I Planted a Forest in a Desert
It started when I was six years old. Every fall, I received a cardboard card for the next ten years. This card opened and contained 20 slots, just the right size to insert a dime into each slot. As a student at Share Zedek Synagogue, I was tasked each year with collecting 20 dimes to buy a tree that someone would plant in Israel. I was part of a movement. My dimes created Israel, being one of the only countries in the world that ended the 20th century with more trees than it had in 1900. Israel is the world’s leader in afforestation. Since its founding in 1901, the Jewish National Fund has planted over 250 million trees throughout Israel. The trees I purchased with 20 dimes are over 60 years old. Planting trees in Israel empowered me. I contributed to a movement and a Jewish homeland.
Here is a bit of history. By the late 19th century, with the decline of the Ottoman Empire, which controlled the Land of Israel, the land itself had fallen into disrepair. The Galilee forests and the Carmel mountain range had been stripped of trees, and the swamps and deserts had increased.
By 1903, the Jewish National Fund had purchased its first parcel of land in the coastal region of Hadera. By 1935, it had already planted 1.7 million trees over a total area of 1,750 acres. In the early years of its land restoration, the fund planted large amounts of fast-growing conifers. Pine forests proliferated throughout the country.
Now, the trees planted are more diverse. In 21st-century Israel, tree planting became a hi-tech operation that utilizes the most up-to-date research and technology. “Tree planting in Israel has become very research- and knowledge-based,” says Hiroy Amare, manager of the KKL-JNF Golani Nursery. KKL-JNF means Keren Kayemeth LeIsrael - Jewish National Fund.
KKL-JNF teams throughout Israel are readying specific types of trees best suited for each region. In Israel’s North, tabor oak, cypress, and eucalyptus saplings are being readied for planting. Staff in Israel’s central region are preparing broad leaf trees, which provide sufficient green cover and pose less danger of forest fires. Meanwhile, in Israel’s South, researchers are preparing acacia and palm seedlings, fig trees, carob, and tamarisk trees.
I mourn lost trees. I go back to visit my old neighborhood, University Forest Estates, and seek out the trees of my childhood. The redbud tree my mom planted on the front lawn is no longer there. It exists as a stump. Branches are trying to grow from the stump. I hope it succeeds in coming back. During the 1950s and 1960s, my mom carefully planted petunias around the growing redbud tree trunk. The oak tree the city planted along the street in front of our house is also gone. Other oak trees remain tall and beautiful. They provide a canopy of shade over the street. What happened to our oak tree? Were the acorns a nuisance, and the homeowner removed the tree? Did it die on its own? Maybe someone who bought my childhood home did not recognize the value of trees and cut them all down. Another favorite was the tree on Partridge Avenue located on someone’s side yard. The tree had a brick wall around it, just a foot high. I would step up on the wall after school on my way home and walk around the tree until the homeowner told me, “You’ll damage the wall.” Now, the wall is still there, but the tree is gone.
My mom and I visited trees together. One was on Walton Avenue near where we lived. I believe it was a giant maple. It was perfectly shaped and bright red in the fall. Our tradition was to park our car in front of this tree in the fall and admire its perfect shape and vibrant color. I looked for it on Google Maps but could not find it. Next time I visit University City, I will drive by to verify its demise. Finally, my mom and I would visit a sycamore tree in Forest Park at the St. Louis Jewel Box. It was huge. Its branches reached the ground, and I would walk inside. It was my place. I will verify its existence, too.
Ariel Dorfman asks, “How do we mourn the death of one solitary tree when whole forests burn down?”. Dorfman writes about a personal connection to one particular tree among the many that were reduced to ash in a wildfire. He was seven years old, and his father decided young Dorfman was old enough for a ritual that his father experienced with his own dad: “It was time to plant a tree.” This tree planted in Chile was over 60 years old when it burned down. Dorfman never visited his tree, a regret. Yet, he did think about his tree over the years. “In all likelihood, that tree, planted by me as a child, has now been reduced to cinders. The 990-acre botanic garden — home to 1,300 species, some of which are on the brink of extinction — was almost completely destroyed, along with other casualties: 30 dogs in a kennel, immeasurable other small animals and birds and, alas, four human beings.” One person who died was the 92-year-old woman who probably gave Dorfman the seedling and shovel to plant his tree. The others who died were her daughter and grandchildren trying to save the rare trees during the fire. Heroes.
I harbor bad feelings towards people who cut down beautiful trees. Here in Montana, people kill trees for a greater view of the mountains, a lake, or maybe firewood. Even my parents cut down a huge perfectly shaped crabapple tree located in front of my bedroom window. They did not like the fruit falling and rotting. “It’s too messy and brings in mice.” Every spring, this tree would blossom into white flowers. It was spectacular. I would sit in my room with the window open and enjoy the view, the smell, and the birds that would stop by. I blame myself for not actively raking up all the fallen fruit.
I planted trees around every house I have lived. In Montana, I planted a crabapple tree that blossomed fuchsia flowers without the crabapples. Now, there are hybrids that do not produce the fruit. The color was spectacular. Then, a windstorm blew through. One of the giant spruce trees lost a large branch that fell on my crabapple tree, breaking it in half. I think about planting another one. I am in my 70s, I wonder will a new tree grow fast enough to enjoy. That is the way with trees. We plant them for another generation to enjoy.
I also planted a chestnut tree. It is growing fast and now blooms beautiful giant flowers. Last fall, it produced glossy buckeyes that I harvested for decoration. I must create some legal document that future homebuyers sign stating they will not cut down trees on the property unless the tree is sick or poses a danger. I will talk to a lawyer about this. When I am gone, who will protect these trees?
Last year, David and I drove to visit Gus. Gus is a 1,000-year old tamarack and lives in Seeley Lake, Montana. Gus is the largest of its species in the world and is believed to have survived at least 40 wildfires over its lifetime. It measures 153 feet tall by 34 feet wide at its crown and is taller than the Statue of Liberty (not counting the statue's pedestal). Near the ground, Gus is 22 feet 9 inches in circumference and 7 feet 3 inches in diameter. I admire Gus because it has survived hardships. When I am sick, I think of Gus and say to myself, “My feeling bad is temporary”. I have also visited the redwoods in California. These visits bring humility and provide prospective. Trees would do fine without us. But we would not do fine without them.
Trees may be linked to better air quality, lower climate temperatures, and less stress and breeding places for animals and birds. Studies show less use of antidepressant medication when people have access to trees. Trees attract rainfall. I thank Israel for showing that trees can change a desert into a forest. Join me and plant trees in Israel. Plant trees in your neighborhood. Trees do deserve a hug.