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"Stock" Tip of the Millenia
The American Bloodsport
Animal Rights
The Apple Tree and the Oak Tree
Battery Hens
Bereaved Knife
Cattle Country
Companion Animal
Dancing Bears of India
Death By Night
Dogs Go To Heaven
The Earth So Slender
Farmer Boy
Fight We Shall
For The Animals
For the animals.....
The Fox
Fox Sick
Gold Fish at a Frat Party
The Greatest Gift
Harp Seal Eyes
How Can We Do It?
How in 2050
The Hunter's Trophy Bawl
I Saw a Possum Die Last Night
Jamaican Cows
Let's Not Forget
Listen to Chief Seattle
Little Red Riding Hood
Look Around
Mad Human Disease
Me Means Alone
A Memoir of My Mother
My God Says
My Story
The New Martyrs
Of Mice and Old Men
Paint Her Divine
Pig Crates
A Place for the Animals
Puppy Love
Quiet as a Mouse
The Racist
Recipe For Servitude In The Circus
Sabine: Five Years Later
The Silent Ark
Thanksgiving Wish
They Must Pay
The Tiger
Tom Turkey
Two Unruly Children
The Veal Calf
Veal, Your Meal
The Voiceless
Welcome to Our World...
Where Have They Gone?
Where Is It?
Where's Her Baby?
You Just Don't Care

The Apple Tree and the Oak Tree

Original French title: Le pommier et le chêne

Once upon a time, a massive oak tree stood alone in a large field. The towering oak had stood in this field for more than two hundred years. Much had happened during those years, but trees have remarkable memories, and the oak vividly remembered the very first moments of his consciousness.

The oak tree was then no more than a three-month-old sapling when its hazy perceptions merged into awareness. He saw a haggard-looking old man in from of him. Behind the man stood a red farmhouse. An elderly woman was working in the garden. The old man had a gentle smile and was looking tenderly at the oak.

"You're awake now my child, aren't you?"

"Who am I?" answered the oak.

"You are an oak tree," the man answered, "a symbol of hope for my children and my children's children in this world. Until now, I used this field to grow soybeans and wheat for cows and chickens. Only now do I realize how wasteful and needless this has been."

The old man's words flew by too quickly for the young oak. Several large animals were roaming in the field; several small animals were pecking at the ground near the woman.

"What is a cow?" What is a chicken?" asked the oak, perplexed.

Those large, four-legged animals in the field are cows, my child. They are gentle, peaceful, harmless animals. Until recently, they would feed them with the grains I grew in this field and then kill them so that others could eat their flesh. I did the same with those small birds near my wife, called chickens. Although people in this world are dying of hunger, I wasted the space of this field and wasted the grains I grew on the animals. I could have fed many more people by giving them the grains directly.

"I continued to raise and kill chickens and cows even after I learned that eating their flesh is more wasteful than eating the grains used to feed them. Yet I treated them nicely, until their untimely death, that is. They had better lives than on those horrifying factory farms. In factory farms, thousands of chickens are confined indoors, never see the light of day and are packed in cages so tightly that they can barely move. And I also avoided using chemicals to kill insects in the field and fight diseases in the animals, for these chemicals also poison the ground, other animals and humans. In this respect, I was more compassionate and caring than many of my fellow farmers.

"Nevertheless, I always felt guilt and sadness every time I killed a cow or chicken so others could eat their flesh. My wife and son would hold a gentle cow still, and I would break open her head with a large hammer. Her large, innocent eyes would always stare bewildered at me, as if to say "Why?". And when I would cut off a chicken's head with an ax, his poor body would run helplessly around, looking for his lost head, desperate to be alive again.

"These thoughts weighed heavily on my heart and soul. And as the years passed, I felt more and more saddened and helpless. Yet I had little choice: I had borrowed much money from the bank and they threatened to ruin my family and me if I stopped the killing.

