The Time Tree

The passing of time is a strange thing. We do not know what time actually is, other than the definition of being “the increasing of entropy”. Does it flow like a raging river or does it pass as a gently flowing stream? Or, does it remain still and we pass through it?

Einstein said that time is mixed in with space and the two were a “pudding”; meaning that to pass through space, we must also consume time in the process. “The pudding of space-time,” he called it.

Okay, but what is it?

Whatever time is, is moot, because it passes and we barely are conscious of it most of the time. It moves on and things change. Entropy increases from order to disorder. Still, we barely notice that an irretrievable thing has increased our lives towards disorder. What time is may be the one thing about the physical universe we never know.

Many years ago...about 32 of them… we were working outdoors in the spring to create a clearing in front of our new home to provide more open space. In the process, I found a very small Tulip Poplar tree barely knee high as I cleared a thick growth of pine seedlings already shutting off sunlight to the struggling poplar.. The nearest likely parent was a hundred meters away; a giant of a tree with a massive canopy that was populated by squirrels in the spring because they love eating the tulip-size flowers covering the tree.

With care, I dug the small seedling from the hard clay and moved near the front of our new home to give it a place where it could hopefully mature undamaged. Mulching and watering frequently helped the tree to recover from the move and it began to grow. By the end of the summer, it had gained almost a third of a meter in height.



Unconsciously utilizing the Einsteinian flow of time, the tree (and I) grew steadily and became an unnoticed part of the landscape. It was doing well and each spring has hosted dozens of squirrels when the purple and white, tulip-like blossoms covered the canopy. The ground underneath would be littered with the large flower petals discarded by the squirrels as they searched for the heart of the flower. A few weeks later, the slightest breeze would cause the small, winged seeds to propeller down and cover the ground nearby.

And now, the tree has grown to be nearly as large as its parent. It shades us from the hot summer afternoon sun like a giant umbrella.

I can see the effects of time on the tree, but what about me? What has happened to me over that long expanse of our traversing space and time? My entropy has increased, although I have to rely on photographs to remind me how much change that has made.

I often look at it with a new realization as my inner voice exclaims, “My God, has it been that long since we worked on clearing our front yard?”

I feel a kinship with my tree. I moved it to a place of safety and helped it to survive. I look at it and see the long term result of something I did and it is far, far more satisfying than trying to imagine I made any difference in all the time I spent in offices, talking with people, pushing paperwork, designing systems that were obsolete by implementation time, looking for elusive coding errors, and generally being unaware that time was passing.

My tree has accomplished something strong and stable.

We are both made from the same star stuff. We are both time travelers, and we both live cooperatively together. I protected the tree and I breathe its oxygen. We have our own symbiosis and we are fellow travelers through the pudding.

Will