Down a dirt road persimmons grow on a tree that stretches above the bramble and thorn that fill the ditch. I've walked down this road many times and never seen the persimmons grow in this quantity. If I were to make persimmon wine I'd have to say this was a good year. It's interesting how something so full of fruit found a way to rise above all those briars.
As a child I often wondered why different trees grew where they did. Those great Ponderosa Pines up in the mountains, the Redwoods along the West coast, the numerous oaks here in the Cross Timbers. Why do so many trees seem to like to grow on fence rows here? Of course the last question I got an answer to at a young age, watching birds sitting on fences dropping seeds.
In watching the trees throughout the year and learning a little about what makes them grow where they do I began to think about people a little. Surely like those trees, we are dependent on different resources and their allocations. Yet for some reason we still treat one another on large scales as if we are expected to be the same. In some ways we are the same, like trees are trees we humans are, well, humans. But we come in many shapes and sizes, and are affected just the same by our environment as by the resources we are able to gather. Fortunately, unlike the trees, we are able to gather on a much more mobile scale.
If only we could see each other the way most see trees. I am often troubled by what are seen as problems rather than differences and the desire to fashion people into the enemy rather than sitting down and explaining to one another why these differences exist in the first place. I guess it is always easier to destroy one another than it is find a way to get along. (Yes, this paragraph of my post is leaning toward my being fed up with mudslinging politicians and their ridiculous television commercials that are playing in the background. How can we expect others to respect our representatives when they don't appear to respect each other? Note to self: don't vote for those willing to mudsling and turn the television off while writing, especially during early voting week!)
I read once that trees wage war on each other, kind of like those politicians on the television that I just turned off. They do it through chemical messages in a kind of language I would like to read more about someday; someday when I, too, am able to rise higher above the bramble and thorn.