I love trees, but I wouldn’t normally run up to one and fling my arms around its girth. Neither do I boycott whatever threatens trees like some activists do. Although I am sad to see any tree, ancient or young, felled.

Trees stand with dignity. Full-grown, the beech is a stunning sight. Tall, with its round head, it sways like a jewelled crown of green and yellow in the early summer sunshine. And the English oak is majestic. Unassuming in its vastness, it stands elegant and sturdy. Deeply rooted, it endures almost all that the world throws at it. The oak lives life to the full and, spreading its branches wide, grows old gracefully. Its roots erupt through the earth, twisting and writhing like ancient snakes. Ridged and rough to the touch, the bark reminds me of the leathered face of an old Mongolian herder.

There are few fully deciduous trees in Mongolia. There are birch and poplars, but mostly it’s conifers and evergreens. They line some of the hills across this country. Slender and upright, row upon row, like towering sentries guarding their patch. We weave paths between them, treading carpets of faded needles as tender new ones adorn the pines. Sharp, citrusy scent fills our nostrils, reminding us of Christmases celebrated with family and friends. The ground is warm and heavy with loam, and all around are the sounds of new life. The simple call of the cuckoo, recently arrived after his epic journey from Africa, echoes through the forest. Woodpeckers, owls and larks, Asian Red squirrels and choughs all make their home in these trees.

Increased deforestation, the growth of urbanisation and subsequent pollution, have sadly depleted tree numbers here. Consequently, ten years ago, the Mongolian government introduced twice-yearly national tree planting days in May and October. Initially people responded slowly and many newly planted trees died. However, in recent years, people have begun to understand that trees are not only beautiful, but that they also benefit the environment. Trees give out oxygen, store carbon, stabilise the soil and prevent further erosion.

But beyond their beauty and environmental benefits, trees also speak simple, yet profound, spiritual truth into my life. Whether they be giants or tender young saplings, beaten by rain and wind or baked in the sun, they do not easily topple. Pushing their heads towards the light while their roots wriggle further and deeper into the soil, they constantly seek water and nutrients to keep on growing. In due season each bears fruit according its kind: apples, acorns and pine nuts, all of which provide food for others. Yes, trees are a reminder. As they become rooted, they remind me of my daily need to keep on growing in God. And their seemingly long lives jog my memory: there is more than this present moment; there is an eternity to be lived with God.

© copyright Gillian Newham 2020