Death of Old Growth Trees

I just read in the paper the rate of death of old growth trees has almost doubled. This is apparently happening all over the United States.

When I was a child living in Bull Creek, California, I used to run and play in an old growth redwood forest, now a large park. My favorite tree was called the Flat Iron Tree. The lower part of its giant trunk looked like it had been flattened by a huge iron.

Last fall, when I made my journey to Humboldt County, I was grief stricken when I visited my old friend. I found it on the ground, broken in several places, large sharp bristles jutting from it's awful wounds. It had stood tall for 2,000 years. How could it have died in my lifetime? It was there when Christ was born. It was there when the Mayflower landed on our shores. It was there during the Civil War. It was there when King told of his magnificent dream. It was there when the first black man was making a successful run for the presidency. The history it had witnessed was enormous. Yet now, it had fallen and died. All was quiet around it's beaten corps. The quiet wasn't the same as the deep silence of the trees. This soundless sleep spoke of defeat, a sacrifice to the idol of civilization.

Copyright 2009 Sharon Porter Moxley