There was a time when I was loved, when people thought I was beautiful and treated me like a valuable entity. When my image was worshipped as a giver of life and the fruit of my branches were the preserves of the gods, the keys to eternal life. I adorned carvings, paintings and all manner of artistic expressions. A muse to many who wished to capture my unique shapes and how I changed and flexed during the seasons. I was revered as a natural wonder to be respected and cared for.

There was a time when I was adored by society, named after famous individuals, that revelled in the creation and identity of a new variety of my fruit. I remember moments of inspiration where with a nudge I have literally tapped the heads of very intelligent beings and shared in the thrill of their discoveries. I was seen as the lungs of the earth, sharing clean life-giving oxygen for all those that surround me.

I have provided joy to all ages, to the young who have explored and climbed my limbs allowing me to help them reach towards the stars. For the older generations I have been a reminder of the passage of time, from the day they set me down, to the day they join the earth beneath me. I have created memories, I have nourished growth and I have provided shelter for those in need.

To the natural world I am a home to many, a shelter for the weary and a source of sustenance for the hungry. From the tiny ant that invades my young leaves with its aphid crop, to the beautiful ladybird that keeps them in check. The moths and the grubs, the bugs and beetles, all enjoy my weathered bark and laden fruit. The birds that perch in my branches and enjoy the feast, singing their melodies that delight the ears of all creatures.

I have seen many changes, weathered many storms and I have clung on to life through wars and pestilence that have returned many of my kin to the earth from whence they came. Despite the decades that have passed, the many joys I have brought and seen, I find myself in a desperate plea to continue my journey of life.

Time changes many things, I have seen lush green grass become cold grey concrete. I have watched magnificent orchards reduced to barren fields and wild hedgerows teeming with fruit cut back to simple borders. Giant orange buildings have erupted from the earth leaving lonely friends separated by fences. Some have seen periods of joy and embrace from those new homes who have welcomed the inclusion of their natural guest. Others have been quickly cut down in their prime as unwelcomed structures that don’t match the aesthetic.

I watch the fear in faces as my buzzing friends looking for a meal are no longer welcome but seen as nuisance. Their greater purpose in the circle of life forgotten, only viewed as harm when in truth they are vital. I have seen anger when my natural instinct to grow unhindered has caused cracks in smooth surfaces. If only I had been helped and pruned, maybe we could have found balance.

I often ask myself how we got here; can I recall the point at which things began to change, but I cannot. Change has been so gradual that complacency is leading to extinction. As I watch my kin forcibly torn from the very earth where they set down roots, I cry. Orchards come and go as products of the frivolity of markets, of the change in tastes, of the devaluing of nature. Where once I felt of worth and value, I now fear the swing of the axe or the rattle of the chainsaw. My days are numbered despite the many years I still have to give. If you could hear my voice and see my pain, would it change your view?

I want to feel the hugs of random strangers, to witness the proposals of undying love and to hear the birds singing from my branches. I want to see the smiles and faces deep in thought as the natural world is contemplated and appreciated, I want to breathe life and grow in harmony. I may be large but there is enough room for all. I want to feel the warmth of the sun as it ripens the fruit, to feel the breeze blow through my leaves and to feel the sharp frost cling to my branches. I want to retreat into winter hibernation and burst out with blossom in the spring.

So, this is my plea from just one fruit tree to you. Even if you don’t eat the fruit, even if you cannot hear the birds and even if you cannot see the beauty of the seasons, please don’t forget us. Whilst once our numbers were many, now they are few and if there’s no pause for thought, it will soon be too late. There is an old proverb attributed to the Cree that means more today than ever, it says, “only when the last tree has died, and the last river been poisoned, and the last fish been caught will we realise we cannot eat money” and by “we” it means you.