The Aspen Tree

Photo: Graham Cooper

I was walking in the wood when I heard the roar of the chainsaw. I saw two men rigged out in protective clothing and yellow plastic helmets – they were about to cut down one of the aspen trees. I raised my hand, and they stopped the motor of the saw.

‘Why are you cutting down this aspen tree?’ I asked.

One of the men turned away to look at his mobile phone. The other took a sheet of paper from his pocket and, without saying a word, handed it to me. This is what was written upon it:

Transcript of the Evidence against the Aspen Tree

The Evidence of the Expert in Oral Tradition:

In times past, the Celtic people considered the Aspen to be an ignoble tree, along with the willow, the alder, and the elm. The wood of the aspen is not of much utility – even if it is burnt, it does not give out much heat.

But I have more to say about the aspen. The leaves of the aspen tremble in the slightest breeze, and thereby give away its shame and guilt. According to tradition, the Cross of Jesus Christ was made from the wood of an aspen and from time immemorial the Celts have been blaming the the tree for this terrible crime.

Near the head of Loch Sheil there is a secret glen bare of all trees except one aspen tree standing alone. The people of that parish used to form a circle around the tree on Good Friday and curse it. For them, the aspen was a symbol of those who crucify the good, not knowing what they do.

The Evidence of the Scientist

The aspen tree (populus tremulus) is a member of the poplar family. Its wooly white seeds are spread by the wind far from the tree to uncultivated land where they will have an opportunity to grow. It is a pioneer tree that grows quickly in wet ground near rivers or streams.

The leaves of the tree are unusual in the way in which they are set in motion by the slightest breeze – the wind rotates them back and forth around the axis of the stem, which is thin and flat. This movement is not difficult to understand when we look at the aerodynamics acting on the leaves. But as a result of the rotation, sunlight is able to shine on the underside of the leaves enabling them to photosynthesise – unusual work for the underside of the leaves of trees.

It is untrue that the wood of the aspen is of no value – a few years ago craftsmen were using it to make barrels, pails, tables and chairs. As regards the heat released on combustion, the aspen releases 14.7 million Btu per cord (see below) in comparison, for example, to the white oak which releases 27.7 million Btu per cord.

(Btu per cord = British thermal units per 128 cubic feet)

The Evidence of the Poet

I love the aspen tree! There is a row of them in the parkland by the river where I take my morning walk.

As I draw close to them, their leaves lure me onwards as if they are inviting me to enter their gorgeous green cloud. What secret words are they whispering to each other? Surely they are expressing their joy to be alive in this beautiful world.

I would not deride the tree regarding the heat released from its wood. Indeed, I am grateful to the aspen for storing the energy of the sun in solid form. When I burn aspen wood in the fire, it keeps me warm and in good spirits in the cold days of winter. Never mind the Btu of the scientist! Ungrateful! I will say no more before I say too much.

It cannot be that the aspen is under a burden of guilt, although that is what some people say. Look at the birds! They build their nests in its branches. Surely the wisdom of the birds is greater than that of humanity!

The Evidence of the Aspen itself

I am a tree. And therefore, should you wish to cut me down, I could not escape. My life depends upon your mercy.

Whatever happens, I should not complain – I have many brothers and sisters and I am fully confident that my family line will continue without me.

I would not say that I carry ancestral guilt. My leaves shake readily because I am an aspen rather than an alder or a birch. I would have to confess, however, that there was a night in winter when I was deeply asleep, my sap drawn into my trunk, when I had a dream. I seemed to hear a voice that told me that they had named one of my ancestors the Triumph Tree – rough men had hewn her down to do a terrible task. But would mankind have hope today if she had not accepted her fate?

I carried on down to the riverbank. After a few minutes, I heard the sound of the chainsaw again.

I returned in the evening. Nothing was left of the aspen but a stump and sawdust. What dreadful purpose had they forced upon the trunk of the aspen this time?

I noticed that there was no blackbird song. The world of nature was silent.