The Trees See All

            An aspen grove is one of the most serenely beautiful places to visit in the early autumn. The vibrant yellow leaves sound like waves on some distant shore as the wind calmly weaves its way through the trees’ branches. A couple weeks ago I sought the soothing effects of an aspen grove at the top of American Fork Canyon. As I began hiking through the labyrinth of pale white trunks, the constant clamor of the city’s heartbeat faded and was replaced with a Zen-like “ohm” that radiated out into the trees. The trees returned the mantra, filling me with inner peace and calm, dispelling the stress that weighed upon my shoulders and chest.

            The aspen trees had made such an impression on me that I wanted to leave my mark on them. I pulled out my penknife and found the perfect white space of bark to write a loving message to the trees. While I carved “G.E. + A.T.” (for Gabe Eberhard + Aspen Trees) into the soft, papery flesh of the tree, a sudden sense of danger came over me. There was a disturbance in the “ohm” within my chest, a slight aberration like a record skipping or the thump of a large rock hitting the ground after falling 100 feet.

            And then the low groan started. It was clearly audible, not like the spiritually silent sound of inner peace. At first I believed the guttural noise was possibly a dangerous animal, but after surveying my immediate surroundings, I determined that the sound was emanating from the tree I had just sliced open! In fact, it was coming from the very gashes that I had but moments before executed. Surprised, I took a step back and tripped on a low-lying bush. I fell onto my backside and sat there for a few seconds, attempting to gather my wits. But the groaning was becoming a howl. How could this be? How could a tree make such a horrid noise?

            Sitting on the ground, stunned, I watched the grove darken as a large cloud passed in front of the sun’s random shafts of light. The shadowing effect of the cloud brought something to my attention that I had previously taken for granted. Black markings that had seemed to be scars were now eyes menacingly staring down at me. The tree I had engraved was glaring at me! I pushed off the ground and stood up. In a fit of desperation and panic I jammed my penknife into one of the tree’s eyes and twisted it about. As quickly as I had attempted to cut the eye out, though, I stopped. I tried to convince myself that my eyes and ears were playing tricks on me. The whole situation had to be due to some phenomenon caused by the odd light and the cooler weather.

            The tree I had sliced into was freaking me out, despite the whisperings of my rational mind, so I turned around to get away from it. To my horror every white trunk in the vicinity was staring at me. Some trunks had a couple of eyes and others had ten or more, and they were all riveted on me! I wanted so badly to chop each and every eye out of the trees. I wanted to cover up what I had done to one of the trees that had, minutes earlier, shared my inner peace.

            The persistent howl behind me crawled up my spine and I could feel my strength waning as my legs began to tremble ever so slightly. I felt like the trees were bearing down on me like a pack of starving wolves. Other trees soon took up the maddening, never-ending howl and the cacophony of noise swirled about me. I knew I couldn’t face the sheer numbers that the aspen grove possessed and so I mustered all my strength and ran back through the maze of deathly white trunks and black, all-seeing eyes until I reached a clearing where the unearthly howl was drowned out by the wind. I had no idea where I was, but at least I could gather my breath and my senses.

            Moral of this part of the story: Don’t carve into trees. They’re watching you.

            TO BE CONTINUED…