Allegory of the Russian Olive Trees

A couple of years ago I called the Fish and Game office and asked for advice on what to do with the Hermitage property to make it a good habitat for wildlife. A biologist came out to see what we had and recommended we bulldoze all the Russian Olives out and start over with the few willows that would remain. "Russian Olives are horrible trees that do nothing but draw in magpies, which run off everything else."

She did have some good suggestions about ponds for waterfowl nesting and wild grass seed recommendations, but I struggled with her aggressive treatment of the "trash trees" that make the spot what it is.

We are here such a short time, and a tree takes a whole lifetime to grow.

Sustainability must suit the here and now as well as the future. This means that sometimes change must be incremental, and while this may cause more work, it also means we get to be fully present and revel in what we have around us. It means we are surrounded by beauty from unexpected sources.

My olive trees are old, and when the springs rains are especially heavy, sometimes one or two fall. Their branches do scaffold magpie nests, but they also provide cover for dozens of migratory species. Their arthritic, black limbs are rusty with lichen, and their silvery leaves make the other trees' more traditional summer greens pop.

We are planting variety amongst them, junipers and spruces, willows to stave off erosion, but for now the olive trees will stay. They will provide another generation with club houses and fairytale forests. They will shield tanagers in the spring and chickadees in winter. They will create an architecture that will be the backdrop for so many family photos.

There may be finer trees and rich landscape that adhere to good design principles, but there is a part of me that needs places like this, where it appears that God, having finished his lunch, tossed a handful of olive pits over his shoulder, and this is the result.