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Most of us want to do something for the environment these days. For instance, we bring our own containers to the grocery store. So, instead of the usual: "Would you like paper or plastic?" We now hear:

"Do you want your organic bean spouts in the Neiman Marcus Sale of the Century souvenir bag with your low-fat, gluten-free chocolate coconut raisin muffins? Or in the Quaker State Cheaper by the Case oil box with your rice milk and textured soy protein mix?"

We also try to use less water these days.

"I haven't washed these jeans in over a month."

"That would explain the flies."

And we try to use less pesticides and harmful chemical fertilizers.

"My compost heap now takes up most of the backyard."

"That would also help explain the flies."

Lately, though, I have a new cause – saving the Sequoiadendron giganteum or Giant Sequoia trees. Well, not actually saving them, but helping to replenish them.

"Stand back," I barked to the family. "Future Forest of America coming through."

"Should you be moving that by yourself?" Christy asked. "You know you have problems with your lower back."

"Yeah, maybe you should get a little trailer," Leila added.

"Or a crane," Charlie offered.

I thought I noticed a bit of sarcasm in their suggestions, but ignored it as I placed the container down on the table and grabbed my special watering apparatus.

"Sure you don't want to use the hose?" Jon asked.

"Hoses can waste water," I said.

"Then how about a drip system?" Patrick asked.

There was some snickering, but I kept a steady hand.

My reforestization began on Christmas day when my wife presented me with a small gaily-wrapped package. Hastily, I opened it thinking it might be the keys to a new Harley Davidson.

"We had a seventy-five dollar spending limit, remember?"

"Oh yeah."

Turned out it was a "Grow a Tree, Plant a Living Legacy" genuine tree seed germination kit in a can.

"Wow, this is a big responsibility," I said.

"Huge!" Carl said.

"Enormous!" Christy said.

I ignored them and read the back of the can. "Says here no tree species in the world has sparked as much interest, reverence and awe as the Giant Sequoia. It's been called the 'monarch of all conifers,' 'godlike giant of the Golden Age', and the 'climax of American vegetation…' Could you guys please stop rolling around on the floor making all those guffaw sounds?"

It was several weeks later before I took on the outright responsibility of growing my Sequoiadendron giganteum and saving the planet. The kit contained a package of seeds – among the tiniest in the tree world – growing medium, protective rocks, a mini greenhouse and detailed instructions. "Put medium into greenhouse, drop in seeds, cover with rocks, and seal top of greenhouse," the instructions said. "Then, put greenhouse into refrigerator for twenty days."

Wow, that was almost as long as we keep leftover pizza.

After twenty days I was instructed to take the greenhouse out of the fridge and place it into the sun. Unfortunately, that was in the middle of the rain season, but I just used a grow light I found in the garage that was left over from a previous growing experience (ah, any FBI agents reading this… just kidding about the grow light ha ha).

Fast forward to now… "Giant Sequoias are the largest living things on earth, past or present," I informed the family (loudly, to overcome the laughter) as I continued to hydrate my two trees. "According to the copy on the can, Ancient Giant Sequoias climb to heights of more than three hundred feet, and have massive, cinnamon-red trunks up to thirty-six feet in diameter. These 'vast structure of antiquity' have life spans of more than three-thousand years."

"You'd better start taking better care of yourself," Jon suggested.

"Maybe take some vitamins," Leila suggested.

"And drink milk," Charlie said.

"Laugh now," I said, "but someday eco travelers from all over the world will be showing up at the door to meet the guy who helped save the environment."

"I'll put on the coffee," my wife said.

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