Trees

By David Haldane

FOR me, it was all about the trees. Six of them. For many years, certainly as far back as I could remember, they’d been standing in the large coconut grove owned by my wife at Magpupungko Beach on Siargao Island. They had provided shade, beauty and, yes, the occasional refreshing taste of coco juice sipped right from the shell. Recently they were cut down and my heart was broken.

Of course, I understand why. For several years now, especially in the wake of last year’s closure of Boracay to tourists, Siargao has been experiencing a major boom. And Magpupungko, long a haven for locals wishing to bathe in its fabulous saltwater pools, has become an attraction of its own.

The first time I stood on this beach in 2006, it was the most pristine thing I’d ever seen; nothing but white sand, crystal-clear water, gorgeous curling waves and, of course, coconut trees galore. The next year Ivy and I erected what was literally the first structure on the beach; a small cottage near the water’s edge for family picnics and gatherings with friends. Between its rafters, cut indelibly into the ceiling, is a large heart bearing witness to our then-burgeoning young love. Today the cottage languishes in disrepair, a relic of the past forgotten by everyone but us.

Once Ivy and I planned on building a house here. Tucked neatly within range of the ocean’s salty smell, we imagined wiling away the hours gazing out at the gurgling sea for the rest of our lives. Then things changed; as the wave of tourists grew, our desire to live there proportionately shrank. That, combined with the myriad of boundary disputes breaking out like measles all over the island, inspired a change of plans; instead of building a house, we contented ourselves with a cozy little cabin for weekend getaways.

And that’s where the doomed trees come in. One of Ivy’s dreams since childhood has been to build a modest resort on her more than 7,000-square-meter lot by the sea and recent events seem to indicate that now is the time. At first, I opposed cutting down any trees at all. But as our discussions continued, I gradually succumbed to the evidence until, in the end, the family was able to persuade both of us that some of our beloved trees would have to go, not only to make space for the first of the new cabins but to provide much-needed wood for its construction. The final number, after going through an arduous permitting process, was six.

Neither Ivy nor I, however, realized how hard it would be. We found out one morning as the eager crew of tree cutters arrived to do its work. For a while, I watched with a sinking heart as those loyal long-serving trees began to fall. Then retreated to a nearby porch to contemplate life with the roar of chainsaws still drilling in my head. Finally, Ivy, unable to watch any longer, came and sat down beside me. With tears in our eyes, we hugged each other and promised to cut no more trees.

Had someone called me a tree hugger back in the US, I’d have been deeply offended. Here, somehow, the label fits perfectly.

(David Haldane, a former Los Angeles Times staff writer, is an award-winning American journalist, author, and radio broadcaster who recently moved to Surigao City with his Filipino wife and their eight-year-old son. This column tells the unfolding story of that adventure.)