All the neighborhood drama from last week’s storm damage has caused me to think about trees.

Even when a tree hits ninety years old, it continues to grow. Compare that to humans: once we’re done fighting our way through puberty, we’re done growing. What you see is what you get. And by the time we hit the big 4-0, it all goes downhill. (Literally! That’s when we start shrinking.)

Imagine if we were like most trees and continued growing until we died. Let’s play out this thought for a few minutes:

By the time you turn 40 years old, you’re 25 feet tall. You have to start ducking to avoid power lines when you’re walking down the street.

Then when 50 hits, you’re wearing a size 143 shoe. Your shoe laces are twenty feet long, and your big toe is the size of a cantaloupe (not as tasty, though).

Fast forward to 60, and you’re a whoppin’ 45 feet tall and a 52’ semi trailer is the only vehicle you can fit in. It’s not a comfy ride, so you prefer to walk. You’ll get there faster anyway.

Once you arrive at 70, your pant size (if you’re a man) is something like 34–302. (If you’re “big boned” then it might be closer to 44–302). Due to your never-ending growth spurt, you grow out of your clothes every six months just like you did in Jr. High School.

Now imagine, you’re 80 and looking better than ever, enjoying a nice walk down the street on a breezy summer day. WHOOSH comes a wind gust and suddenly your arms cracks off just like a tree branch falls during a storm. No worries, though…it didn’t hurt much, and you still have one good arm remaining. Plus, you figure you’ll regrow a little stub-arm that will be functional in another few years.

Just to add a little more flavor to this human/tree comparison, wouldn’t it be hilarious if our hair fell out every autumn after a displaying a beautiful array of orange and red color, only to return in full strength the following spring?