that dominate our time. When creative endeavors diminish, it’s time for a road trip.

Road trips don’t necessarily have to be long. Often a simple change of scenery is all that is required to rejuvenate our creative impulses and restore our sense of sanity.

One of my favorite places for a road trip is to the Raw Bar at Latitude 31, a restaurant joint that hangs over the edge of the Jekyll Island marina dock. There’s nothing like getting down and dirty with a dangerous Dan’s Dawg or BBQ washed down with a Bud to rekindle bound-up creative thoughts.

I made that trip last week, and was not disappointed. Maybe it’s the fetid smell of marsh, mud and oyster beds that sets one to thinking. After lunch I wandered off of the dock and strolled among the very large and ancient oak trees, thankful to know that there are things older and far more magnificent than we are.

It occurred to me that oak trees on the island do things backwards. For example, unlike their cousins in north Georgia, these oaks shed their leaves in the Spring, not in the Fall. Now this is interesting, and I wondered why. After drifting a little sideways I decided to talk with several of the oak trees to see if I could understand the rationale for springtime shedding.

The trees were silent at first, but after some pleading they soon opened up. Perhaps I talked too long to one particular oak tree, for it offered up a very large yawn and began to scream, “Enough, enough…here is our answer.

We knew years ago that these beautiful islands would be populated by a lot of people from elsewhere. We knew they would appreciate the fact that we maintain our greenery throughout the bleak, leafless winters further north.”

The tree continues, “We do this for the sake of humanity. Like humanity, we yearn for the need for new growth. As other deciduous trees begin to add their new growth, we begin to shed our old growth in order that something new will emerge. And so you see, the islands will not be bereft whatsoever by weeks or months of a leafless environment. Isn’t that nice?”

The tree seemed to smile and say, “Do you remember Charles Wesley?” I did, remembering his failed attempt to spread Christianity to the natives. The tree said, “My friend, we have had much better luck in converting Yankees to the southern lifestyle than Wesley had in spreading his doctrines among the indigenous heathen.” I knew there was no debating that!

The conclusion I drew is perhaps the same conclusion you have drawn: No matter what age we attain, there will be no new growth until something old drops off. We’re never perennially green without a significant cost.

What better way to renew our spirits than to walk among ancient oaks and gain a greater appreciation for the wonders of nature and a springtime that brings renewal to every thing.

Bud Hearn
March 15, 2007