I stand in horror as I’m instructed to murder my plum trees. This winter, I must chop them both down to the very base of their trunk. I’m incredulous. I’m stupefied. Four years worth of work, slaughtered.
The Gentle Arborist tells me there’s another word for this extreme pruning. “It’s not murder,” he says. “It’s forced regeneration. The technical term is coppicing.”
The Black Knot was too much. And my pruning was all wrong. Now, I’m in a new world with a new vocabulary. Forced regeneration. Coppicing.
The good news:
The Gentle Arborist pruned my healthy peach tree and then told me my plum trees would immediately sprout new, strong, branches next spring. I might even have fruit. He would help me find the dominant branches and subordinate the others that inhibit growth. He would treat for the Black Knot. He would save everything. He would return every season.
I think of our spiritual lives and this concept of forced regeneration. I think of God cutting things back in our lives in order to save something that was infected and growing all wrong.
I notice how the Gentle Arborist does even more than I asked. He cannot help but diagnose everything and apply a remedy. Dead branches here in the oak. An overcrowded Ginkgo. A cypress tree needing thinning out.
I love thinking of God as the Gentle Arborist who fixes everything. Even if it hurts.