The March of Time

Alex and I have been enjoying the wonderful weather over the last few weeks.  This has meant pleasant walks in the evenings, weekend adventures, and a variety of experiences that seem tied together by a common, wondrous theme.

One such example are the trees.  At this point, all the trees are completely leaved out and it has been truly wonderful to reflect on the time these trees have seen.  In our community park along the main road, three giant Siberian elms rise up, a reminder of a time during the 1930's when tree varieties were chosen largely for their drought resistance.  Events transpiring four score years prior still mark the landscape.  About 40 yards away, some lacebark elm trees planted after Dutch elm disease took out a large number of American elm trees rise.  It will be interesting to see what changes will take place in the community park with time, whether the ash bores will take out some of the ones in the park, how long the sole remaining American elm will last, what will be planted in the years to come.

We went back to the university we both attended this weekend and marking the passage of time by the trees gave us an outlook on campus far greater than when we attended there.  Outside of Alex's dormitory, we could see the growth of trees planted while we were still students there, and we thought of how the landscape would change during the course of our lifetime.

The Arbor Day Foundation put out some informational signs in front of some the trees, giving such information as when they were planted, appraised value, maintenance costs, monetary benefit, and pounds of carbon sequestered per year.  The information they gave was so illuminating.

There's a beautiful American elm over by what used to be the dairy barns which was planted in the 30's.  Alex reflected that her grandpa would have walked past that elm tree on the way to work at the dairy barns when it was in it's teen years.   The oldest tree on campus is a honeylocust planted in 1850 by a farmer on his homestead, land that would eventually become a public university.  The tree with highest appraised value was a bur oak valued at $108,000.  Some of the larger oaks could sequester 1,400 pounds of carbon every year, about the same amount generated driving from Kansas to New York.

We walked among buildings that seem eternal, limestone structures built as firm institutions of higher learning.  But among those building were renovations and structures built even since we left college.  My stomping grounds, the engineering complex, has received almost a complete overhaul. For all the dynamics of a living system, it is the trees that remain a type of constant that age gracefully-- never going out of style like some of the campus buildings built in 1970s and 80s (aka Bluemont Hall).

Besides trees, thinking about wine has had us contemplating the passage of time.  We watched a documentary last night about wine production, discussing new and old wine, and the history it tells.  Someone interested in such things might be able to tell you about certain vintages of wine, about how the weather and growing conditions get reflected in the flavor of the wine.  Some of the best wines are aged beyond 50 years, locked away in cellars held at constant temperature and humidity, kept away from sunlight.  This is not to lock the wine away from changing, however.  Inside that bottle, yeasts are continuing to metabolize the chemicals present.  Fungus growth is encouraged in the finest cellars so alcohol vapors from the wine can be contained.  In European wine, you have the history of vineyards cared for and cultivated since the Romans conquered the continent; of families working through generations to build a body of knowledge in this area, you have the history of wars wreaking havoc through the areas.  In America, the history is much smaller, but you still have a sense of this tradition being started over, you can see the effects of Prohibition.  We are not wine drinkers, but it was fascinating to think of history seen through the story of wine.

These were our pictures from the 1980s.

You can see the change over a lifetime in pictures.  We went to a volunteer appreciation dinner at our church the other day, where people were asked to share pictures from the 80's.  It was interesting to see the change 30 years bring, and yet how people might yet be identified by some je ne sais quoi.  It is interesting to think of a human lifespan, how things more or less seem to be as they always were, yet over a lifetime those tiny changes add up to a world so different.  A life so fleeting, and yet one life capable of such far reaching consequences.  Trees and wine are just a two examples, but think about it; I was yesterday effected by a tree planted by a homesteader 166 years ago in a way more profound than I will ever be effected by some of the great kings of Europe.  Grandfathers stored wines in cellars so their grandchildren could open it and taste what they strove to produce.

We live in a fast-paced, instant gratification society today.  With the act or planting a tree or making a bottle of wine, the "fruit of the labor" will not be enjoyed for a few decades and many times not by the person who originally put forth the effort.  However it is an investment for the future, paying it forward in a sense, so that in half a century someone can sit under the branches of a large shade tree and appreciate the beauty of such a majestic tree.

It makes me think of 1 Peter, where it talks about the prophets of old heralding a king they would never see for generations they would never know.  It is amazing to think that because our God, unlike people, unlike trees, and unlike wine, is unchanging, actions done in His service will live forever.  It is because of this truth that we with confidence may say Omnia Vincit Amor.