A New Leaf

Without spouse or kids or dog to merge me into the ever-changing sea of human faces outside my rented Venice bungalow, I have to build my own connections to the world. I like to travel and be spontaneous, but lately I’ve felt the need for more. I realize that if I want to create something lasting--to have an impact on the world--I might just have to establish some roots.

So imagine my surprise when opening my Los Angeles Department of Water and Power bill several months ago, I discovered an enclosed leaflet offering free trees. DWP even offered local classes in planting, care and feeding. They called this their “Trees for a Green LA” program. Plant a tree and help our city.

I recalled that in December the Nobel Peace Prize had honored environmental protection. Wangari Maathai, founder of Kenya’s Green Belt Movement, mobilized thousands of Africans to plant more than 30 million trees. Tree by tree, she fought organized deforestation, which can lead to environmental instability, economic hardships and, ultimately, political unrest. For her efforts in defying established government practices, she was jailed. “I believe the Nobel committee recognized the links between the environment, democracy and peace,” she wrote after hearing of her award.

Maybe the Trees for a Green LA program was my chance to step up.

Sitting in the dark with roughly 25 other floraphiles at the DWP class in Mar Vista, I watched a slide show that explained how trees can, among other things, reduce electricity use, provide cool shade and--there it was--reduce the effects of global warming. Right in our own front yards!

At that point, I was on board. “I’ll take 10!” I said from the back of the room. The program limits the number of free trees to seven per residence, and that limit is based on available space. We had to diagram our property and explain where each tree would go. The instructor explained that each tree needs at least five feet of space around it in all directions. That meant that if I wanted 10 trees, I’d have to plant at least five of them inside the house.

I resigned myself to one tree, but resolved to make it a solid standard of stability, a bold invocation to a Verdant Age for Venice. The instructor graduated me with a folder of instructions and a book with pictures of the 50 possible trees and their sizes from which I could choose: small (up to 25 feet), medium (25 to 40 feet) and large (40 feet and up).

One step remained in my newfound quest for roots--my landlords’ approval. I shared the tree photo book with the couple, as well as every reason I could think of to persuade them to approve my plan. They said that I could choose one of the two smallest varieties of trees, and warned me about the underground pipes. A visit from a staffer with the city’s Street Tree Division allayed their fears. He issued me a permit to plant my tree on the greenway, the strip of city land between the sidewalk and street. I mailed my completed application to the DWP that day.

Four weeks later, a pleasant woman phoned to say, “Surprise! Your Purple-Leaf Plum tree is arriving between 10 a.m. and 3 p.m. today.” Because I would be at work, she promised that it would be left by the front door. That evening I arrived home to discover a dramatic, maroon-leafed tree lying on the grass, felled by the wind. I picked it up and leaned it against a wall. On the porch I found a couple of stakes and a goody bag containing two giant tree vitamin pills and two wildly futuristic light bulbs--a DWP-style form of thanks.

I figured a hole about 1 1/2 feet wide by 2 feet deep ought to do it, so I called my friend Henry. “How’d you like to help me plant a tree tomorrow?” Seven phone calls later, I realized that not everyone shared my enthusiasm for this golden opportunity to fight global deforestation. Not all my friends wear Birkenstocks.

All right, then. It was my tree. I had a shovel, two aerobicized arms and, perhaps, the kindness of passing strangers. Early the next morning, I started to dig. Getting through the crab grass was the hardest part. It was as if one survivalist species of green refused to cede to an alien, more exotic one. My neighbor Ginger appeared, and generously offered a pick. “This’ll show the crab grass who’s boss,” she said, leaving to attend to other business.

During the two hours it took me to dig a pit large enough to plant my tree, most of the dog walkers hurried by and avoided my gaze. But I was heartened when a few stopped and blurted variations of, “Cool. That’s a tree, isn’t it?” I met one neighbor for the first time who said he just wanted to thank me for helping to beautify the neighborhood. His dog took an immediate liking to my tree, in the special way only dogs can.

The planting instructions clearly showed how the support stakes were to be placed upright on either side of the trunk, before the hole was completely filled. I realized I needed help, and Ginger’s 13-year-old daughter, Kaela, proved to be both resourceful and limber. Despite much grunting (mine) and giggling (hers), she helped me extricate the tree from its pot and proved her superior skills at stake placement.

From across the street, Tamie, another neighbor, said, “Hey, that looks great,” and a couple of surfers heading beachward put down their boards to take a look. When Ginger returned, she was carrying homemade papaya smoothies.

That night, when I looked out my front window, I saw a tree out there, waving gently. A short plum tree, with no plums, but resplendent nonetheless. The majestic sapling’s impact on the local fauna was immediately clear. Two canal ducks stood transfixed before it. I had to admit the Purple-Leaf Plum inspired me too.

Wangari Maathai fought corrupt developers and government officials to plant her trees, and she went to jail for it. Next to her giant forest for mankind, my tree is only a tiny sprout. But with the support of neighbors and the DWP, in my small spot of turf, I learned that it takes just one new tree for the seeds of change to bloom.