Glorious Pines

Imagine if you will a mountain meadow where the grass is short and the wildflowers are scattered about sparsely. Here and there, in no particular pattern, pine trees stretch their wavy branches skyward, their feet carefully encased in chopped mulch. Each tree has plenty of room to grow without touching the branches of its neighbor.



They are every imaginable size, shape, and color from bright blue to green so dark its almost black. Short needle, long needle, young, old, straight, crooked - every flavor you could ask for. Such an amazing variety, such exceptional beauty. That is how the grounds of our apartment complex greet me every morning on my walk.



Most amazing of all are the pine cones. Some types of pine trees have tiny little cones no bigger than a thimble that sprout from the end of every branch and litter the ground beneath. Other trees have green cones that dangle from middle and lower branches, so tightly formed that even the squirrels can't crack them open.



The majority of the trees here have long skinny brown cones that grow mostly at the tippy top of the tree, the sheer number announcing their vitality and fertility to the world. I almost feel sorry for the tired trees with a mere handful of cones drooping from the top few branches. I am proud of the tall straight tree closest to our building with it plethora of cones marching down the whole top third of the tree. I giggle at the two trees with double tops and cones scattered between the split branches and I feel for the several trees with so many cones near the top that their head bows beneath the weight.



My compassion really goes out to the little tree with some sort of blight on its side, witnessed by the three dead branches that look so brittle I fear they may burst into flames at any moment. There are no cones at the top of this sick little tree. I worry that it may soon follow the fate of the tree they cut down last week and shredded into chips. I want to find it some medicine, to grab pruning shears and cut the cancer out of it to keep it from spreading, perhaps find some kind of spray or paint to treat its illness.

But alas! I know nothing of tree surgery. I don't even know what you call a tree doctor - one that tries to restore a tree to good health. All I can do is wish it well every morning and hope the disease doesn't spread - either to other branches or to its neighbors close at hand. Poor little tree.