Save the Trees

The large seeds, nearly the size of golf balls had dropped from to the ground after a heat wave. This was followed by a few good days of heavy rain. All around on the ground many of these seeds had managed to take root and new trees were growing up among dozens of other lifeless seeds. "How is it," I wondered again, "that some take root and others don’t?"

The hired gardeners for this neighborhood come every few weeks with their weed whackers. They comb the earth and hack at anything that is more than an inch from the ground.

Grass.

Weeds.

Seedling trees.

It was only a matter of time before these young plants would get destroyed.

Walking my dog Jack I decided one day this week to rescue a few of these seedlings. So I took along a plastic bag and a trowel for our walk. I looked around for the strongest most mature seedlings.

It turned out to have been a bad day to have forgotten insect repellant. Hungry mosquitoes were a nuisance, and hundreds of ants crawled up my feet and into my pant legs. They were all making me their breakfast. I gave up my rescue operation after about 15 minutes with only seven seedlings and just as many squashed and bloody mosquito bites. These plants, no taller than my hand, and their bulbs with at least a three inch  taproot, had been rescued. They had been rooted out and carried with me back to the safety of my rooftop garden.

I put each of them in some water and then later placed them in some well composted soil. I am eager to see if they survive. It’s strangely thrilling to imagine where they might eventually thrive.

This morning I was better prepared for my mission. I was covered with insect repellant and got an earlier start to avoid the heat.

A short walk from my house, where the seedlings has been most plentiful, I soon discovered the tragedy.

The gardeners had been there only a few hours before me. Perhaps it was yesterday as the cuttings were fresh. They had come sometime since yesterday morning anyway. All of those dozens of small seedling trees I had seen earlier this week were gone. Hacked down with the tall grass.

Disheartened, I decided to make a search for broken stems. I looked among the grass and cuttings for bits of the young leaves that were lying on the ground. This way I might find the bulbs with their strong taproots, and still save some.

I searched and found one bulb, then two.

The mosquitoes left me alone today, swarming still, but only hovering near my repellant sprayed skin; never alighting. Scanning. Scanning. Carefully looking for more bulbs to save.

But I was having a difficult time finding any. I sat down on the ground under a large tree, where I saw some young broken leaves. The ants also left me alone today as I ran my hand along the grass cuttings and uneven ground hoping to come across a broken stem or bulb.

I found another two and gave up. Even if I found more, I reasoned, they probably would not survive after the trauma of the week whacker.

I called to the dog, who had been lounging in the grass and panting after chasing a few birds and enjoying the freedom beyond our front gate. He ran quickly to me knowing a treat was in my pocket. I grabbed his leash and picked up my bag of brokenness and my trowel.

No sooner had we started off for home, than I noticed a multitude of seeds lying around a nearby tree. Some were fresh and green, others had blackened skins their bottoms nestling into the earth. None had taken root yet.

It occurred to me that these might be the best to collect. To save.

They hadn’t sprouted yet.

They hadn’t been damaged either.

They were certainly in the wrong place to ever hope to become a mature tree. At some point these seeds which might soon begin to sprout, would eventually become the victim of next month’s weed whacker. In a matter of time any of these seeds which might manage to sprout, will get cut down like the older seedling siblings I had been routing around for earlier.

As I picked up more than two dozen seeds, it was all somehow symbolic to me.

This way it was easy. No digging, no roots to be broken. No chance of transplanting shock.

The seeds could come back with me and find a safer place to be nurtured and sprout.

As I walked back I thought of the children of the world in places where they are targets of human trafficking. I thought of all the passion that people of this generation have for, and their mission of rescuing young people who are in horrible places and forced to do horrible things.

I thought about the long term lack of success these rescue operations experience. The trauma and psychological damage done to the human seedlings who had begun to sprout in those dangerous places is devastating. The chance of lasting change from a permanent transplant to a safer life is very slim.

It’s not just a matter of going out and taking these kids away from their place of slavery. So many of them, after a rescue, and nurture, and counseling, and skills training, end up going back to the place of bondage instead of making a healthy life in a safer less dangerous place.

In Thailand. In China. In Ukraine. In Moldova. In the Philippines. In Romania. In Nepal…everywhere this is happening.

And I thought of those who are called to work with younger children. Those who are giving education, or housing to the orphans who might have eventually been victims of trafficking? These kids are like the multiple seeds on the ground. They have not taken root in the awful life of slavery. They have had the trauma of falling from the parent tree, but have not yet experienced the hacking off of their youthfulness. They are easier to rescue. There are no roots to dig out. Their tender broken stems won’t get crushed even more in my bag in the process of trying to take them back to safety.

It’s certainly not as interesting to pick a bunch of seeds up off the ground as it is to dig out the seedlings. There’s no drama. It’s a bit more boring, and will take more mundane nurture to see them sprout.

But I’ll bet in the end, years from today, there will be more healthy trees because I rescued the young ones before they’d sprouted, taken root, or gotten wacked.

I’m certainly not saying that rescuing trafficked slaves is a useless enterprise. My insight from the seeds today is that we should ramp up our efforts in pre-empting the slavery.

We’ll have more flourishing forests of strong adults if we give even more attention to  gathering up the lost seeds and nurturing them before they are broken.

Time will tell if I am wrong about this.