TREES THAT KEEP A DIARY 89 



great-great-grandmother, a tree-woman of tre- 

 mendous proportions, fell on me and besides break- 

 ing off two of my choicest branches, drove her 

 sharp pointed hands into my side. They left me 

 a temporary nervous wreck with a great ragged 

 scar which healed over the two bits of wood your 

 axe just uncovered a moment ago. 



"I am afraid the recuperative powers of a tree 

 are not always as great as they might be. Like 

 human beings, the more cultured we become, the 

 more are we subject to ills and consequent slow- 

 ness of recovery. It took 300 years of ring-growth 

 to completely heal this wound and in the mean- 

 time I had to fight off invasions of ants and vari- 

 ous kinds of borers who, entering through the open- 

 ing, many times established colonies in my vitals. 

 Had it not been for the wonderfully healing quali- 

 ties of the turpentine and rosin in my blood, which 

 flowed freely over the wound, and for the chicka- 

 dees and wood-peckers, which aided in clearing out 

 these pestiferous insects, I should not be here to- 

 day. Just notice the little rows of incisions the 

 birds made in my bark. They are my best friends. 

 I love to have them near me. 



"In 1256 lightning or some great storm tore 

 off one of my highest limbs and shortened a shoul- 

 der. A great bear used to sit upon that crooked 



