"I like trees because they seem more resigned to the way they have to live than other things do"

Cather’s line admires the quiet poise of trees, a stance of acceptance that is neither defeat nor apathy. Rooted in one place, trees cannot flee drought, seek better soil, or chase the sun across horizons. They work within constraints, turning necessity into form: bending toward light, thickening bark against wind, dropping leaves to survive winter. Their growth rings hold the story of hardship and abundance without complaint. What looks like resignation is a mature intelligence of limits, an embodied understanding that life is negotiated rather than conquered.

Set against human restlessness, the contrast is sharp. People often treat constraint as an affront, a challenge to be overcome at any cost. Animals can migrate, explore, or resist; humans plan and scheme. Trees, by contrast, exhibit a long patience. They take decades to reach a canopy, share nutrients through underground networks, and weather storms by yielding rather than breaking. That yielding is not weakness; it is a strategy of endurance. They do not ask the world to be other than it is. They shape themselves to reality and, in doing so, subtly shape reality back, stabilizing soil, softening wind, cooling air.

There is an ethical undertow in this admiration. Acceptance can be courage: living well within limits, refusing the frantic denial that breeds waste and violence. The trees’ “resignation” suggests a wisdom modern life often resists: that creativity thrives under constraint, that time measured in seasons and decades can heal, that strength may be the art of bending. At the same time, the line invites humility. Perhaps the serenity we attribute to trees is our projection; even so, the projection instructs. It asks for a quieter ambition, rootedness, attention, reciprocity.

To like trees for this reason is to prefer steadiness over conquest, form over frenzy, presence over spectacle. Their stillness is not silence but a disciplined consent to reality, and from that consent arises endurance, beauty, and a subtle power.