The Sacred Tree in Front of My House

At my home in Chestertown. Along the road, a towering silver maple has sprouted soft, fresh spring foliage; every time the wind blows, its leaves rustle against one another, weaving a pattern of light and shadow through the window. Thanks to this large silver maple tree, the sunlight feels gentle.

With its branches spreading wide in all directions, as if reaching out with both arms to embrace the sunlight, this massive tree is actually a problem tree. It’s in a territorial dispute with the power lines running along this street. Since the town manages the tree, its branches have been pruned unnaturally to avoid the wires. As a result, the branches keep stretching sideways, reaching toward my house. And as this big tree seeks nutrients from the soil, its roots are pushing deeper and deeper into the ground. In search of water, they’ve even broken through the drainage pipes of my house.

The drainage pipes in my house are being destroyed by this monstrous tree. Since they’re terracotta pipes installed over 100 years ago, cracks have formed, and roots have worked their way into those cracks, taking root and growing right inside the pipes. There is no way to prevent it unless I replace pipes.

On a sunny day this May, work began to replace the drain pipes. The excavator dug a trench about as deep as a person’s height alongside the water main, bumping into the roots of the silver maple as it went. That massive tree, as if claiming this land as its own, had spread its thick roots like a giant serpent, sprawling all over my yard. Although digging up the ground removed about 30 percent of the roots, the monster didn’t budge an inch. In Japan, there is a long-standing belief known as “Yaoyorozu no Kami” (the eight million gods), which holds that gods dwell in all things in nature. It has been believed that spirits and deities reside not only in mountains and rivers but also in a single tree. Perhaps this is true of this monster tree?

Now, more than two months into summer, the heat is intense. The Tree has stretched out its branches even further, spreading them in all directions. It shields my home from the strong sunlight, and as its lush green leaves sway, it seems to be smiling at me coolly. Occasionally, sudden storms rage in the evening. The shade beneath this tree serves as a shelter from the rain. And its branches, intertwined with the power lines, continue to grow vigorously and vibrantly today as well.

It’s been six years since I moved to this town, and I often find myself thinking, “I came here expecting a beautiful, quiet place rich in nature, but I feel as if I’m trapped in a never-ending battle against the natural environment.” Sometimes I win, and sometimes I lose. I’m not trying to completely dominate nature. I’m just doing my best to protect my home. 

I’ve started asking this silver maple tree, “We’re not enemies, are we?” And The tree replies, “I don’t need to take orders from you, a newcomer. Now, as the seasons come and go each year, have you noticed any changes? In many ways, things are different from before, aren’t they? This winter was very, very cold, so the insects have disappeared. Did the crape myrtle’s pink flowers bloom? There should be fireflies this year, right? I don’t think they came last year. Are you saying the pine tree is crying? That’s sap—it’s just seeping out because woodpeckers are drilling holes in it. Have the moles stopped coming out? You must have blocked their tunnels.” The tree is just standing here. 

This spring, I came across the picture book “The Tree of the Night.”

This book depicts the art of the Gond people, the myths and fables passed down through generations within the tribe, and the flora and fauna that inhabit the forest. Each page, hand-printed on handmade Indian paper, features trees inhabited by spirits and animals. I am deeply moved not only by the perspectives and scenes portrayed, but also by the exceptional craftsmanship. Art expressed with such profound purity, as seen in the works of the Gond people, resonate deeply within people’s hearts, as if they were actually witnessing the spirit-inhabited trees with their own eyes. Perhaps my own current thoughts, formed through repeated dialogue with trees, are making me feel this sensation even more strongly.

This sacred tree—a silver maple—has led the town of Chestertown to recognize the danger it poses to power lines, and they have decided to allocate funds for pruning or removal.

I’ve started asking this silver maple tree, “If you were to disappear, the scenery would change, wouldn’t it? What kind of sunlight would shine through? What kind of wind would blow? If you were gone I wouldn’t have to sweep up the leaves you dropped anymore. But I want to remember the scenery with you in it. And I would feel sad if you were gone.”

Thank you for reading my July 2026 newsletter.

Have a wonderful summer.

-Yuh Okano