Member-only story
I’m The Tree That Can Take A Sh*t Kickin’
Twisted and practical, this is the tree I would be
I am Gnarly.
In the 1980s jelly shoes softened your step, bangs were meant to reach the very top of the Eiffel Tower, and Gnarly was one expression for being cool. I am Gnarly. But not in that way.
I’m not Gnarly in Miriam Webster’s abhorrent, villainous or obnoxious fashion either — unless you ask my previous boss who referred to me politely as “a Disruptor”. I’m fairly certain very few folks would stick my image next to the terms miserable or crummy. Although my family may attest otherwise if considering the whirlwind, curse-filled few hours before leaving on a trip.
I am Gnarly as in the twisted, knotted Northern White Cedar. As most of you dear readers have deduced, there is very little about me that is as straight and narrow as the world demands. About as smooth as the papery bark of this cedar, I am far from graceful or pretty.
I am useful. Practical. I am the type of wood you want keeping your boat afloat. Strong, sturdy, and thick hardwood. Like a Northern White Cedar, I’m firm, reliable, and “resistant to decay”.
Libby Shively McAvoy penned an article about interactions between trees (you) and animals/insects (the creatures who tend to burrow into your bark or the ones who merely suck away your oxygen). She responded to my comment with the question, “What kind of tree are you?”
I snuggled into a comfie chair and, on the back of an insurance payment envelope, listed my qualities. And then I got intimate with a search engine. What tree has these qualities, Dr. Google?
Turns out I’d be the Northern White Cedar.
“You make it sound as though cedars are rather wild,” you may state, your eyes darting towards the spot where the guy next door fell off the ladder and onto his pole pruner while carving his favorite cedar into a rather phallic bush. “But I see well-shaped cedars lining my neighbor’s yard.”
“Sure,” I agree. “But they can also be rowdy af. Just think about the ones that grow out of the Niagara Escarpment.”
“Pardon?” you politely inquire. “The Niagara what-a-what?”
