Seven Trees

Facing false choices and finding creative alternatives

When we started planning Fellowfield Discovery Park, we didn’t know much about engineering or the rules of land development, but we were eager to learn and excited to work with the professionals we had hired. In early meetings, they asked us to share our vision for the park. We described a place where visitors could learn from the land’s history and community and build stewardship skills. We expressed our intent to restore native plants and preserve what still existed of the oak hickory forest that once graced the land. We trusted the engineers to provide the technical guidance we needed to translate our values into a thoughtful and practical design, and they seemed eager to contribute to, in their words, “our unique project.”

That’s why it was such a shock when they brought us their first set of plans. On the park map, seven trees were marked with black X’s, and we were informed that meant the old hickory trees growing alongside the front edge of the park would have to be cut down. If the established driveway was to serve as the park’s official entrance, the trees were in the way, and they would have to go.

At first, the idea seemed both ridiculous and distressing. For as long as I could remember, the trees had been there, and the gravel driveway served us without incident for decades. The hickories grew tall and healthy, blazing yellow in the fall, their shaggy bark peeling off in signature curls. To us, the trees were not obstacles to design around. They were part of the native community and the history of the place. To cut them would go against everything we envisioned for the park. How could the first proposal the engineers brought to us be so completely at odds with the values and intent we had so carefully shared with them? Were they not listening?

When we protested, our engineers explained that the trees blocked the line-of-site requirements for cars entering the road. It was a safety issue, we were told, and a non-negotiable one.

We felt cutting the trees was non-negotiable. Can we move the driveway? we suggested. 

You’ll face the same issue everywhere, they replied. And after several tries, it was clear they were right. No matter where we moved the driveway, other large trees - or a wetland - would face the same dire fate. Every option we were given required sacrifice. To have a park, you need a driveway, and it’s the driveway or the trees, make a choice, they said. 

Asking Why

At first, we were too overwhelmed by the choice we were given to really question it. The engineers assured us their plan was standard practice. They gave us the impression that road rules were immutable. We were frustrated and unsure how to proceed. We stalled. We seriously considered the choice to abandon our plan for a park.

Looking back on it, I think the best choice we made was to do nothing and let ourselves sit with the situation. In time, we got over our dismay, and we started asking productive questions instead. Why were these the only choices? What was the purpose of the road regulations? Could we meet their intent in another way?

To make sense of the impasse, we decided to learn more about the rules that were driving these decisions. Here in Michigan, our County Road Commission (CRC) is responsible for ensuring the safety of roads across the county, which includes approving driveway placements and designs. A key part of their job is making sure drivers entering and exiting a driveway can do so without creating hazards. For this, the CRC follows line-of-sight requirements, which ensure drivers have a clear view of oncoming traffic. These requirements are based on national guidelines set by the American Association of State Highway and Transportation Officials, which calculate how far a driver needs to see down the road to safely accelerate, merge, or make a turn.

For a left-hand turn—crossing oncoming traffic to head in the opposite direction—the line-of-sight requirement is the most stringent. Drivers need to see far enough both left and right to assess the speed of oncoming cars to execute their turn safely. The exact distance depends on the speed limit of the road; in our case, the speed limit was 50 mph, and to the right a curve in the road reduced visibility. Our trees were deemed an additional hazard, obstructing the view of the curve to the right. The engineers emphasized that this was a critical safety concern.

The existing driveway, a simple gravel path onto the land, had served its purpose for generations, with many successful left turns and no previous accidents. But we could see that if we were opening the land for public use, the safety rules had to be addressed. If the trees stayed, visitors turning left from the park might not have enough time to safely react to an approaching car. We did not want to put anyone at risk.

But that’s interesting, we thought. . . it is making a left turn that is the problem. Do we have to allow left turns out of the park?

And just like that, a different possibility emerged.

We went back to the engineers with a counterproposal: What if we kept the existing driveway but restricted it to right turns only? Drivers leaving the park would merge southward onto the road, avoiding the need to cross traffic. They wouldn’t need to have a view of traffic coming around the curve in order to exit the park.

Would that solution meet the safety requirements and save the trees? After another several rounds of back and forth, the answer: yes, it would. 

False Dichotomies

The initial choice we were given set up what is called a “false dichotomy”: either we cut the trees or we compromise safety. It wasn’t until we asked “why” that we realized this choice was based on a narrow interpretation of the requirements. By exploring the reasoning behind the rules, we found an alternative that preserved both safety and the trees.

False dichotomies are surprisingly common.

Consider parking requirements in urban planning which often dictate large expanses of asphalt even in areas where public transportation is viable. The implicit dichotomy is that we either provide abundant parking or people won’t visit, but this doesn’t hold in all contexts. Cities that have reduced parking in favor of public transit or bike infrastructure often see a shift toward more sustainable habits, not a loss of business (Choi and Kim, 2019; Shoup, 2011; Levinson and Krizek, 2008; McCahill and Rodier, 2008).

