I don’t know of a tree that I don’t like. I especially love old trees. I don’t see an old tree without being glad for who ever planted it, be it man or God. I love the flowering varieties, from the elegant magnolia to the mimosas on the ditchbanks. When in bloom, they fill the air up with sweetness so unselfishly. The fruit trees -well, they do it all and I love them for it.. .There is also a tree that whispers.
The long leaf pine is scattered around the rabbit patch. They of course, are evergreens. I always cut branches of pine at Christmas and decorate the old house with them. They are a simple sight to behold in vases and wreaths with some holly and a bow-but I like the pine. It smells like Christmas, even in July. When the wind blows through a pine, it does not rustle, but whispers in a hushed way. No other tree can sing like a long-leaf pine. The pine sings a lullaby.
Not everyone is a fan of the pine tree. They are likely to topple over in severe weather and they drop cones steadily-but the song of the pine “covers a multitude of sins” for me. I heard the whisper when I was a very young child. That was a long time ago and the world was a lot quieter then.
In those days, we could hear a car coming a mile away. The men could listen and say who it was. Daddy knew when they needed to change the spark plugs. If it was a stranger, the men would say “somebody in a Ford is coming.” There was an old church not too far away and I remember my sister and I sitting outside listening to them sing. I don’t know what kind of Church it was, but when you hear hymns coming across a field it’s so beautiful you will never forget it. I always woke up to tractors in distant fields as a child and to this day, I love to hear that far away rumble. It reminds me of home. We knew the songs of the birds when we were so little and I doubt that is considered important now, but it was then. It was just as important as nursery rhymes and Bible verses and I am glad , because when I remember a nursery rhyme, I remember the voice that taught me.
I suppose my cousins and I made the the only racket on those peaceful farms. We played hard after supper, while the adults shelled beans or peas. We played til we were really tired and always ended up sitting on the ground and talking til it got dark. We would share the secrets we learned about from the adults when they were unaware. We would call truce on any disputes that had arisen. No one was allowed to stay mad because it made it hard on the rest of us. The night breeze would stir the pines up and we would listen to the whispering . You can see the stars shine through pine needles. We would all get real quiet though we didn’t plan on it. At some point, we would hear clanging buckets and then our names shouted out frantically by several adults who seemed to just be remembering they had children. We ran like our lives depended on it, because in some way-it did.
If you sit by a pine in the daytime, you are liable to see a redbird. Redbirds love the whispering pine. If you sit by a pine in the evening, when a soft breeze blows, you are liable to hear their song and rest assured, it will be a lullaby. No other tree sings like the pine.