"It was my son who freed me from this misery. He went to study in the city and thanks to his job, my wife and I could finally pay off the bank. When I asked my son, 'But what will become of the animals?' he answered, 'Make sure that they cannot have children, and let them live out the rest of their lives in peace, Father.' And when I asked him, 'But what will become of the field?' he answered, 'Father, this field used to belong to the trees. Ever since we took the trees away, much precious, life-giving soil in the field has been washed away by the rain. Give the field back to the trees, Father. They will keep the soil in place and give precious, life-giving oxygen back to the air. And if you choose food-bearing trees, they will also feed people too.'

"That is why I have planted you, dear child. You will hold the soil in place, give oxygen to the air and bear acorns to nourish us. And we can eat your acorns without having to kill and destroy you. You are a blessing for me, and a symbol of hope for my children and my children's children. And I will soon fill this whole field with trees, so that you may have friends and work together."

But the old man died before he could plant other trees, and the wife moved to the city to join her son. Other people later moved into the farmhouse, and though they were forbidden to chop down the oak tree or raise animals, they cared little for the old man's vision, and planted no new trees.

Many years went by before the oak tree understood the meaning of the old man's words. And though with each passing year, the oak tree grew mightier and mightier, it also grew sadder and sadder, for it had no friends, and rain continued to wash away the soil.

Eight generations came and went. And though much topsoil had washed away and the oak was still friendless, it learned through watching them that the world had changed very much. People everywhere had stopped killing and eating animals, realizing the senselessness of it all. People had also stopped killing each other, and the world had become a great country, where everyone could travel freely everywhere. The French language had evolved and changed and everyone in the world spoke English as a second language, so that they could communicate with each other.

A middle-aged man, his wife and their young daughter now lived in the farmhouse. The oak tree learned from them that much work still remained to be done. Soil was still being washed away from former pastures and grain fields, and large-scale tree-planting projects were taking place everywhere.

One day, the young girl from the farmhouse came to the oak tree. She was smiling and holding a small notebook.

"Hello, oak tree," she said with a grin, her curly red locks blowing in the wind, "I found my ancestor's diary this morning. He was the one who stopped raising animals, I believe. I had difficulties understanding his French, but I believe that he planted you as the first of many trees to give this weary field new life. I'm afraid that my ancestors after him have neglected you. But that is going to change now. In six months from now, the government is going to give us enough saplings to entirely plant this field. After that, you'll never be alone again, and you and your friends can feed us, clean the air and hold the soil in place.

"But fear not, oak tree, that you will remain friendless for another six months. Tomorrow, I will plant a baby apple tree next to you. It will keep you company and bring you joy. And thanks to your wisdom and experience, you can guide and comfort it and the other saplings that follow."

The young girl was faithful to her promise, and the next morning, she planted a tender, fragile apple sapling next to the oak. The sapling was too young to be aware of its own existence. In the months that followed, the oak tree sung soft and reassuring songs to the apple sapling, waiting patiently for it to awaken.

Several months later, the moment arrived. The oak tree felt a slight shiver from the apple tree, and knew that it was now awake.

"You're awake now my child, aren't you?" the oak tree asked.

"Who am I?" answered the apple tree.

"You are an apple tree, "the oak tree answered, "a symbol of hope for the healing and betterment of this world. When I first came to life, this field had been used to grow grains for cows and chickens, who were later killed and eaten. Only later did my Master realize how senseless this had been."

The oak tree's words flew by too quickly for the young apple tree.

"What is a cow? What is a chicken?" asked the apple tree, perplexed.

"Never mind, my child," the oak tree responded, more slowly and reassuringly, "For those sad times have passed and the world today is filled with hope and promise. Give thanks and rejoice, my child, for together we can heal the earth, clean the air and feed the people. And soon, very soon, many friends will join us and help us in our task."

And the oak tree began to sing a lullaby to the apple tree. The apple tree was comforted, and the oak tree was happy. And the sun set slowly behind the large field of hope ....

Mohan Embar