Shelley Fralic: Its my tree and Ill chop it if I want to

Noticed, late on Friday afternoon: 1) several tree removal trucks near a New Westminster apartment building, the intent clearly that of the annihilation of a copse of mature trees; and 2) a chainsaw-wielding man at a Washington State beach cottage de-limbing a stately birch that was overstepping its boundaries.

And, I thought, this is the way things should be. Trees need to be taught a thing or two, like they cant just grow any which way they want without repercussions.

Not a popular sentiment, by most accounts, especially here in the land of the greens, where dogs and cedars and pop-up protesters trump all when it comes to societal sentiment.

Because, lets face it, who doesnt love a tree?

Trees are pretty, and provide nooks for birds nests and strong ledges for tree forts. Their 50 shades of green are like no other, hues that only nature could create and in whose shadow man must forever feel the lesser artist.

Trees are the lungs of the earth, prevent erosion and inspire us with their majesty, their stoic survival in the face of war and pestilence and logging companies.

Perhaps we so revere our trees, chaining ourselves to them and defending their honour, hollow and otherwise, because they remind us of life, their roots planted deep in history, their branches reaching out to the world.

Perhaps it is why we preserve sainthood for all that is bark and branch, leaf and needle, whether its a thousand-year-old primordial cedar lording over a foggy Vancouver Island cove or a garden-centre sapling planted in an urban backyard and coddled into bearing fruit.

Trees. We stand in awe of their beauty and utility, their utter magnificence.

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Shelley Fralic: Its my tree and Ill chop it if I want to