Seeing the souls of trees
“Trees are living things, and they too have emotions.” Jan Feng-chun, who has examined countless trees, not only can recognize every tree that she has diagnosed and treated, but can also tell each one’s physiological condition at a glance. “It’s issuing a distress call! It’s just that we are unable to understand it.”
Jan’s father was a university gardener, and from early childhood she watched her father prune trees. Through her long-term close observations, she developed an unbreakable emotional attachment to trees. “In Japan, I relied on sidewalk trees to figure out whether I was facing north, south, east or west.” “My father was the only person in my family who supported me in choosing to become a tree surgeon.”
It is extremely difficult to get an arborist’s license in Japan. Usually, only about ten candidates in a thousand pass the exam. Just to sign up for the exam you need at least seven years of clinical experience, and the subjects covered are broad and deep. “The written exam alone had 19 subjects.” It is a wide-ranging assessment that requires comprehensive training. “There are many people who keep resitting the exam all their lives, making it their mission in life to get an arborist’s license.” Many people who pass the test are nearly 60 years old, but Jan succeeded when she was only 32. “My greatest regret is that my father didn’t live to see the day when I received my license.” She received news of her father’s death right after passing the written exam.
After the essay and diagnostic report that were part of her written exam were accepted, there followed the even more rigorous practical tests. During a two-week period, every morning there would be a test on the two subjects covered in classes the preceding day. Anyone scoring under 60% on more than three tests would immediately be disqualified. “The pressure was enormous.”
At dinner on a day near the end of the examinations, a white-haired man in his sixties who was also taking the tests came over to Jan’s table and asked, “May I eat here?” She invited him to sit. The man looked at her and said, “You only eat one bowl of rice, one serving of natto [fermented soybeans], and one piece of tofu. I have noticed you always eat so little, so today I deliberately came to sit here because I wanted to ask you if you get enough food eating this way.” She said with a smile, “It’s very hearty and satisfying.” Then he went on to say, “I see that you have passed the exam despite being so young; that’s quite an achievement!” Thinking of her father’s funeral, Jan softly replied, “It’s because I promised my teacher, and also because I wanted to make my father happy, but it’s all too late now.” Moved by her remark, the man said, “How can you say it’s too late? Look at me: I’m taking the exam for the fifth time. If you were my child, I would be so happy! It’s not too late at all!”
At the final oral exam, the candidates were asked why they wanted to be tree surgeons. Jan replied: “I’m doing this to fulfill a promise I made to my professor to save the trees of my homeland.” She had previously earned a master’s degree in forest botany from the Graduate School of Agricultural and Life Sciences at the University of Tokyo, where she specialized in tree pathology and physiology. Living on a scholarship, she took great pains to hone her skills. After she passed the oral exam, when she saw her professor, Kazuo Suzuki, who had been like a father to her, her eyes filled with tears of gratitude, and she was at a loss as to how she could repay his kindness.
During the Japanese winter, ropes are used to hold up trees to prevent their trunks cracking under the weight of snow on their crowns, making for a unique sight in gardens. (courtesy of Persimmon Books)