February, 2016

To Whom It Should Concern (Namely You, Oberlin College President):

            It came across my desk, which, yes, is made of wood, that there is a plan to affix plaques to trees, with the name of the tree on that plaque, naming each of the elders in Tappan Square.  And while I cannot claim to speak for the trees, I can speak on principle, of which this letter is written.

            I first must applaud the sentiment to provide more information to the pedestrians strolling amongst these trees.  And indeed, there are many different varieties of trees in this square, from the sugar maples, currently tapped (I have questions on this act as well), to the oaks who have held their leaves, accidently, through the winter, and the white beeches, stark against the town, until the snow coats all the trees in white, and the scattered conifers.  The number of passerbys who know these trees has most likely dropped since the College was founded, but I must remind you, many of the trees remain from that original forest.  Yet, rather than have the trees themselves literally hold the burden of their names, perhaps, instead, the burden should be ours to remember their names.

            In response to the visceral image of the “long screw” that will be used to hold the nametag to the tree, I will refrain from using words such as the “purposeless torture inflicted upon living beings,” for while the thinkers may find these powerful, I imagine you, Mr. President, will not be moved by that sort of rhetoric.  Instead, allow me to provide some biological words, namely those of “unnecessary disruption of the protective membrane, which was created and maintained by the organism.”

            Many of us, perhaps even you, dear sir, have carved our initials, at times joined by another set and a heart, into the trunk of a tree.  Fewer of us have returned back to this tree years later.  However, luckily, or unluckily, many others have “left their mark,” so to speak, for us to view and run our hands over.  What were once cuts have now become ridges.  This, of course, is biological, not magical.  Scientists and naturalists alike know that trees respond to events in order to survive.  A tree shaken by the wind grows thicker, so that it will not fall.  Likewise, these ridges are the trees’ response to the cuts.  The membrane must be sealed, so the cells of the bark and outer wood surrounding the cut increase growth in order to seal and reinforce the membrane.

            Earlier, I made it clear that I cannot speak for the trees, but that is because the trees do not need me to do so.  I invite you, Mr. President, to visit the weeping beech outside of Hall Auditorium, and listen to what the trunk says about its bark being cut.  Ask the oaks in the Arb.  Ask many of the trees you intend to penetrate.

            And again, I must remind you, I am all for the informative process, but it is not the trees’ burden to hold.  What would we lose from affixing the signs to a small stake or stand near the bottom of a tree?  This, at least to me, seems a preferable course of action, benefitting the pedestrians and the trees.

            I will confess, that if you continue with your original plan, I too will reveal my own plan, which includes removing the signs, and patching the holes you unnecessarily drilled.  And in turn, I will place these signs in a sack, and tie them to the highest limb of the tallest beech tree in Tappan, which, I hope you will be able to identify without the signs.

Sincerely,

Liam H McMillin