I assume we all had to learn Joyce Kilmer’s poem about trees when we were in grade school.

“I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree…”

While driving between New Orleans and Lafayette, Louisiana, along the old River Road, I felt every word of that poem to my bones. Three hundred year old live oaks punctuated the landscape. We had to stop our car and look at Oak Alley, one of the most well-known plantations along the route. It was breathtaking to see the way these incredible “beings” formed an almost tunnel-like entrance to the main house. Their trunks were as thick as houses themselves, and, as their leafy branches arched over the brick road entrance to the manor house, touching maybe seventy-five feet above the ground, narrow rays of light pierced through the greenery in spots, making the scene look somehow otherworldly.

And there were hidden treasures, an abundance of great trees, on the back grounds of the many Tara-like homes just across the highway from the levee. Behind St. Joseph, a Creole sugar plantation that was built around 1850, there were two wide oaks set barely a few feet apart from each other. Reminding me of an old married couple, I marveled at how they managed to grow tall and reach out in their own directions while their roots must have braided themselves together deep into the earth.

Last April, I visited a friend near Sedona. I saw Cathedral Rock and Bell Rock, Thunder Mountain and other majestic formations chiseled into the red clay; all of them amazing, But for me, I can’t think of anything that makes me feel as close to God as a tree.

I am somehow comforted by their service and deeply touched by their beauty. I like the fact that they provide homes for birds. They give us shade. They infuse the atmosphere with oxygen. They make everyone breathe easier.

I am even more affected by some of their symbolic functions, or maybe I should say, lessons. Trees teach us how to age gracefully. Many seem to become more beautiful the longer they live. They show us that we CAN adapt to our environment, regardless of the challenges. I have seen trees grow on the sides of rocks. They always seek the light. Even on steep grades, on the sides of mountains, they insist on growing straight up. Like the pair of ancient oaks I saw behind the main house at St. Josephs, I think, by their nature, trees find a way to make the most from what is given to them – sunlight and water. I like to think they express their gratitude simply by living and growing.

Standing next to a three hundred year old oak is no small thing.