1747. Twenty-four years old.  The pine had recovered well from its encounter with the porcupine.  It now had two growing tips, curving upward gracefully like a wishbone, and in this year, it produced its first cones.  In September, a slow-moving fire entered the little valley from below, one of the many started by the Dakubetede people at that time of year.  It left a small scar on the pine as it passed.

1754. Thirty-one years old.  An August lightning storm spread fires throughout the mountains.  One of them moved through the valley and left its scar on the pine.  Despite the hot, dry weather, it found little fuel to feed it, and was soon gone.

1755. Thirty-two years old.  In the nutrient-rich ashes left by the fires of the previous summer, a white fir had sprouted eight feet from the pine.  In less than a year, it would grow to more than three feet tall.

1769. Forty-six years old.  After three dry years in a row, fires burned hot across the mountains.  One swept into the valley, driven by strong winds from the south.  The pine received a thick fire scar when the nearby white fir, unprotected by its thin bark, exploded into flames.

1770. Forty-seven years old.  The pine lay down a broad growth ring, thanks to a wet winter and the death of the white fir, which had been a deadly competitor for water and nutrients.  It was a good year.

1784. Sixty-one years old.  Another fire scar.

1794. Seventy-one years old.  Another fire scar.

1800. Seventy-seven years old.  Another fire scar.

1813. Ninety years old.  Another fire scar.

1816. Ninety-three years old.  A four-year old grizzly bear, recently driven into independence by its mother with bellows and slaps, entered the valley over the low saddle.  Prickling with aggression, it reared to its hind legs and scraped deep vertical gashes in the pine’s trunk with its four-inch claws.