Planting trees: The quiet legacy we leave behind

AMONG the most endearing legacies left behind by the White Rajahs during their rule in Sarawak is the silk cotton, or ‘kapok’ tree (Ceiba pentandra) standing quietly at Padang Merdeka, once known as Central Padang.

Generations of Kuching folk would recognise this century-old heritage tree instantly.

For some, it is woven into childhood memories – afternoons spent playing beneath its broad canopy, or the delight in gathering the soft cotton that floated down from its branches like small clouds.

There is no definitive record of the year it was planted, but historical accounts suggest it dates back to the late 1800s or early 1900s.

It was likely planted alongside the four rain trees that still grace the ‘padang’ today, providing welcome shade for those gathering there — whether for leisure, public events or moments of simple communal life.

We often read about extraordinary people who left profound legacies: great philosophers whose thoughts became beacons of hope; scientists whose discoveries saved millions; philanthropists who built schools and hospitals, and musicians whose songs became etched in memory long after they were gone.

Their legacies are written in books, engraved on plaques, and passed down in stories.

But what of the ordinary person, who moves through the world without making waves?

What legacy can we leave behind?

As the Brookes have shown that we can leave behind a legacy by planting trees, one that is enduring and living; one that grows quietly, ring by ring, long after we are gone.

No one would remember who planted the tree, and that is the highest form of legacy – to give without needing to be remembered.

A tree planted today will outlive its planter, offering shade to children yet unborn, and roots that hold the land long after our names are forgotten.

In a world obsessed with immediacy – instant results, quick returns and rapid development – planting a tree feels almost like an exercise in futility.

However, it is an act of which rewards we may never personally enjoy, and that is precisely why it matters.

Our grandparents cleared land to survive, our parents built on it to prosper, roads were laid, towns expanded.

These were necessary steps in nation-building, but development, when unchecked, has come at a cost: shrinking green spaces, rising temperatures, floods made worse by bare hillsides, and a growing disconnection between people and nature.

The question we face today is not whether development should continue, but whether we are wise enough to balance progress with preservation.

Planting a tree is one of the simplest ways to restore that balance.

A tree does far more than beautify a landscape, as its roots bind the soil, reducing erosion and landslides.

Its canopy cools the air, offering relief in cities where concrete traps heat.

It absorbs carbon dioxide and releases oxygen, quietly cleaning the air that we breathe.

It shelters birds, insects and small animals that form the backbone of healthy ecosystems – all these from something so ordinary that we often take it for granted.

Beyond science and environmental benefits lies something deeper – the moral dimension of tree-planting.

A tree is a promise to the future.

It says: “I may not be here, but I care that you are.”

Planting a tree is one of the purest expressions of intergenerational responsibility.

There is also humility, patience and selflessness in planting trees.

We do not rush their growth.

We cannot command them to bear fruit tomorrow.

We tend them, protect them, and trust time to do the rest.

In a society that prizes speed and visibility, trees remind us that some of the most important work happens slowly and quietly.

In many communities, especially rural ones, older residents can point to trees planted decades ago: by parents, teachers, or village elders.

Those trees now mark boundaries, provide food, or serve as meeting places.

Few remember who planted them, but everyone benefits from their presence.

Planting a tree may not make any impact in solving the climate crisis, but it is a tangible, hopeful act in the right direction.

It turns concern into commitment.

Governments, corporations and civil societies can play their part by protecting green spaces, integrating trees into urban planning and supporting reforestation efforts.

But the responsibility does not rest solely with institutions.

It begins with individuals: homeowners planting fruit trees, schools greening their compounds, communities restoring riverbanks, and parents teaching children that caring for the Earth is part of being human.

Perhaps the greatest lesson trees offer is perspective.

They remind us that we are temporary stewards of the land, not its owners.

We borrow Earth from future generations, and how we return it will define us more than any monument we erect.

Long after our time on this Earth has passed, the tree planted today will still stand, speaking silently of a time when someone chose to think beyond their own lifetime.

If we are serious about leaving a meaningful legacy, plant a tree today even though tomorrow belongs to others.