Mike "Pops" Klumpp

The Man Who Talks to Trees

            The next notebook I opened contained a section labeled “Confession”. I wasn’t sure who to attribute it to but I think it is the journal of a Mr. Nelson. Subsequent to reading the entry, there were comments on separate documents which I think were between Karl and Dr. Quew.

            For a while Dr. Quew was again Dr. Quew. However, in his discussion with Karl I felt I could see an eminent departure back to Dr. Q and eventually Dr. Mendoza. Was madness indeed catching?

Confession

I talk to trees – actually, it started with trees but now I hear from all plant life – seriously!

It started in the mountains of eastern Tennessee – the Cumberland plateau. I had been at a conference in Monteagle, Tennessee at the DuBose Conference Center. I needed a break from the speakers and discussions and went outside. I walked the grounds for a moment and stood next to a rock wall which was covered by the shade of a small tree. I was looking out toward an old home which had been rumored to be a home belonging at one time to Al Capone. I was wondering what it was that would have brought Capone to Monteagle. Perhaps bootleggers?

The bell from a church in the distance chimed. I leaned for a moment against the tree. The chime dissipated into silence. I could hear the gentle breeze in the leaves of the tree making a soft rustling sound, a whisper. Of course, this is personification. But, there was something else. In the peace of the moment, I heard the chatter of various birds yet felt an urging inwardly. Was it a voice? Was I hearing something not sound but still communication? I stood back a step and looked at the tree.

Something was calling. There was a request. It was the tree. The tree wanted me to lay my hands on her skin. A bit timid, I cautiously reached out my hands in compliance. The result of this touch and caress changed my life.

The tree wanted a hug. As I leaned in to hug the tree. I felt the sigh and sense of joy the tree was sharing. It was an osmodious joy. It ran like sap between us. I felt the love of the tree for the acceptance and peace of the moment. I stood back and the tree uttered a “thank you”.

Telepathically perhaps, we engaged in conversation. I asked if all trees talked. The tree said “Yes, we all do. Yet, few humans listen.

I explained that if we talked to trees other humans would think we were insane. “Really! How odd. Humans seem so free. They move about at their own will. Why would they not be free to talk to other lifeforms?”

“I can’t answer that.” Was my reply. “They just can’t.”

“That might explain why they move about but seem so unhappy. Few people that pass here ever stop. All are going, doing, cutting, but often with purpose only.”

“What do you mean when you say purpose only?” I asked

“I provide shade. I break the wind. I emit oxygen. I am a symbiotic living being. But that alone is only work if there is no joy, no sense of creation and the creator.”

The doors to the conference center opened and people began coming out for a break. I thanked the tree for that discussion and said I would consider it deeply. The tree responded “Maybe another tree can explain it better. Celebrate life!” I turned and walked away.