Plant Trees Save Earth Quotes

He was like a crow picking up waste from dustbins (rendered useless by progress)

When we plant trees, we plant the seeds of peace and seeds of hope.  We also secure the future for our children.

[Every plant, tree, and animal carries its own unique wisdom and can teach us how to live harmoniously with one another and in relationship with Mother Earth.

Though why is it, she wonders casually as she stacks the boxes in her van, that we expect our children to be the ones to halt deforestation and species extinction and to rescue our planet tomorrow, when we are the ones overseeing its destruction today. There’s a Chinese proverb Willow has always loved: The best time to plant a tree is always twenty years ago. And the second-best time is always now. And the same goes for saving the ecosystem.

In many ways, Kaua‘i is the ultimate example of what a world would look like if plants were in charge. The whole island is covered in the surreal products of total floral freedom. When plants are allowed to evolve without fear, they get scrupulously and flamboyantly specific. Take the Hibiscadelphus genus, for example. Found only in Hawai‘i, these plants have long tubular flowers, custom-made to fit the hooked beak of the honeycreeper, the precise bird that pollinates them. Then there is the vulcan palm, Brighamia insignis, or ‘Ōlulu in Hawaiian, a short tree best described by its nickname, “cabbage on a stick.” Over tens of thousands of years, it has evolved to be pollinated only by the extremely rare fabulous green sphinx moth (its real name). The vulcan palm, still critically endangered in the wild, was saved from total extinction by Perlman’s work in the early days of the extinction prevention program, when he made his own harness out of knotted ropes and used it to hang over the Nā Pali Coast cliffs. There, four thousand feet in the air, he would use a small cosmetic brush borrowed from his wife to imitate the moth, carefully transferring the pollen from the males to the females. “You’d know if you did it well,” Perlman said. “When you’d go back, there’d be fruits just bursting open with seed.” (The vulcan palm is now cultivated as a houseplant in the Netherlands, where there are greenhouses full of them. I wonder if a person with a potted Vulcan palm on their Amsterdam windowsill knows of the drama it took to get it there.)

Our earth is the life-giving force for every living being, and life in it is derived from the energy generated from the invaluable elements of nature. The most important element among these invaluable elements is "Soil" which is the most indispensable component of our environment and from this the major energy of life is discharged. We place more emphasis on planting trees in the concept of keeping the environment safe and pure, but do not give much ponderability to the protection of the Soil that nourishes these trees. The proper nutrition of every seed is completely dependent on the fertilizing capacity of the Soil and the seeds which provide us fruits, flowers, oxygen etc., without which our lives and other living beings are not presumable. Soil mainly conducts the life of all beings including human beings, as well as the land of our earth is the most vital source of power, the most preciosity resource of our earth. Conserving the Soil is our utmost accountability so that in the coming times our environment can be made even more preferential. Without Soil no one life and isomorphism of our nature is not possible, since every living being is dependent on Soil itself; Soil is our complement and we are completely envolved with Soil. "Conservation of the Soil is the protection of lives, then save the Soil, save the lives.

Why do these light beings care about trees?” I asked. “They are concerned about the survival of the planet. Call them light beings, plant devas, earth spirits, or angels, they are real, and there are some in charge of the trees. Americans are about the only ones who don’t believe in such things, but they are out there and a lot of people can hear them, including me. We treat the earth like it’s dead, which allows us to do what we want, but it’s not dead.” Genetics is critical to the survival of the forests, they told him, and one day science will be able to prove it.

Savory is concerned that since tree planting sounds like a good, noncontroversial idea, governments and NGOs might rally around that when the money could be better used to focus on the far more vast areas of grasslands with rainfall too low to provide full soil cover with trees.

Everybody talks about the need to plant trees, but trees can’t take in all that carbon, nor do they have the ‘pulsing’ root systems associated with grazing that effectively move carbon to soil life for centuries.

