At the annual meeting of trees at the White House Conference, the usual argument about the beauty of leaves and their importance broke out again.

Someone commented that Oak leaves were dull, brown and colorless. The Oak Tree, patriarch of the trees, responded when you have served nature as long as I have and have acquired my stature, leaves are unimportant. Look at my long life, my knarled branches reflecting the cares of the world and my toughness in rain, snow and wind. I have proved myself. When I was younger, like some of you, I showed a little color, but now I’m tired and old: brown is good enough. When you become as old as I am, if you ever do, you too may abandon color for brown. It takes a lot of energy to be colorful.

The Elm tree could hardly wait to respond. You may be the patriarch, but I'm the matriarch of the forest. Almost as old, just as big and tall, yet I consider myself young and beautiful. Look at my branches: they form a graceful umbrella in the summertime providing shade and cool to our friendly birds and animals. People appreciate us too because streets, movies, etc. use our name. When Gen. Washington assumed command of the Revolutionary Army, it was under the “Washington Elm” in Cambridge.

In the winter my shapely legs, I mean branches, form an urn like a pitcher reaching up in the cloudy Winter sky. Mr. Oak, you look like an old man, but I am the graceful, sophisticated matron of the forest. Also, although my leaves are somewhat subdued as befitting a person of my age, they are an attractive pale yellow and with their plum shape exhibit a sense of beauty and form. Not those moth eaten-looking leaves you litter our forest floor. Also my leaves have a serrated edge to remind everyone we are still sharp although dormant for the winter.

The Maple trees entered into the discussion. We may not be as tall, or old, or proud as Mr. Oak and Mrs. Elm, but who can surpass the grandeur and vividness of our fall leaves. From the top of our ball like shape to the lowest branches, our leaves display a bright, shiny yellow or almost scarlet red for all to admire. In the brilliant sunshine the dazzling yellows and reds stop traffic as people awe and admire. People travel hundreds of miles just to observe our fallen leaves. Can any other tree make that claim?

Color is not the only part of the Maple tree's gift to the World. Our heavily lobed leaves with their sharp points are the national symbol of Canada and on its flag everywhere. Also, who hasn't enjoyed pancakes with Maple syrup! For beauty, variety and usefulness we think all will select the Maple each time.

Mr. Oak was accustomed to such abuse and responded by saying all leaves after a few days on the ground turn brown. They may start out yellow, red, rust, gold, orange but they all end up brown in the end. So why bother? Just start with brown. I’m so old, I like to do things the easy way.

The hickory tree and walnut tree started to enter the fray, but hesitated because although they provide an attractive leaf, they would be criticized because the hickory tree looks so unkept with its shaggy bark trunk and the walnut would be subject to comments about the large green balls containing its fruit dropping all over the forest floor. Someone wanting to eat the inside kernels must first cut through the green cover and then crack the hard shell. All this for a few, tasty kernels. In answer to this criticism, Mr. Walnut says, “Isn’t it worth it!!”

The Willow tree had been waiting his turn to speak. He mentioned his distinctive branches with their graceful ends almost touching the ground. He also talked about the misty water cascading appearance of the whole tree. But someone had the audacity to mention the willow leaves. Their thin, elongated size provides inadequate shade they messy, have no distinctive characteristics and so small. Are they really called leaves? Maybe that is the reason the tree is called “weeping willows”!

Now one of the smallest trees, the Gingko tree, speaks up. I am so special but you do not recognize my unique attributes. I keep my green leaves far longer than the rest of you. I want to continue to grasp the last the fading rays of Summer as long as I can and thus help all mankind by continuing the photosynthesis while the rest of you are bedded down for the winter. My leaf is so distinctive. Not lobed like an oak or maple, or sawtoothed like an elm or ash, or thin like a willow, my special design is fan shaped that tells all I am a gingko tree. Even in the Fall-Winter when I finally decide to drop my pretty, subdued yellow leaves there is a narrow band of green at the edge of the fan.

Some of you may not know me well because I don’t frequent the deep forest, because I am a tree. I line parkways and front yards where people can admire and praise me. Even my name is distinctive.

One of the other trees spoke up. I don’t know why we even let you in the tree world because you are so different. Your really don’t belong. You are a Gymnosperm and we are Dicots. I don’t mean to sound racist, but please keep your place. Front yards and parkways are all right, but no further. Don’t expect us to welcome you into the hardwood forest. Go with your brothers and sisters, the Conifers, in their section of the forest. Of course, you are so different from them, maybe they don’t want you either. People would call you a “halfbreed”.

On that sour and discouraging note, the trees decided to settle down for their long winter sleep. Each proud of who they are and what they represent.

Владимир Александрович Калмыков

Елена Сергеевна Лукашенко