In search of the secret to longevity, Przekrój sent a special correspondent to the US state of Nevada, where the long-living bristlecone pine tree species grows. One of them agreed to answer a few quick questions.
Przekrój: You’re a representative of the Pinus longaeva species, known for their long lifespans. We’ll ask you for some advice on an issue that troubles us all, namely how to live a long and happy life?
Pinus longaeva: To live long and to live happily are one and the same thing. But for someone as young as you, this will be hard to understand.
P: You’re probably right. But perhaps you could still tell us something on the subject, just a few words.
Pl: There are some old traditions. For example, it helps if you adjust to living where no one can bother you. We reside in the mountains, so high that no other trees want to settle there. It’s called the upper limit of the tree line. We also know how to thrive on soils that no other plants would dream of, even in their worst nightmares, namely on abominably dry, alkaline dolomites and limestone. But this makes us happy and gives a sense of serenity.
P: That’s wonderful, so you simply renounced the world!
Pl: There now, “renounce” is a bit much, what pathos, come on! We’re just not that greedy. We grow slowly, without racing anyone or anything. As a result, our wood is hard and compact. And even when we die, we can still stand strong for a long time, and nothing rots. Take a look. This guy next to me has been dead for about two thousand years, and look how well he’s holding up, like a youngster [laughs]!
P: Indeed, he does look good. And he’s been dead since the times of Christ!
Pl: Whose times? Seriously, don’t Christianize the tree.
P: Okay, okay, so what else do you do to live so long?
Pl: We try not to be wasteful. Our needles last us forty-plus years, unlike some other pine fashionistas, who change them every three to five years. Well, perhaps most importantly, we don’t hold on to life too tightly.
P: How so?
Pl: Most of me is already dead. Each of my roots feeds only the part of me that is directly above it. When a root dies, a piece of me dies. But the rest lives on. Often, after a few thousand years, only one root remains, therefore, a few branches remain, as is in my case. But we don’t care. What was supposed to die, died. What remains, remains, and what is gone, is gone.
P: It’s hard to disagree.
Pl: And that’s how one lives happily ever after, by slowly dying. Well, unless someone is not so lucky.
P: Do misfortunes happen?
Pl: Numbers bring the greatest misfortune. Some half a century ago, there was this one man up here in the mountains, his name was Donald Rusk Currey. He numbered us, and took samples from us, using an auger. He said he was studying climate change. By counting us, I knew nothing good would come of it. And while drilling a tree designated WPN-114, he broke two augers, got upset, and asked the forest ranger to cut down the tree that damaged his borer tools. The ranger called his men and… “Timber!” When they counted the rings, it turned out that the tree was the oldest tree people knew—4,844 years old.
P: Bad man, this Currey guy.
Pl: He wasn’t bad, he was just thoughtless.
P: Was he young?
Pl: Sure he was young, as humans are. He became a professor later on, and felt regret all his life. So, just remember, if someone gives you a number, that is not a good sign.
P: I’ve been given a number many times and somehow I’m still alive.
Pl: How long have you been alive? [laughs] Besides, you were also given a name. A name is always better than a number. That unlucky tree also had a name, a strange name, given earlier by people—Prometheus. But Currey didn’t know that. Maybe if he knew, he wouldn’t have been so eager to cut it down.
P: Too bad about Prometheus.
Pl: There’s another pine tree nearby, almost as old as Prometheus. People have named it Methuselah. But they won’t specify exactly where it grows, in order to prevent others from coming to see it, and in the process, trampling everything nearby.
P: People are strange.
Pl: Capricious. No logic, no map, no compass. They hear of the oldest tree, or the tallest, or the thickest, they’ll immediately drop everything, come, and admire. Because it’s number one. And numbers bring bad luck, like I said.
Translated from the Polish by Maciej Mahler
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