Why I Plant Locust Trees

At 60, TD Simon is planting trees whose fullest shade he may never see — a reflection on family, faith, liberty, and what we choose to leave behind.

By TD Simon

This year, I turn 60 years old, and I am planting a new batch of locust trees in my yard.

At 60, I know there is a good chance I will never see these trees reach their full splendor. I may never sit beneath the deepest shade they will someday provide.

But that is not why I plant them.

I plant them for my children and my grandchildren.

I plant them because I want to leave behind something living, something strong, and something that will continue growing long after I am gone.

Maybe one day they will look at those trees and understand something about the way I tried to live my life — always looking forward and always trying to leave the world a little better for them than I found it.

That is also why I spend so much time standing up for liberty, freedom, and faith.

In many ways, raising a locust tree is not so different from preserving those things.

A tree cannot simply be planted and forgotten.

I check my trees throughout spring, summer, fall, and even winter. They need water. They need fertilizer. They need pruning. They need protection from insects and disease.

They need attention not just occasionally, but consistently.

Liberty is the same way.

Freedom is the same way.

Faith is the same way.

They must be constantly nourished through our words, our deeds, our courage, and our actions. They cannot survive on neglect. They cannot be taken for granted.

If I stopped caring for my trees, some would struggle and some might die.

If a people stop caring for liberty, freedom can wither just as surely.

If we stop exercising our faith, it too can weaken.

So I tend to all of them.

I care for my trees because I want my children and grandchildren to enjoy their shade someday.

I stand for liberty because I want them to live as free Americans.

I defend freedom because I want them to inherit a country worthy of the sacrifices made before them.

And I hold tightly to my faith because I want them to understand that there are principles greater than comfort, politics, or possessions.

I probably will not leave my family a fortune.

I will not leave behind great wealth.

But I hope I leave them something more enduring.

I hope I leave them beautiful trees beneath which their children may someday play.

I hope I leave them the example of a man who cared enough about the future to plant something he might never fully enjoy himself.

And above all, I hope my actions help leave them a Republic that can shelter and protect them as they grow older — a Republic they can proudly preserve and pass on to their own children and grandchildren.

The shade of a great tree does not come by accident.

Neither does liberty.

Neither does freedom.

Neither does faith.

All require care.

All require sacrifice.

And all require eternal vigilance.

That is why I plant locust trees.