I Killed It

I killed a tree today, a fruit tree. Most of us have killed some--- there was the one that I watered too much, and the one I didn't water enough, and the one that I never figured out which. Ha, ha.

But this was a real killing. A healthy tree that I've eaten plenty of fruit from, that did what it was supposed to do. An act considered, fully evaluated, planned, and efficiently carried out.

There's only so much space, and so much sunlight, and I need that prime irrigated spot for something I really, really want to grow there. In this situation, I often transplant the current resident to another location, and generally that's worked out well. But for various reasons it wasn't worth it this time.

People run the gamut when it comes to killing plants. I've heard of some who have difficulty just thinning vegetable starts, and certainly there are plenty who simply don't see plants as an emotional matter--- if there's a better alternative, it's simple logic to take it.

As a vegetarian, I'm occasionally asked whether I think plants can feel pain. I am certain they do not. Animals, being mobile, need pain to make good decisions of where to go--- it tells you which things are harmful, so you can choose to avoid them. Plants, though exquisitely reactive to their environments, make no such decisions. Since the structure needed to experience suffering requires an investment of matter and energy, a pain-feeling plant will be outcompeted by one that puts those resources to better use. Whether you subscribe to Darwin's concepts or not, you know that useless structure is not to be found.

So pain's not an issue. Every day I rip out unwanted plants and recycle their nutrients as compost, never giving the matter a second thought. But a fruit tree that I put there myself, and has done what I asked from it, that feels different. We are connected.

The time has arrived. Loppers, saw, pry bar and trenching shovel in the wheelbarrow. I meditate briefly to Ma'am Gaia, accepting responsibility for my original bad decision to plant the tree, and vowing to learn from it. Lop off the branches, chop off some feeder roots, now work on the trunk and main roots. Main roots left in the ground will compost eventually, yet for some reason I don't like to just saw them all off. After extracting dozens of saw palmettos, I'm good with a pry bar, and I use it to work out some of the main roots along with the root ball.

It's done. Twenty minutes of work have erased three years of growth. As I wheel the pieces away to leave them for tomorrow's brush pickup, I marvel at how little they weigh, for something that could capture that much sunlight and turn it into that much fruit. I think back to when I planted it three years ago, and how much has happened since then, and wonder what the next three years might bring.

Every end is a beginning, and the sword must balance the scepter. I'll pull out another tree tomorrow, if the need arises. But I hope it doesn't.