‘Ancient One, I send you freshly manufactured sugar from my highest needles. Please accept this gift and in return allow me to address the Council.’
The old Redwood rustled his leaves. He'd anticipated this confrontation ever since the day Albino Pine took root and sprouted her first needles. Purest white they were, devoid of the chlorophyll that fed the forest. Unable to make her own food, she survived only because of the mycelial network which bound them all beneath the soil. The symbiotic fungi communicated with every tree in the commune, organising the distribution of food and medicine to those who needed it, passing on warnings of danger or attack, and regulating the health of the forest for the benefit of all. When they did put heads above the soil it was with the sole purpose of mating, and they had no more interest in snow white needles than in the fiery autumn colours which formed a carpet around their hatted stalks.
For many summers, Albino Pine had been fed by her green sisters and she was as tall and strong as them, but without any sugar to trade she stood mute through the evening discussions while the rest of the commune downloaded their produce. It had not gone unnoticed.
‘The Council of the Arboreal Forest is listening, Green Pine. You may state your case.’
‘Thank you, Ancient One. I speak on behalf of all the Pines, and our Deciduous Cousins. We all agree, it is unfair we do all the work and Albino Pine does none. She’s a mutant, not one of us. She should have been left to starve as a seedling!’
Green Pine stretched towards the star-lit sky and lifted her needles in a gesture of indignation before continuing, ‘This is our land. There’s no place for alien interlopers who steal our resources and contribute nothing themselves. She doesn’t look like us and she doesn’t join in socially. Listen! Can you hear her silence even now? Too dumb to plead for her own salvation. We want her uprooted and left to rot. We vote for a boycott of Albino Pine from this night forward!’
The old Redwood was silent for some time and the whole forest held its breath, unsure how such heart-felt pertinence would be received.
When he responded at last, his voice shook the earth and birds asleep in his branches rose screeching into the air.
‘I am ashamed of you Green Pine. Ashamed of all of you! To harbour such prejudice is not the way of the forest. We are a mutual society; we have common goals, and we strive to achieve them together.
Perhaps you believe there is but one way for a tree to contribute to the commune, but if so then you are ignorant fools.
You claim Albino Pine is silent, and it is true she is unable to speak in the way we speak. But does she not sway in the wind as you sway, dancing to the call of the aurora borealis? Doesn’t she shoulder the same weight of snow that you carry each winter? Does she not provide a home for colonies of insects and flocks of birds?’
The forest remained silent as he drew breath again.
‘The older trees will remember how it used to be, before the world grew warmer. A time when humans created vast gouges across the forest with their whirring machines, killing as many trees in a single season as the toll of a thousand winters. We feared for our homeland, and for the fate of the planet. Until one day they discovered Albino Pine, and they stopped sawing to stand in awe and wonder. A different kind of human came to the forest after that, humans who cared about trees, who wanted to know how a tree without chlorophyll could thrive. They examined our roots and took samples of the soil. They learned how amazing and extensive is the mycelial network which binds us, how it creates thousands of miles of communication lines in every square inch.’
He lowered his voice to a whisper, forcing his captivated audience to listen intently.
‘Today much of the Arboreal Forest is protected. The humans who were once our enemy became our friends. Across continents the network reports how they have changed their farming practices to embrace our natural means of communication, enriching the soil with fungi, and mimicking our natural hormones with molecules synthetized in their laboratories to dissuade pests instead of poisoning the earth with toxic chemicals. All of this because they were curious about Albino Pine. Would you not say therefore, that she has contributed more than most to our wellbeing despite her inability to toil in sunlight?’
The whole commune muttered and rustled their leaves. Green Pine was silent.
It was Red Acer, blushing in her autumn foliage, who spoke next. ‘Ancient One, I think I speak for all of us when I say we are ashamed to have been so ignorant. Albino Pine isn’t a mutant, but a marvel. It will be our privilege to continue to share our resources with her and ensure that she thrives for as long as the forest thrives. ‘
Murmurings of agreement drifted through the air and the old Redwood sighed, his branches creaking from age and satisfaction. ‘Enough talk. Look! The borealis display has begun. Let us celebrate our differences together beneath its curtains of green, and red – and white!
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