When You Cut Down a Tree, Do You Talk to It?
This title might seem a bit misleading at first. How many of us have actually cut down a tree, right? I’d say, probably not many. If we ignore the foresters and woodcutters, most of us who have a tree on our property or at our cottage would prefer to leave it standing to block the view of passersby. But every once in a while, it becomes necessary to chop a tree down. Maybe it no longer bears fruit, is broken from a storm, or it’s starting to pose a danger to the people living in the cottage or homestead. And sometimes we just need to use the wood from the tree to keep warm, cook, or make sure we’re comfortable.
At our cottage, we have several tall trees, spruces. They’re our friends, standing guard over our garden. But they’re also tall enough to give us a bit of a headache when the weather turns. Just last week, strong winds swept across Europe, and all night long, the entire landscape above us rumbled and roared. Fortunately, our trees held strong.
So why am I talking about cutting trees? I'm not referring to the mass logging of bark beetle and "non-bark beetle" calamities, but rather cutting down a tree for personal use or for the needs of family and friends. What caught my attention was a paragraph from my favorite book by Margot Ruis, Creatures of Nature. This book isn’t exactly a world bestseller, and for most people, it’s more of a side read. But if you feel connected to nature and occasionally stop in the forest, you might find this little book quite helpful. Maybe even for reading forest stories with your kids or indulging in your own forest daydreams.
Margot writes: "In the past, it was said that among our farmers, before they chopped down a tree, they would give it a name and speak to it. Something like this: ‘Alright, Pepa, it's your turn now! We need wood for a new fence.’ Even though the farmer didn’t know anything about tree elves, he respected the tree as a living being and had a personal relationship with it."
You might be thinking, Tree elves? But that’s probably another story.
Personally, I like the idea that before we chop down a tree, we first ask for its permission and forgiveness. It feels to me like if I were to take down such a tree without first talking to it, it would at least feel like a betrayal. So, I just sit by its roots, hug it, and have a chat with it, like friends talking to each other. I lean against its trunk, and for a moment, I have a conversation. That moment isn’t going to kill me. It may sound a bit far-fetched to some, but I think it’s good to talk to the tree. Ask it what it has seen during its life, and in return, share a story of your own.
Every time my wife and I visit the cottage, we walk through the garden. I touch each tree and greet it: "So, how are you? Was it too windy?" I haven’t named my trees yet, and I’m not planning to do so anytime soon, but I talk to them. And cutting down such a being without its permission just doesn’t seem right.
It feels a bit like when a fisherman catches a fish and takes it home for dinner. I used to have no problem killing all the fish I caught on a weekend fishing trip with friends at Orlík. Now, it bothers me. These days, I only take a minimum from the water. Before I start fishing, I ask nature for good catches, and if I keep a fish, I thank it and let it go gently. I try to give something back to the water and nature in return—planting a bush, picking up trash, or cleaning a stream. I think that’s the right way to do it.
In her book Creatures of Nature, Margot Ruis beautifully describes the relationship between humans, nature, trees, and the beings that live within them. She writes about how she always carries some crystals in her pockets, which she gives to trees. She buries them in their roots, as a gift to their guardian and to bring joy to the tree. Crystals, she says, help trees grow. So, I’m thinking I’ll give it a try. And I believe that by doing so, I’ll deepen my connection with our trees. Even through these transparent stones, I’ll continue to talk to them.
And if the time ever comes when I must cut down a tree, I already know I’ll ask for its permission first.
Ronin born from the beech, simply a Beechboy
I work with youth, organizing outdoor adventure events for families, children’s camps, and travel camps. In my work, I focus mainly on the relationships between fathers and their sons, raising awareness of true masculinity, the upbringing of today’s boys, and awakening their dads. As part of this therapeutic work, I run a non-profit organization with a group of friends called Goodman, with its development program, Goodman Road. I'm a huge lover of nature and a storyteller of forest creatures. My beliefs are: The right man can only be raised by another man. A Good man. And another one: Protect the trees, learn to listen to them, and in doing so, we will save ourselves.
