The Giving Stump

While walking my little friend, Daisy, we came upon a boy of about eleven standing on the expansive stump of a tree having fallen victim to dutch elm’s disease. His hair stuck up stiffly on the back of his head as if it hadn’t been brushed all day, despite its being 5 pm, and he held a long stick in his right hand which he used to tap a rhythm against the exposed wood.

“Hi. Why does your dog have that thing on its face?” He asked directly with strong eye contact. I stopped to answer because there was really no ignoring him.

“Have you counted the rings of that tree?” I asked, curious.

“No. I wanted to but somebody beat me to it.” He tapped on a number spray painted across the lines. “It’s 127 years old.” He looked up at the other trees in the boulevard. “My Dad’s not here. He’s preaching in a town where its illegal to preach. He’ll probably go to jail. If he does, my Dad and I are gonna sue. That will be weird cause I’ve never sued anyone before.”

Poor boy – his father runs about spreading The Word and leaves behind his son to worry (or perhaps daydream?) about his inevitable arrest with nothing to occupy his time but an old tree stump, a stick and passing strangers. Here he waits for a project on which he and his father can work together – something along the lines of a court case, perhaps. A battle for justice! I hope for his sake that his father IS arrested.

It struck me as we walked away that a tree’s rings can only be counted after it has been cut down. Perhaps we are also unable to measure the life of a man until he dies.