If a Pinecone Falls in a Forest

Philosophotography #1

Psalm 19:2-3

Day to day pours out speech, and night to night reveals knowledge. There is no speech, nor are there words, whose voice is not heard.

I passed this pinecone just yesterday while hiking along the muddy trail of Longleaf Pine Forest in New Hill, North Carolina, and it spoke to me, so I pulled out my cheap Android phone and took a picture, bending down on my knee to get within earshot, and listening intently to whatever words might come next. The words were a twist on a familiar riddle: “Sir, if a pinecone falls in a forest and there’s no one to see it, does it still make an impression?”

Well, I chuckled a bit, thinking the little spud was just being funny, but he wasn’t. He was genuinely perplexed. He really needed to know, as if his little life that day depended on it. So I rolled the riddle around in my mind for a moment, thinking to myself, “Well, let’s see, would this beautiful, symmetrical, heart-shaped and heartfelt artwork have been worth nothing had I not happened to walk by at this moment, on this particular trail, to notice? Does my noticing make it beautiful or is it beautiful in spite of me?” And then a further thought struck me. “Well, what if pinecones all over forest beds make impressions like this every single day, and thousands of trail-runners and dog-walkers and bird-watchers just scurry right on past and never pay attention; is that an indictment against the pinecone’s workmanship or the passerby’s indifference?” Now, don’t roll your eyes just yet. Remember: I know it’s only a pinecone! But I couldn’t tell him that, could I? Plus, he seemed sad and needed an answer, and, besides, I loved the picture he painted in the sand, so I felt obliged to at least give the question some thought before moving on.

Eventually, insights emerged from my streams-of-contemplation, and I spoke them to the little guy to cheer him up: “Little pinecone, my friend, I know two things for certain: one, that God’s world would be a great deal uglier if you weren’t here painting pictures like these; and two, that, having been fortunate enough to come across your impressions along my path today, I’m now inspired to go out and paint my own.”

Now, I wish I could say my words changed that pinecone’s life from that moment onward, but the truth is I’m really not sure they made a difference at all. He still seemed a bit quiet and depressed when I left. But, then again, if pinecones are anything like philosophers, I trust he’ll be rolling around in no time, painting more inspiring pictures, and asking the hard questions to the next wanderer fortunate enough to cross his path.

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