The time of the lone wolf, Capitalism, for instance, is indeed over. It cannot possibly sustain itself without gobbling up the world. That is what we see all around us. Women and children in Bangladesh, India, the Philippines, Haiti, Mexico, China and elsewhere in the world forced into starvation and slavery as they turn out the tennis balls and cheap sneakers for the affluent. Ancient trees leveled to make more housing while housing that could be saved and reused is torn down and communities heartlessly displaced. Mining of the earth for every saleable substance she has. Fouling of the waters that is her blood. Murdering innocents, whether people, animals or plants, in pursuit of oil. The lone wolf is the hungry ghost (in Buddhist thought) that can never get enough; whose mouth may be small but whose stomach is boundless. We cannot afford him.

They turn on short-range telemetry kits, and we approach through the clear-cut. The black soil is deformed into thigh-high welts from earth-moving equipment. Pings from the radio collars tell them that the male is south of the female, who is farther up the wood line. Because the male wolf and the yearlings will often sit the pups while the female goes off to hunt or rest elsewhere, the biologists must choose which wolf’s signal to focus upon. This morning, they can’t decide which wolf might be with the pups. Chris whispers a game plan to Ryan. “I’m going to walk up on the male,” Chris says. “You walk farther up and get a bead on the female. Wait a few minutes before you go in - give me some time to find him first because the wind will wash your scent south right back on top of him, okay? If the pups aren’t with him, I’ll just keep moving north toward her and find you.” Ryan nods his agreement, and Chris slips into the woods. The density of the vegetation encloses around him within a few feet from the tree line. Chris, having spent twenty-five years using telemetry to track wolves, can interpret the pings like most people read road signs. His body melts behind thick vines, woody growth, and an abundance of wax myrtle bushes that crowd the understory. Ryan and I walk north along the clear-cut. He listens for the female, holding his telemetry antennae high. He waves the unit this way and that, searching the radio wave for the best strength. It begins raining. He paces up and down a fifty-foot stretch of the tree line. Where the female wolf’s signal is the strongest, he scratches a large X in the dark muck with his boot heel. We wait in the light drizzle. Minutes tick by. Finally, Ryan motions for me to follow him into the woods. We creep deliberately, slowly, and I plant each step where he does. After about ten yards, he drops onto his hands and knees and crawls beneath a cluster of thorny devil’s walking sticks. I trail him as if playing a silent game of follow the leader. We pause here and there to let the wolf confuse our sounds with a foraging squirrel. He uses vine clippers to snip through several large branches obscuring our way. Soon, Ryan pulls the cable from his antennae and shows me that he can hear her with just the receiver box. We are close. I try not to breathe. She is within thirty feet. Then the pinging in his headphones tells him she is running. We don’t hear or even see her flush. It is like tracking a ghost.

Children of Perdition And the prophet, Saw, from the Holy Mount, And the gates of the Citadel, Were opened to all and to none, And the Chosen One, sleepless, Remained, In tears, among the Trees, Watching the fire and the wails, Consume the Citadel, The next day, a brief drizzle, Washed the dust from the faces of the burned ones, For the sun had descended to the earth, He said that, In that land, there would be no peace, Until peace became the land, And the children fought, for, Their sacred blood was struggle, And their sacred struggle was their blood, But they were not the King’s favorites, The tree was planted, Far from the Brook, and withered, Far from the Western Gate, And the children of the Sands of time, Homeless and in thousands, Threw themselves into the wide River, And they were saved, The others, dancing with swords, Threw themselves against the tree, And shattered it, Its branches were torn off and scattered, And torn off and scattered again, For they were not satisfied with eating, And they were condemned to walk endlessly, And again, they were made to walk, For, on a hot moonless night, In the middle of the year, The hosts of the East, Will fall upon the King's wife, And there, only the Adênia will flourish, And those who were made to walk, Will walk, And will be scourged, Until they accept the return of the banished one, And until they respect the words, Of the one who went to the Mount, For the Son of the King will return.