I have learned something after spending most of my life around trees.

That is why I am starting Tree Stories, a place to reflect on trees, memory, nature, and the connections people carry with them.

A tree story is a memory, lesson, or experience that shows how trees become part of human life.

If you ask a person whether they ever climbed a tree, you will usually get an answer.

If you ask whether they ever fell out of a tree, you will often get a better one.

That is one of the funny things about trees. They take people back. A businessman, a teacher, a grandparent, a teenager, or a person who says they do not care much about nature will usually remember something once you get them talking.

Maybe it was a tree in the backyard.

Maybe it was a tree at school.

Maybe it was a tree they were told not to climb.

Maybe it was a tree they climbed anyway.

That is what I mean by a tree story.

A tree story is not always just about the tree. It is usually about what happened around the tree. It is about who was there, what was learned, what was lost, what was funny, or what somehow stayed in a person’s memory long after other things disappeared.

I have spent nearly fifty years working with trees as an arborist, consultant, and student of the natural world. I have studied their health, their structure, their roots, their wounds, and their value. I have looked at trees in yards, cemeteries, cities, gardens, campuses, and court cases.

That work taught me a great deal about trees.

It also taught me a great deal about people.

People care about trees in ways they do not always know how to explain. Sometimes a tree is just part of the landscape until someone talks about removing it. Then suddenly it is not just a tree anymore. It is the tree their children played under. It is the tree their father planted. It is the tree that shaded the porch. It is the tree that has been there as long as anyone can remember.

I have seen people argue over trees. I have seen people grieve over trees. I have seen people spend money to save trees that someone else might have called ordinary. I have also seen people ignore trees until the day something went wrong.

Trees have a way of becoming part of our lives without asking permission.

They stand there year after year while everything else changes. Children grow up. Houses get sold. Roads get widened. Neighborhoods change. People move away. But sometimes a tree is still there, holding the memory of a place better than anything else could.

That is one reason I have always believed trees are more than scenery.

They are not just things we plant, prune, climb, cut, or rake leaves from in the fall. They become markers in our lives. They mark where we played, where we rested, where we worked, where we learned something, or where we simply stopped long enough to look up.

I also like that trees are apolitical. They do not care whether you are a Democrat or a Republican. They do not care what church you go to, or whether you go to one at all. They do not care what kind of car you drive or what kind of work you do.

A tree will give shade to just about anybody willing to stand under it.

Maybe that is why people from so many different backgrounds still have stories about trees. Some stories are practical. Some are spiritual. Some are historical. Some are just plain funny.

And some start with a sentence like, “I probably should not have climbed that high.”

When I put together John Muir Climbs a Tree and Other Tree Tales, I was not trying to write a technical book about tree care. I have written and spoken plenty on those subjects over the years. This book came from a different place.

It came from the idea that trees have always been part of human storytelling.

People have told stories about trees to teach lessons about honesty, courage, patience, faith, survival, and common sense. Trees show up in folklore, history, literature, family stories, and childhood memories. They are rooted in the ground, but somehow they reach into almost every part of life.

The title story is about John Muir climbing a tree during a storm. Now, I am not suggesting that people go out and climb trees in storms. That would be poor advice, especially coming from an old arborist. But Muir wanted to feel what the tree felt. He wanted to experience the forest from inside the movement of it, not just observe it from the ground.

That is a rare thing.

Most people spend their lives walking past trees. Muir climbed up into one to better understand it.

There is a lesson there. Maybe not that we should all climb higher, but that we should pay closer attention.

This blog, Tree Stories, will be a place for that kind of attention.

Some posts will come from my years in arboriculture. Some will come from stories in the book. Some may come from historic trees, unusual trees, trees I have known, or people I have met because of trees. Some may simply come from the thought that trees are still teaching us, even when we are too busy to notice.

I hope this blog gives readers a reason to think about trees a little differently.

Not every tree has to be famous to matter.

Not every tree has to be the biggest, oldest, rarest, or prettiest.

Sometimes the most important tree is the one in your own memory.

The one you climbed.

The one you fell out of.

The one that held the swing.

The one that shaded the house.

The one your family talked about cutting down but never did.

The one that disappeared years ago, though you can still see it clearly when you close your eyes.

Everyone has a tree story. Some people just have not been asked to remember it yet.

So I will start this blog with a simple question.

What is yours?

Readers who would like to learn more about my background can visit the Author page.