Last year a survey carried out by the Dept. of Agriculture & Forestry located 800 old trees, four- fifths of which receive offerings from devotees, which means that in total number they rank with the local village gods of the island.

"Giant Chinese junipers, magnificent and imposing, crowd before my eyes. It is an impressive though claustrophobic sight. Dense undergrowth slows my step and mist obscures my vision, but I plough ahead thrilled, for this is like the ancient forest of my dreams. In comparison to these trees, life seems short and insignificant. It is enough to make me want to kneel down in homage to them." Wu Chih-ching, mountain enthusiast and keen photographer, reads from his travel notes, recalling the discovery earlier this year of junipers near a newly opened area of the north cross-island highway.

Almost anyone can feel moved at the sight of a centuries-old tree, standing firm on its gnarled roots and crowned with a tangle of twigs and branches. Faith in the power of old trees is not confined to China. Even today in India great trees are revered as living deities, while tree worship is still known in Japan and Micronesia. The Tree Spirit Pagoda in Alishan is in fact a legacy of the Japanese colonial period in Taiwan.

According to Juan Chang-jui, director of anthropology at the Provincial Museum, "tree worship is a form of nature worship that goes back to prehistory." Human life was closely tied to trees, both for shelter that was dry and safe from wild animals, and for clothing in the form of bark. Reliance on trees, along with a sense of natural wonder at them, developed into the notion of the sacred tree.

Geographical reasons mean that different trees are venerated in different regions. In Australia, aboriginal people regard the cactus as holy, because it signifies the presence of water and thus symbolizes life. Legends about the locust tree are popular in northern China, while in Taiwan it is the native camphors, cedars, banyans and maples that inspire veneration. Part of their appeal is that it is no easy task for a tree to reach a hundred years and over. Very few of the thousands of seeds produced by a parent tree enjoy the right combination of genes and good fortune to grow big and old, and native tree varieties usually have the edge over outsiders in the struggle.

Trees which are over one hundred years old are commonly known as "tree lords" in Taiwan, in recognition of their longevity and firm roots. The parents of a sickly child may introduce such a tree as "father" to the child, in the hope that it will help him to grow up equally strong and long-lived. There are two such banyans in Nantou, dubbed Tree Lord and Tree Mother, and their birthdays are celebrated each year by local parents who prepare the appropriate offerings and bring along their children to worship. The children wear banyan leaves attached by red thread, to procure the protection of the trees. With its trailing roots that hang like whiskers, and boughs spread like open arms, the banyan resembles a kindly godfather.

Nevertheless, banyan whiskers have a different significance for women hoping to give birth to sons. Often they will tie a strip of red cloth to the dangling roots, which symbolize male reproductive organs, while their sheer number perhaps represents a multitude of male descendants.

Where there are gods there is also mythology, and many folk legends add to the exclusive aura that surrounds old trees. Banyans are the most prolific of Taiwan's tree lords, and most famous among them is the sacred banyan at Tungliang in the Pescadores. It is said that "he" was the sole survivor of a wreck off the islands three hundred years ago. All aboard perished with the ship, but a potted bonsai was washed ashore, and replanted by the locals. If it really happened, then that banyan is one of Taiwan's earliest immigrants.

The rust colored sap of the red cedar, like human blood, traditionally scared people from chopping it down, and the tree has prospered as a result. One tale relates how two hundred years ago a thirty meter red cedar sprouted suddenly from the water at Sun Moon Lake. A local woman dreamed that she became its wife, and soon after she gave birth to a boy, named Ku- tsung. He grew into a towering man, ruddy-faced and bushy-whiskered like the red cedar itself, and took for himself the title of Mountain King.

At the time, the Ch'ing court circuit intendant in Taiwan, Wu Ch'ang-tso, was attempting to take control of the mountains, but his soldiers were repeatedly driven off by locals under Ku-tsung. Since Ku-tsung was the incarnation of a red cedar it was necessary for his enemy to chop down the tree in order to rob him of his strength. Though the soldiers tried, their axes would not penetrate the wood. Then Wu had a revelation in his dream: the bark of the tree should first be pricked open with pins, then smeared over with the blood of a black dog, after which the tree would lose its power. The next day he did as the dream told him and the tree came crashing down. Ku- tsung promptly took his own life by throwing himself into the lake.

Ku-tsung did exist, but according to Changhwa County Gazetteer he was captured alive before execution, while the red cedar met its fate because it was "an obstruction to attack."

Last year the Dept of Agriculture & Forestry began to carry out an eight-year plan for the protection of precious old trees, the first stage of which was to catalog all existing old trees around the island. Eight hundred were found which met the requirements of the survey, namely that they be at least 150cm in diameter at chest height (taken to be 1.3m) and be a hundred years old or over, or else have a peculiar shape or some other remarkable characteristic.

"It is interesting to note that the shade under old trees is often a gathering place for old folks to play chess and chat together, and about 80% of the trees have a temple at their side, for the "tree lord." Old trees, old people and deities; together they form a self-supporting little community." So observes junior specialist Lo Hua- chuan of the Dept of Agriculture & Forestry technical division.

