In a vast wilderness, amid mountainous steppes, a bristlecone pine stood on a partially bald ridge. Its roots grasped the rocky soil where few other things could grow, and its branches reached outward as if with benevolent intent.
As the years rolled by, the mighty tree was witness to the ebb and flow of humankind. By the time the first tribes of nomads appeared in the region, the bristlecone was already over a thousand years old. These groups would pitch their tents during the summers as they hunted herds of bison; as the animals moved on, so did the nomads. Sometimes battles raged between tribes. Warriors fought, warriors fell, and new warriors grew up and trained to take their places on the battlefield. One tribe conquered another and replaced it in its migratory route, then was later overthrown.
Some of these nomads took note of the bristlecone and visited it. They left offerings at its base, danced in circles about it, carved a representation of it into their jewelry and weapons. But in time, the nomads disappeared, and no one came to the site for many long years.
Men came riding horses through the area, making notes and drawings. One paused to sketch the tree’s likeness in his book, then galloped off.
Later, other people traveled through the area in groups small and large, often in wagon trains, their destination always elsewhere. That changed when someone discovered a valuable ore in the foothills near the bristlecone’s ridge. Many people arrived and built buildings. A railroad was laid so trains could come and go and carry the ore to where it could be smelted.
All the while, the bristlecone pine towered over all of it. People came and visited the ancient tree, pointing and bending over as they spoke to their children, who stared at its massive, gnarled form. But after a while, the tree became ordinary to them, and very few remained interested enough to visit.
In time, the ore deposit ran out, and the settlement dwindled until no one lived there at all. Meanwhile, the bristlecone pine stood, ever immovable as if determined to live until the very end of the world.
Many years later, a few people found that the area was conducive to the pastimes of hunting, fishing, and hiking. Commercial establishments supporting these activities appeared, and a community grew around them. The remains of the mining town were dismantled. Hikers discovered the bristlecone pine, and the local government created a trail leading near it so people could more easily see it. People made their way up, smiled, posed, took pictures, and moved on. Occasionally, a young person or two carved initials into the bark with a knife or defaced the tree in other ways. Sometimes, months went by without a single visitor.
One summer, a wildfire caused by lightning raged across the ridge, devastating the vegetation; the inhabitants of the town below were forced to evacuate for their own safety. However, the hardy bristlecone stood untouched, surrounded as it was by bare, rocky earth. The rest of the ridge’s slopes were burned black. Eventually, the town’s citizens returned, and later, some greenery returned to the slopes.
Dendrologists became aware of this unique tree and set about studying it. They bored into the trunk and found that by this time, it had lived for well over four thousand years. Astonished and in awe, one of them asked, “What has this tree seen? If it could speak, what history could it tell? What wisdom would it impart?” Another said, “It was here long before any of us, and it will still be here when we’re gone.”
As they studied further, they discovered that this tree had become the source of an ecosystem—various bird species nested in its branches; small mammals lived in holes at its base; deer and other animals ate the pine cones.
When conservationists learned of this bristlecone pine, they lobbied for protection and preservation measures to be taken by the government. Their efforts bore fruit. The government designated the site as historic, part of the heritage of the citizens, which brought publicity to the area.
With the increased attention, the tree would never again be forgotten. Over time, the number of visitors to the ancient bristlecone increased, and they expressed amazement at all that the tree had survived and stood witness to. Many took comfort from its sturdiness, its longevity, and its majesty.
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