Or think about food systems. Those promoting industrial agriculture have long presented the false choice between large-scale monoculture farming and hunger. This framing dismisses alternatives like regenerative agriculture or localized food systems as impractical. Yet studies show that diverse, small-scale farming practices can be both more sustainable and more productive in the long term (Altieri and Nicholls, 2017; Gliessman, 2016; Wezel, et al., 2014; Perfecto, et al., 2009).

These false dichotomies persist because they simplify complex issues into binary choices, making decision-making feel easier but less nuanced. Research in cognitive psychology shows that people can be particularly prone to "black-and-white thinking” under stress or time constraints (Vohs and Baumeister, 2016; Evans, 2008; Sanna and Schwarz, 2004; Kahneman and Tversky, 1982). Research by Tversky and Kahneman (1974) discovered that cognitive shortcuts lead us to oversimplify complex decisions. This tendency helps us process information quickly but can distort reality, causing us to focus on extremes and exclude alternative perspectives.

Humans may rely on false dichotomies because our brains are wired to favor a straightforward choice, but there is ample evidence that cultural expectations and language patterns are also working to reinforce either-or thinking. The language specialist George Lakoff has written about the way metaphors influence our thought and notes that two-way opposites (such as good vs. bad, human vs. nature, man vs. woman) are deeply embedded in our language and culture. Wendell Berry describes how our society regularly pits economic development against ecological health. In his essay Two Economies, Berry argues that when we talk about our well-being as separate from nature it is a false separation that harms both. “We cannot impose our will upon the land without degrading ourselves,” he writes, challenging us to rethink the cultural norms of how we fundamentally define a healthy economy. Paulo Freire, in Pedagogy of the Oppressed, argues that oppressive systems often frame issues in ways that obscure alternative possibilities. This maintains the status quo by making it seem inevitable.

Breaking the Cycle

Here’s my thinking – if our language and culture can encourage false dichotomies, that also means our language and culture can counter them and help us to think more deeply and explore the true complexity of our choices.

What does that counter-culture look like? Freire provides a simple yet profound solution: questioning the frameworks we are given—asking “why", he argues, is essential for liberation and creativity. Similarly, political theorist Hannah Arendt wrote about the dangers of “thoughtless conformity” in her analysis of bureaucracy and authoritarianism. In The Human Condition, she argues that society needs to cultivate a practice of questioning the underlying purpose of rules or systems in order to preserve our human capacity for critical thought and moral responsibility.

More recent critical thinking research (Paul and Elder, 2008; Facione, 2015; Halpern, 2014; Brookfield, 2012; Ennis, 2011) highlights “why,” “how,” and “what if” questions to promote a deeper understanding of complex issues and diverse perspectives. For example, instead of asking, Is this choice good or bad? reframing the question to What are the benefits and drawbacks of this choice for different people? can reveal a spectrum of possibilities.

By simply asking “why,” we can challenge false dichotomies and uncover new possibilities. In our case, this meant questioning whether the trees and the safety of our visitors were truly in conflict. But the principle applies more broadly. When we refuse to accept either-or framing, we open the door to different solutions—approaches that respect complexity and create space for multiple needs to coexist, without accepting the inevitability of sacrifice.

Why Did It Take Us So Long to Ask Why?

This experience called attention to how often we operate on autopilot, following established norms or instructions without stopping to ask the most basic questions.

I don’t think our response was unusual. Cultural assumptions and lack of understanding often keep us from questioning rules or systems we inherit. We assume they are immutable facts rather than guidelines born of specific contexts. In our case, we were ignorant about the planning process and initially deferred to the experts. If the stakes had not been so high – if we had not been so committed to preserving the trees – we may never have questioned their advice. 

But consider the opportunity we would have missed! At Fellowfield, our solution wasn’t hidden or complex. It’s rather humbling to realize, we simply needed to understand the rules well enough to work with them. Doing so allowed us to see beyond the false choice of safety vs. preservation. How often do we miss opportunities like this - miss creative and collaborative solutions that better align with our values because we don’t pause long enough to question and learn something beyond our initial assumptions or what we’ve been told?

I feel grateful that I had an experience like this early in the park’s planning. Today, the driveway remains exactly where it’s been, a quiet gravel path that serves as both a practical entrance and a nod to the park’s history. The trees remain too—their shaggy bark peeling in the sunlight, their roots holding fast to the soil. They remain unchanged, but they have changed me. Focusing on their welfare has given me a new perspective. Every time I pull out of the driveway and turn right, I am reminded to rethink how I approach challenges – to be wary of false dichotomies and have the patience to be curious. And to trust it is possible to find solutions that honor the real complexity of our lives.

References

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Arendt, H. (1958). The human condition. University of Chicago Press.

Berry, W. (1993). Two economies. In The art of the commonplace: The agrarian essays of Wendell Berry (pp. 49-55). Counterpoint.

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Freire, P. (1970). Pedagogy of the Oppressed. Herder and Herder.

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Perfecto, I., Vandermeer, J., & Wright, A. (2009). Nature’s matrix: Linking agriculture, conservation and food sovereignty. Earthscan.

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