There is indeed an interesting relationship among temple, tree and people. Old trees under threat from road widening projects are often spared the chainsaw by the intervention of local people, because of their status as spirits. On the other hand people often damage trees, inadvertently or otherwise, by their worship of them. Many treeside temples are built around their tree, covering the roots in concrete, which amounts to a slow strangulation.

Paper money is commonly burnt for the spirits as a direct expression of respect, but old trees are at risk of perishing in the flames themselves, especially during dry weather, with their hollows and their sap. Earlier this year some thousand- year-old sacred trees in Puli went up in smoke, possibly ignited by joss sticks. The most prominent sacred tree in Lalashan was burnt down within only one month of the area being opened up for tourists. When the craze for illegal lotteries was at its peak recently, certain punters would light candles by the trees at night to seek help in drawing the right number. If they won, there was naturally a lot of paper money to be burnt in thanks. Some "believers" lost everything they had though, and occasionally would return to the tree in rage to chop it down.

"A godfather to the little children, a god for sickness and a god for gamblers. Everyone begs the great old tree for assistance, but when it doesn't perform for them they want to harm it. It seems the old tree can't win!" laments Juan Chang-jui.

There would be many more sacred trees in existence than there are now if it were not that old trees are consistently cut for their highly valued timber. Generally, it is those with low branches or flaws in the quality of wood that are left to survive. Ironically, many of today's sacred trees only survived to old age because of some unsacred defect, like hollows in the trunk caused by rot.

Since 1987 the Forestry Administration has not been cutting first grade conifers, and the Council of Agriculture too ranks precious and unusual trees as protected. Additionally, the Dept. of Agriculture & Forestry has begun to build frames for old trees, and fit them with lightning conductors. Fences and support staves are also being added to protect against human damage and pestilence. The risk from illegal woodsmen and timber merchants still exists though, for protection only increases the value of the trees to those who would profit from them.

Fortunately there are now local activities aimed at helping to save the old trees, such as the tree protection event at Kungkuan in Miaoli last year. The tree in question, a hundred-year-old banyan in front of the Wuku Temple, had begun to wither, its roots choked by concrete and its body ravaged by blight. By the turn of the year, its leaves had virtually all dropped off, and the smaller twigs were beginning to fall too. When the temple decided to cut the tree down, a local resident named Peng Yu-ming began to unite people to save it. Soldiers came from the local brigade to set up a sunscreen, and the electricity company contributed the use of a cherry-pick for pruning the upper branches. Others who lent a hand included farmers, horticulturalists, specialists from the Dept. of Agriculture & Forestry and the National Taiwan University's department of plant pathology. The offending concrete was removed and the soil changed, with the result that old roots have begun to bud anew, and there seems to be hope for the survival of the tree.

Forty-year-old Peng Yu-ming is frank about his feelings for the tree and motive for starting the campaign: "It has watched us grow up here. We have played about on its branches and sat under it listening to the old folk sing songs and tell stories. This old tree is the same as our whole lives."

The veneration we feel for tree spirits goes beyond simple wonder at the natural world. It expresses the affection and gratitude that people have for trees, and the feeling that we all go forward together.

[Picture Caption]

"You haven't been to Alishan if you don't ride the narrow-gauge railway when you're there, or see the sacred tree." The famous 3,000-year-old tree has become the s ymbol of Alishan. (photo by Arthur Cheng)

(Left) The thousand-year-old sacred camphor in Sacred Tree Village, Nantou County. Visitors come to make it offerings, and also because they want to see a well-know n tourist sight.

With a lightning rod sacred trees can be spared the wrath of the heavens.

An old tree becomes a tree lord when a red cloth is wrapped around it.

Some tree lords without authentic spirit status became popular "tipsters" during the craze for illegal lotteries.

Streets, communities and villages in Tali County are named for local tree lords, as is this utility pole.

A double misfortune for Tali Township's venerable red cedar, struck by lightning and now outgrown by its neighbours.

Even though they are home to spirits, great trees are no match for the axman.

Even the roots of great trees are at peril, for the Chinese like to carve them into decorative screens.

The tree lords of Tali Township are a favorite spot for a snooze in the shade.

During the Japanese colonial period whole forests of old trees were fell ed, leaving only those few with imperfections to become today's sacred trees. (1927/photo courtesy of Huang Yung-chieh)

"You haven't been to Alishan if you don't ride the narrow-gauge railway when you're there, or see the sacred tree." The famous 3,000-year-old tree has become the s ymbol of Alishan. （photo by Arthur Cheng）

With a lightning rod sacred trees can be spared the wrath of the heavens.

An old tree becomes a tree lord when a red cloth is wrapped around it.

Some tree lords without authentic spirit status became popular "tipsters" during the craze for illegal lotteries.

Streets, communities and villages in Tali County are named for local tree lords, as is this utility pole.

A double misfortune for Tali Township's venerable red cedar, struck by lightning and now outgrown by its neighbours.

Even though they are home to spirits, great trees are no match for the axman.

Even the roots of great trees are at peril, for the Chinese like to carve them into decorative screens.

The tree lords of Tali Township are a favorite spot for a snooze in the shade.

During the Japanese colonial period whole forests of old trees were fell ed, leaving only those few with imperfections to become today's sacred trees. （1927／photo courtesy of Huang Yung-chieh）