Why Does the Fir Stay Green?

At the woodland edge, a fir stood between two nearly bare broadleaf trees. Yellow and brown leaves covered the path. Above them, the fir's branches remained dark green. Puschel looked at the ground, then at the tree. He walked slowly around Flauschi, as if the answer might be easier to find from the other side.

Puschel“This fir missed the leaf-changing day.”

Flauschi“Perhaps it doesn't need to change everything on the same day.”

Puschel imagined a tree calendar. Every page showed a different leaf. That seemed wonderfully tidy. The fir, however, did not appear to follow it. Short needles still clung to a low branch. Flauschi held the magnifying glass beside it without bending it down.

Puschel“Maybe it doesn't know it's autumn. Shall I tell it?”

He cleared his throat, then decided to lean closer beside Flauschi instead. The needles did not look like tiny sewing needles at all. They were flat, with blunt ends. Some showed their paler undersides. Puschel studied them in surprise.

Flauschi“Needles are leaves too. The fir keeps them for several years. Older needles fall gradually while others remain on the tree.”

Puschel“So it changes just a little at a time. Very clever. It never suddenly finds itself in its undershirt.”

Flauschi giggled. A few brown needles lay among the broad leaves on the ground. They did not need to break off a twig to see them. Their little find fitted the explanation: evergreen did not mean that every single needle stayed green forever.

Flauschi“Needles also have a protective surface. It helps reduce water loss.”

Puschel looked at the bare trees beside the fir. He remembered that plants needed water. In winter, taking up more water could be difficult, especially when the soil was frozen. Broad, thin leaves would provide a large surface from which water could escape. The fir had a different way.

Puschel“Then it isn't forgetful. It simply has different leaves and a different plan.”

Farther along stood a larch. Its soft needles had turned yellow, and some already lay on the ground. Puschel pointed to it and looked questioningly at Flauschi. He had almost put every needle-bearing tree in the same box.

Flauschi“Larches lose their needles in autumn. Not every conifer stays green in winter.”

Puschel“Then my tree box needs a bigger label. Perhaps: Look first, sort later.”

They put the magnifying glass away and left every twig on its tree. On the way back a yellow leaf fluttered down in front of Puschel's feet. He raised a paw as if offering it to the fir. Then he grinned and left it where it was.

Puschel“It isn't a spare part. The fir already has what it needs just now.”

Flauschi glanced up once more. Among the bare branches of the other trees, the green looked especially bright. Puschel decided to return another day. He would not remind the tree about autumn. He would simply look at what had changed.