The Splitting Tree

With all the recent giveaways around here lately, it’s beginning to seem a little bit like Christmas in January. (And on that note, you ladies have one more day to enter my Run Barefoot, Run Healthy book contest.) The contest train keeps rolling next week – but in the meantime, I’ve been delinquent in writing about any actual running to go with all my rambling. The good news is that I finally have some semblance of a race calendar sketched out. It’s not super dense, but what it lacks in quantity, it makes up in quality. The bad news is that I’m going to hold off just a bit longer before going into the details.

In the meantime, I want to tell you about a tree. It’s a tree that I run past fairly often in one of my favorite parks, whose appearance is very distinctive for reasons that will become obvious shortly. Whenever I run past the tree, I feel like there’s a story waiting to be told … but I’m not sure what exactly that story might be. Perhaps it might be symbolic of something, or portray some larger meaning that’s applicable to our own lives; perhaps instead of a story, it could more rightly be called a parable.

Since I never know for certain, I tend to make up the parable in my head after I pass by the tree – and the version that follows is a decent representation of what I usually come up with. Let’s call it the Tale of the Splitting Tree.

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In the middle of a sunny valley there stood an oak tree. It was tall, strong, and majestic, and captured the attention of all who wandered past. The tree was so beautiful that it was a source of great pride among everything in nature that contributed to its development.

Two elements of nature, the earth and the sky, each wanted to claim the tree as its own, and often argued as to why they should be the rightful recipient of praise for the majestic oak.

“I protected this tree before it was even born,” said Earth. “I nurtured it in fertile ground, provided rich soil for its growth, and left plenty of space for its roots to anchor themselves. If not for me, this tree wouldn’t be nearly as tall, strong, or majestic as it is today.”

“I sustain this tree every day of its life,” replied Sky. “I give it fresh air to breathe, water to quench its thirst, and sunlight to remain healthy. If not for me, this tree wouldn’t be nearly as tall, strong, or majestic as it is today.”

Earth and Sky happened to be siblings, so one day when their argument turned nasty, they called upon their Mother Nature to determine who was more responsible for the tree’s beauty.

“True beauty isn’t to be possessed,” Mother Nature responded, “It is to be shared. You have each contributed to the majesty of the tree, so you should share your joy and pride with each other, along with all the other elements in nature.”

The siblings were dissatisfied with their mother’s answer, and insisted that she declare one of them more deserving of praise. “Your request is impossible,” said Mother Nature. “You have each played equal roles in the tree’s development, and with this knowledge you should be content.”

But Earth and Sky were far from content, and refused to accept the notion of sharing the tree equally. They continued to bicker and argue, and finally wore down their mother’s patience. Saddened that her children failed to see the error of their ways, Mother Nature lashed out in anger to demonstrate the folly of their greed and possessiveness:

Earth and Sky were shocked and saddened, but finally understood. From that point on, they recognized that beauty can't be possessed, and agreed to share their joy and pride for all of nature’s creations.

As for the tree, it remained beautiful - in some ways, even more so than before.



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