§tot}> of a £0ou$anb^eatr (pine 



It is almost a marvel that trees should live to be- 

 come the oldest of living things. Fastened in one 

 place, their struggle is incessant and severe. From 

 the moment a baby tree is born — from the instant 

 it casts its tiny shadow upon the ground — until 

 death, it is in danger from insects and animals. 

 It cannot move to avoid danger. It cannot run 

 away to escape enemies. Fixed in one spot, al- 

 most helpless, it must endure flood and drought, 

 fire and storm, insects and earthquakes, or die. 



Trees, like people, struggle for existence, and 

 an aged tree, like an aged person, has not only 

 a striking appearance, but an interesting bio- 

 graphy. I have read the autobiographies of many 

 century-old trees, and have found their life-sto- 

 ries strange and impressive. The yearly growth, 

 or annual ring of wood with which trees envelop 

 themselves, is embossed with so many of their 

 experiences that this annual ring of growth lit- 

 erally forms an autobiographic diary of the tree's 

 life. 



I wanted to read Old Pine's autobiography. 

 A veteran pine that had stood on the southern 

 Rockies and struggled and triumphed through 



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