Jolena Pang, age 18 – Whether supporting my body as I climbed among its branches or hiding me from sight during a game of hide-and-seek, the ash tree, proud and indestructible in the center of my backyard, was an integral part of my childhood. Growing up, I felt like the luckiest kid on the block; I had a 60-foot tall jungle gym all to myself. Eventually I stopped climbing it every day and got too old for daily backyard playtime, but the tree was still important to me. I grew up, changed schools, and watched both of my siblings move out, but even when the world around me turned upside down, the ash tree was rooted there to stay.
The tree is gone now. During October of last year I came home from school to find a “Happy Tree Service” truck blocking the driveway. Behind the truck, a wood chipper worked away at some familiar tree branches. I dreaded what I might see next and walked with apprehension to the backyard. Just as I had expected, the ash tree was reduced to a stump on the ground. I stared blankly into the exposed emptiness of my once favorite space. But before I could allow myself to feel anger or even sadness, I had to figure out one thing: why?
Inside, I searched for my mom and demanded an explanation. I was ready to blame an angry neighbor or natural disease, perhaps a city law or a neighborhood regulation, but I definitely wasn’t ready to take responsibility for a problem that seemed out of my control. And that’s why, when I asked my mom who was at fault, her response startled me: “We are all responsible.” She went on to describe the mass ash tree casualties across the United States; humans introduced the emerald ash borer, an invasive species of beetle from Asia. This is just one example of our society’s failure to consider the consequences of industrialization, commerce, and the exploitation of natural resources. As ash borers spread across the Midwest, they essentially seal the fate of every ash tree they find. My mom’s words struck me with a feeling of urgent responsibility.
As the “Happy Tree Service” truck disappeared down the street, I began to consider what I could do to help. That same night, I applied for the Tyson Environmental Research Fellowship in an effort to broaden my understanding of the natural sciences. I later signed up for shifts with the Audubon Society to help in ecosystem restoration and backyard conservation. And I volunteered my summers at the Wild Bird Rehabilitation, where I got to work with injured wild birds, aiding them in their recovery from largely human-related accidents. At the end of the rehabilitation process, the birds were released into their natural habitats in order to fight the decline of songbirds in our local ecosystems.
The more involved I got with the environment, the more sure I became of my ultimate purpose. In calling myself an environmentalist, I’m really calling myself a humanitarian, because by destroying the environment, we are destroying ourselves. Elizabeth Kolbert, author of The Sixth Extinction, states that, “In pushing other species to extinction, humanity is busy sawing off the limb on which it perches.”
When the limbs of my own ash tree were sawed off, I realized I had to find a way to sustain life on earth. My ash tree may be gone, but the moment of its demise was the moment that inspired me to fight environmental degradation and promote life across the entire planet. By branching out beyond my own backyard, I know I can help the world rise up from the ashes of human destruction.