If only it could talk. It’s tall — very tall, and I can tell it once was a hefty tree with loads of branches. While I’m not sure what type of tree it is, I know it has survived more storms and weather events than we could imagine.

Its bark has been picked nearly clean by insects, a variety of tree-dwelling animals and birds. Almost naked of all protection, this product of Mother Earth situated along a country road not far from our home, is nearly void of any color. Much like the spots on my own aging hands, the tree is mostly bone white, pocked with dots of brown.

Apparently it has been a favorite target for woodpeckers. So many holes fill its frame that it makes me wonder what is holding it upright. After so many storms and high winds, I have purposely checked on it to see if it has survived yet another challenge.

Obviously it has been home to numerous creatures of the day and night. Perhaps a family of owls has burrowed into the once-safe deep interior. In its prime, it would have been a suitable space for winged creatures, raccoons and squirrels. Not so much now as it creaks with each passing gust of wind.

Other greener trees and brush are threatening to choke out the tree’s existence. Newer, stronger growth is surrounding the old-timer. I’d like to think that the younger green stuff is looking after the senior tree. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to go for people, too?

As we humans age, it’s easy to be overlooked because of our tired limbs and shaky existence.

The human race appears to be living longer than even a generation ago.

With that longer life comes challenges much like those of my favorite tree.

Maybe we don’t stand as straight and tall as we once did, but we still want to be relevant. We’ve weathered changes, good and bad. We learn to accept loss and revel in the love and joy of grandchildren. Octogenarian, nonagenarian and centenarian — all words foreign to past generations. However, it’s not unusual for 80, 90 and 100-year-olds to grace our retirement homes.

I don’t know how much time my favorite tree has left, but I plan to honor it with a tip of my hat each time I pass it by. Wouldn’t hurt to do the same for our human friends.

Heather Ziegler can be reached via email at hziegler@theintelligencer.net.