The Story Never Ends: How the Ash tree compares to humanity
There is this big Ash tree behind our barn.
It is always the last tree to bud in spring and its canopy, compound leaves come out very late — sometimes at the end of May. Each year, I hold my breath, wondering if this is the spring it will no longer return to me. But, for now, it provides me shade on these hot summer days of July when I go sit underneath it on a bench, looking at the view and feeling the cool air under its branches.
No. It's not a mighty oak or a productive maple but this tree is special to me and you see, unlike the other trees of the forest, it has a different kind of enemy — the Emerald Ash Borer, a beetle introduced in our country in the 1980s through solid wood packing material coming from Asia, according to Wikipedia. The beetle has killed tens of thousands of Ash trees across North America since then and it is rare that an Ash tree now ever reaches old age or even maturity sometimes.
Ash trees have always been special to me. I suppose it goes back to childhood when a big old Ash grew by our spring. As a girl, I would curl my arms in its low branches and dream about my future. Alas, it is long gone and that tiny insect no doubt had something to do with its demise.
Ash trees aren't only special to me but their mention shows up in legends as a symbol of stability and protection. Some legends say that the Tree of Life at the beginning of humanity was an Ash. In Norse mythology, an Ash tree holds each of the nine realms on its branches. It is considered a protective tree of children and Irish legends consider it a guardian tree.
Not too many years ago, there was another Ash on my property that withered away while I was busy working and raising children and it left for good as well. I kept a piece of its diamond-shaped bark as a memento.
Now, unfortunately, the offspring of my Ash (from a seed sometimes called helicopter seeds) has gone and planted itself right by my house. I mean directly by it in the rose bushes. Of all places. Last year, I left it there because I wasn't sure what it was at first. And, this year, so far I don't have the heart to tear it out but it can't grow there because the root system would probably cause damage to my basement. So, I have to transplant it this fall with the hopes it will survive. Wish it would have grown in a different place.
We were working behind the barn recently with some Amish friends and the topic of my Ash tree came up when we were deciding where to put a fence. I adamantly said I didn't want the fence going near my Ash. My Amish friend said, "But Sandy, your Ash won't live for much longer. It will die." I replied, "yes, I know. But it's living now and I enjoy it."
My Ash got me thinking about life and how we as humans have so many comparisons to the tree. You see, God knows we won't live forever. Our body has a timeline while our souls are eternal. We never reach our full potential as we would have on the other side of the Garden of Eden. Yet, we have flourished as a species. And, we have an enemy like the beetle that always strikes at some point and causes damage.
But God is merciful to us every day in the midst of our days. Psalms 135 says again and again "for his mercy endureth forever." I can just picture God saying, like I did in replying to the Amishman, "yes, I know they will die but they are living now and I will be merciful to them." In every little way, he tries to draw us near him. Maybe like sitting on a bench nearby just to be near us, as I do with my Ash tree.
This article originally appeared on The Daily American: Sandra Lepley column about the Emerald Ash Borer
