Who Will Speak for the Trees?

If you remember Dr. Seuss's book, The Lorax, then you remember that woeful, pleading of the mossy, bossy little-man, "Who will speak for the trees?"

For the longest time I thought of this story in the context of humans doing something for nature. Someone would ultimately "speak for the trees" because it was a "good" and "right" thing to do. However, I have recently learned, first hand, that there is a lot more to it.

Last Summer I had 25 trees cut down on five acres of land that surround my house. I was a little anxious about it. I was admittedly worried about causing some kind of environmental problem. Basically, I felt guilty. But somehow losing 25 trees out of about 200+ just didn't seem unreasonable. Besides, I was getting a much needed $1200 infusion of cash.

After the tees were cut, the first thing I noticed was how ugly it looked. It was like a bomb had been dropped. I knew that at some point other trees, plants and vegetation would grow, but to look at it I felt a great loss of something beautiful. I just tried not to look at the area too often and wanted to quickly get through the Summer, Fall and Winter so new growth would cover the "wound."

This Spring I was very busy planting my garden and plants around my house and I was happy to see growth begin to cover the areas where the trees had been cut. But then I began to notice something very different from previous years. One of the things I have always loved about where I live is that I wake up in the morning to the sounds of what feels like hundreds of different bird songs. But this Spring I heard relatively few birds, mostly right up around the house. The deep and vast sound of birds' songs echoing throughout the woods was gone. Nearly every morning now I wake up missing the greatness of that sense of life and awesomeness of bird song.

It has become clear to me that the concentrated removal of those 25 trees has greatly reduced my quality of life and my sense of the largeness of the world around me. I miss the diversity of birds and the feeling like there were hundreds of them. It's as if a city of life is gone. It makes me understand even more how the mass-destruction of the environment must be adversely impacting the senses of human beings: making us lonely. I wish I could give the $1200 back because it in no way has an equal value to what I've lost.

I'm not sure what the trees would say if they could speak words. They'd probably say something like, "You'll miss us and the birds when we're gone." And now I know that the real question is, "Who will listen?"