‘Jock, when ye hae naething else to do, ye may be aye sticking in a tree; it will be growing, Jock, when ye’re sleeping.’ - The Laird of Dumbiedikes, on his death-bed, to his son (The Heart of Midlothian) Hoo mony trees tae prent a thoosan buiks? Hoo mony buiks tae pulp a thoosan trees? Hoo mony trees tae launch a thoosan boats? Hoo mony boats tae sink a thoosan trees? Hoo mony trees tae licht a thoosan fires? Hoo mony fires tae smoor a thoosan trees? Hoo mony trees tae mak a thoosan kists? Hoo mony kists tae yird a thoosan trees? Jock, when I’m awa, dae this for me - howk oot a hole and in it stick a tree. I carena gin it’s birk, beech, aik or rowan, Sae be’t when ye’re sleepin, Jock, it’s growin. Its canopy will spreid, its seeds will faw; it micht be hame tae mavis, merle or craw; speeders will hing their brigs on it, I doot, and peerie-weerie beasties venture oot upon the mappa mundi o its bark, while kail-worms mak a denner o its sark. Amang its ruits the glunchin taid will rest, the frettin, fykie yird-moose bigg her nest, and dentylions and puddock-stools upheeze… In sair times, Jock, we’re sair in need o trees. Stick in a tree, stick in a thoosan mair, and mind o me when I’m nae langer there. Hoo mony daiths afore the planet dees? Tae gie the planet braith, hoo mony trees?