One day, in the magazine Le Sauvage, I discovered Jean Giono’s
story about the man who planted trees. The story is not only about trees; it
is about understanding our role in life and in nature, our relationship to other
people. I was profoundly moved by the text, which expresses so delicately what
many people seek to discover through the teachings of others and through their
own experiments. But disappointing results, impatient eagerness—for the goal,
for power and wealth—too often cause us to lose sight of what is really necessary
to make our lives beautiful and productive. This tale by Jean Giono is like
the evening star that helps us find our bearings, to see what is important.
The meaning of the story can be found in the words: “Everyone searches desperately
for happiness, but the price we must pay for it is generosity.” When we are
born, we are born among a kind of beauty and richness. Every leaf of a tree
is a work of art. A miracle … the path is difficult. The search for beauty is
without end, but it is life-giving.
—Frédéric Back, The Man Who Planted Trees
(Heron Dance, Issue 1)
The Man Who Planted Trees is a
story of two men—one younger, one older—who encounter each other in the mountains.
The older man, Elzéard Bouffier, is a shepherd and tree planter; the younger
man is in search of adventure or perhaps on a personal quest. Over several decades,
as a result of occasional contact between the two, the Shepherd shapes the hiker’s
perception of what is important in life.
Jean Giono worked on the story for
twenty-three years, and in the end it was only seven pages long. Although inspired
by Giono’s experiences in the mountains with real shepherds, many of whom were
tree planters, there was no actual Elzéard Bouffier. The first publisher Giono
submitted the story to turned it down—the publisher was expecting a story about
real as opposed to fictional characters. Giono then waived the copyright and
donated the story to the public domain. It has turned out to be perhaps Giono’s
most widely read work, and the tale—in both book and film form—has inspired
tree planting and other conservation efforts all over the world.
While on one
level the story is about tree planting, it is also about any work of love. It
explores themes of generosity, of living in close connection with the beauty
and mystery of the natural world and of persisting with a dream through adversity.
It has live-changing power in part because it is about live-giving work.
Giono’s
Shepherd lives alone in the mountains. His only significant resources are his
inner strength and vision. Over a period of fifty years he plants hundreds of
thousands of trees. Wars rage nearby; he keeps planting. Dry brooks begin to
run with water again. The woods fill with birds. The Shepherd stays with his
work of beauty without recognition or compensation. In the giving, and in seeing
the trees grow, he experiences joy.
The gentleness of the Shepherd also adds
to the power of the story. Other than through the results of his work, the Shepherd
does not advocate or suggest to others how they should live. When asked why
he plants trees, he lets us off the hook by saying simply that he has nothing
better to do and that the mountains are in need of trees. He knows what is important
to him, and he goes about it with as much faith, energy and goodwill as he can
muster. The Shepherd’s kind heart helps us accept his message; it is a beacon
of light in an often sad world.
Thirteen years ago, when I was first planning the publication Heron
Dance, a friend showed me the film The Man Who
Planted Trees. I wasn’t familiar with the work of the filmmaker and animator
Frédéric Back, but because the film so profoundly inspired me, I contacted him
and asked for an interview. He agreed, and the profile of Frédéric Back became
the first story of the first issue of Heron Dance.
Gradually, I learned about the background of Frédéric, how his films have won
awards all over the world, how his work has influenced the field of animation
and what high regard Frédéric is held in by fellow animators. On a personal
level, he is in many ways similar to the Shepherd. He’s a gentle, humble man
who has devoted most of the last forty years of his life to his message: the
natural world is beautiful and mysterious, we’ve got to live in harmony with
it. In retrospect, his interview was the perfect way to launch Heron
Dance.
By publishing the Heron
Dance Press edition of The Man Who Planted Trees,
I am offering tribute to the effect Jean Giono, Frédéric Back, and their creative
works have had on my life and Heron Dance. The
Man Who Planted Trees can be our evening star guiding us and shining
light on what is important.
-Roderick MacIver
Issue 1
11
After dinner, the Shepherd left the room and returned with a small sack. He dumped the contents—about two hundred acorns—out on the table. He scrutinized each one carefully and sorted them into two piles. I offered to help him, but he told me he enjoyed doing it and considered it to be his work. When he finished, as I sat smoking my pipe, he went through the pile of larger acorns even more carefully. He discarded all with cracks. Through this process he eventually ended up with ten piles of ten acorns each. He placed these carefully selected piles of acorns into a bucket of water, then showed me to a corner where I unrolled my blanket and made my bed for the night.
16
As we reached the top of the ridge, the Shepherd began poking his staff into the ground, making small holes about two inches deep. Into each he placed one of his carefully selected acorns. He was planting trees. I asked if this was his land. It was not—he did not know who owned it. Perhaps it was common land, or owned by the parish. It did not matter to him. With the same care with which he seemed to do everything, he planted the one hundred acorns.
26
On the way down I walked through a village along the banks of a stream that had been dry for as long as even the oldest inhabitants of these mountains could remember. It was now flowing again. The village had been built on the remnants of an old Roman settlement, and among the ruins, archaeologists had found fish hooks. In more recent times, before the stream had begun to flow again, residents had relied on cisterns, which provided only a bare minimum of water.
Along the brooks, willows now grew—their seeds evidently carried there on the winds. There were meadows, gardens and flowers. The changes had happened gradually, and while people barely noticed, a sense of joy now infused their lives. They had a reason to live.
41
In all, over
ten thousand people owed their happiness to the Shepherd. That one man, a man
with not much more than his health and generosity, had turned barren hillsides
into the land of Canaan. With dogged persistence he had done his work, a work
worthy of God. When he died, at the age of eighty-nine, I celebrated the Shepherd’s
well-lived life. His example had inspired my own life, and in fact had changed
it in profound ways. He showed me by example the great goodness of which humans
are capable.
Human character is revealed in how we live our lives. It
is revealed by what we devote our lives to and how much love we put into what
we do. The Shepherd was a man motivated by generosity of spirit, by work of
beauty, work that expressed gratitude for the gift of life.
