There's this tale of a man called Forest Green. This is how the tale is told.
Down near the river Chatooga, a wild and scenic river. There were plans afoot to kill the trees, all the beautiful trees. The roads were being cut to haul away those trees. Ill deeds were suspected which would allow such to happen. The timber rights sold to private interest by the authorities who were charged with the protection of said trees. 'National Forest boundary' some posted signs read, 'Area back of this sign is managed and protected under Public law (16 USC 55.1, 7 USC 110(f) and 36 CFR 261.54 & 261.56)' others read. "Forest Service expense to cut the road is twice the value of the trees' the news reported. Indeed, ill deeds were suspected.
Forest Green thought, "No! Not these trees. They are publicly owned trees." He made his plans, gathered the supplies and equipment, and strolled through the woods at night to pick the one tree he would own. With ropes and hooks and other things he climbed his tree and hauled up his supplies and other things. He made fast his 'eagle's nest'; from there he would protect our 'brood' of trees. Unfortunately for the would be tree killers, Forest Green's tree stood in the new cut road's path.
Morning came, the road builders came too with their chain saws, bull doziers, and other implements of destruction. They walked along the path they had cut, they walked upon the bleeding forest floor. And there at the head of the path, they saw Forest Green's own sign, hanging from high in his tree. "No more clear cutting." it read, or some such words.
They threatened him, cursed im, and begin to cut down his own tree. But a calmer voice among them was heard and heeded. His tree still stood. The authorities were fetched, national forest people, law people, the news people alerted. The new cut road was blocked, supporters turned away. They would let Forest Green sit in his tree, alone and hopefully forgotten.
But that was not to be. A state senator came with his bus load of followers. The authorities allowed him to walk down the road and talk with this man in a tree. "Civil disobedience has it's place, sir." The senator agreed, reflecting upon his own past.
The news people from Atlanta came too to report this news, suspected ill deeds as well as a man in a tree. A minute or so on radio and television, and then they were gone off to some other news. But the real news they all missed.
For five days, yes, Forest Green lived in his tree for five mid-summer days and nights; Forest Green became one with his beloved trees. At night, when the wind was quite, the river sounds made their way through the air to his ears. The woodise creatures made their own rustling sounds to hear, a possum or racoon on the leaf covered floor, a squirrel racing through the limbs. When the wind did move, he swayed with all the other trees. During the day there were the birds to watch, the sky and clouds. And, unfortunately, the sights and sounds of saws and machines cutting there path around his tree. How sad to have to sit and watch a fellow tree be killed and pushed aside. But there were some sings of hope. Over a view only Forest Green knows, his supports stood watch too; they had found other paths to be near.
[But other ill deeds were afoot. Those officers of the law, trustworthy public servants {ha!}, played unmercifully with Forest Green's head. "You are alone. No one cares what you're doing. Your friends have abandoned you. You're just a stupid kid sitting in a tree." Or such the like they told him. It hurt him really bad.]
The forest knows all kinds of weather, not only calm nights. The storms of summer came with hard wind and rain. His tree bent and twisted with all the others. The thunder vibrates through the forest, the lightening strikes wherever it wills. Each tree awaits this natural fatal blow. Forest Green does not yield, he waits fate with his spirit brothers.
The real news, the others missed.
Now this tale is almost over, Forest Green has left his tree after one last full moon night. He has made his presence known, he has made his point. He has placed his fate in other men's hands, the same is true for all forest trees. After days and nights of experiencing the Zen of nature, man has confined Forest Green's free spirit, to await and endure man's judgement of his transgressions.
There is little doubt that the tree killers have cut down Forest Green's tree, just for spite. There is little doubt that in the months following Forest Green's stand, another clear-cut of trees fell. Such is man's judgement, such is the sorrow over the destruction of national forest.
For Forest Green, there remains the dread that the letter of man's law must be held against him. But there is also this.
When God judges all men's transgressions, those who needlessly destroy His creations will have to answer, those who did nothing to stop the destruction will have to answer. Forest Green, he will have neither to answer for.
Yes, I understand more, why he loved the river trees. Grey rocks; water, white, brown, black and clear; cool, humid summer breeze admist the forest green. I've sat again beside his river (much too long I've stayed away), watched him bop, bounce and slip the sluice of falls. Within my mind, and his as well, he still rides the river.
The bends and curves are seductive; the sounds of water on rocks erotic; the rocks form and shape lustful images; the trees and their limbs lean over it, a protective carress for the river spirit.
Others look, they see the rocks, trees and waters, doubtful they see Forest Green or even know the name, a few, maybe all, sense his spirit floating along side them.
It's there in the wind blowing through the river canyons; the rustle of leaves and swaying of trees; the current swirls and eddies; the mists of wild, white waters; the dancing flames of campfires; the moon cast shadows moving through the night; the drifting fogs in first morning light; the roundouts etched in granite; the high water tracings on the rocks; ....
Out of the bush and brush along the river's edge they float into sight among the boulders, drifting with the river spirits, gently swaying to and fro, following the seductive curves. They hear the erotic sounds of water on rocks ahead, hesitantly pausing at the head of the flowing steps, searching with senses the path a few seconds ahead.
They stroke the river with commitment and begin to descend the steps. Chosing and changing the path, with each massage of the waters, as the steps steepen quickly, bolting past boulders, skipping over hidden stones, riding crests of standing waves, shooting the sluices. It's an illusion, that freeze-frame stop action at the ware of the falls, leaning back into the arms of their love, then dropping out of sight, falling with the falls.
Yes, Forest Green did win his battle. The trees still stand along the Chatooga River and on the fought for forest land; though the same can not be said of elsewhere in the National Forest lands.
The law's punishment was mild compared to what it could have been, some fine, which supports paid, and community service. Ironic I suppose, he had already did his community service; others think the same. Then there's that 'pre-law' punishment he endured while sitting in his tree, not mild at all; such is the way of ill deeds, against ancient forests as well as young minds.
Forest Green continued on with post graduate studies, he's a medicial doctor now, still doing community service in human needs. He's recently married too and living elsewhere in the world.