You Think You're Better Than Me?
An open letter from a Bradford Pear tree
Spring has finally sprung here in the Northern Hemisphere, and it's a magical time of year here. The days are getting longer, the weather's getting warmer, and migratory birds are straggling back north. Major League Baseball teams are gearing up for a new season, the Easter Bunny is thinking about where to hide his eggs, and road crews are (hopefully) working to fill up those nasty winter potholes. Meanwhile, all along the streets of your mid-sized American city, trees like me are starting to bloom, our branches pushing away the sad, muddy browns of winter with brilliant, joyful bursts of white flowers.
And all you're doing is complaining.
Now, sure. I'm no cherry tree. That's a hell of a standard to hold anyone to, though. Those things? They're the gold standard of flowering trees, and I'm not gonna pretend that I can live up to that. (Frickin' diva trees. Think they're so special.) But let's be honest– you're not exactly Chris Pine yourself, y'know? If you want to see some cherry blossoms, you can put your butt on a plane to Washington, DC or Tokyo or whatever and go see them there.
Oh? What's that you say? Flying is too difficult right now?
Well, then I guess you're stuck with me, so maybe you could be a little more grateful for the budget-friendly springtime vibes I'm putting out over here.
But you're–
Yeah, yeah. I've already heard everything you're gonna say about me. You're gonna say that I'm an invasive species that's crowding out native plants. That I only got where I am because I'm cheap, fast-growing and easy to transport. That I grow into weird shapes and break easily in storms. Oh–and lest we forget–that I smell really bad.
Well, you know what? I don't give a damn what you think.
First of all, you've got a lot of damn nerve calling me invasive. Pretty sure this TopGolf whose parking lot I'm planted at didn't spring out of the ground on its own now, did it? And yeah, maybe I am cheap and easy, but you gotta do what you gotta do in a crowded job market.
It's called hustle. You oughta try it sometime.
(Speaking of hustle, maybe hit that gym you signed up for back in January a second time before you start talking about anyone else's shape, hmm?)
Now, my smell? I'll concede, that's not for everyone.
When I'm in full bloom–as I plan to be here very shortly no matter your feeble protestations–I have been variously described as smelling like fish, death and human semen. I can't speak to the latter personally–this mall has security patrols–but if it smells anything like the former two, then I'm not sure how you are reproducing as fast as you are. You don't even have pollinators to do the work for you.
You might not know it, but I actually have a pretty sterling pedigree.
Special government project, I was. Like Captain America, but without the lame nerd personality. (I'm personally more of a Groot fan, but that's beside the point.) Department of Agriculture arborists picked me–me, Brad–from a whole series of test plantings of the Calley pear, a tree they'd imported special all the way from China. I was the best of the best, the cream of the crop. Heck, your human newspaper the New York Times even raved about me–they said that "Few trees possess every desired attribute, but the Bradford ornamental pear comes unusually to close to the ideal."
I don't read newspapers myself (it's sort of taboo among trees; lingering hard feelings from the print era) but I can't imagine that a publication as storied as the New York Times would ever end up being wrong in their embrace of a government effort. Shoot, even Lady Bird Johnson was out there singing my praises. Nice lady.
Say, who's your First Lady these days?
Oh.
Really?
Yikes.
Well, see, there's another thing I wanted to touch on, though: you people kinda seem like you're going through it lately. When you line the streets of basically every American city, you can pick up on a general vibe, and your vibes are atrocious lately. At first I thought it was just people around me specifically–golf can be frustrating–but I've talked to some of the other Brads, and we've all been picking up on the same ick. I can't be bothered to parse the specifics–the parts I have heard were pretty tedious, to be honest–but I get the sense that you're all a hair away from completely losing it at any time.
So, listen. I know you don't like me, but maybe you could take a lesson from me: just be yourself. Be proud of who you are. Tune out the people who tell you otherwise, and keep doing your thing.
And don't be afraid to make a stink.
–Bradford P. Tree (dictated but not read)
Previously from the ACBN's Springtime Guest Correspondent Bureau:
Scott Hines
