I've been around long enough to see protests for just about everything. Save the whales. Save the trees. Save the spotted owl. Save vinyl records. At this point, I'm surprised nobody has organized a march to Save Leftover Meatloaf.

Some protests make perfect sense. Others seem designed by people who woke up and thought, “How can I make complete strangers hate my cause by lunchtime?”

Blocking highways is a favorite. Nothing inspires sympathy quite like making someone miss chemotherapy, a job interview, or Taco Tuesday. Then I read about Julia Butterfly Hill. Now there was somebody who understood commitment.

In 1997, at the age of 23, she climbed 180 feet into a thousand-year-old California redwood named Luna because loggers planned to cut it down. And she stayed. Not for a weekend. Not for a month. She stayed seven hundred thirty-eight days! That is longer than some celebrity marriages.

She lived on two little platforms about six feet square. No bathroom. No central air. No Uber Eats. Friends hauled up food with ropes. She collected rainwater. During winter storms, the tree whipped around so violently she strapped herself in at night to avoid becoming a cautionary tale.

And let's talk about the bathroom situation, because apparently nobody in the "living in harmony with nature" brochures mentions this part. When nature calls, you are already there. Unfortunately, nature also knows exactly where you live.

The logging company tried everything. Helicopters buzzed overhead. Security guards blocked supplies. Loggers cut down every tree around Luna, hoping Julia would eventually decide that indoor plumbing had its advantages.

She didn't.

Eventually the company discovered that one determined woman in one stubborn tree was creating far more bad publicity than one tree was worth. Luna was spared and is still standing today. I admire the efficiency of the whole thing. Julia wanted to save a tree, so she climbed the tree. She didn't block traffic twenty miles away. She didn't glue herself to a priceless painting that had absolutely nothing to do with forests. She didn't throw soup at anybody. She simply became the world's most dedicated tree ornament. Can you imagine explaining this to your parents?

“So, how's the apartment?”

“I moved.”

“That's nice. Where?”

“Up.”

“Up where?”

“About 180 feet.”

“Come home.”

“I can't.”

“Why?”

“I'm busy being a branch.”

The funny thing is, history is full of people who made themselves uncomfortable instead of everybody else. Gandhi walked hundreds of miles. The suffragists went to jail. The Freedom Riders climbed onto buses knowing exactly what might happen. Julia climbed into a tree. None of them looked around and said, “You know what would really help? Ruining Bob's commute.”

As I've gotten older, I've noticed there are two kinds of protesters. One says, “I'm willing to make my own life miserable for something I believe in.” The other says, “I'm willing to make your life miserable.” One approach earns admiration. The other gets you honked at.

Julia Butterfly Hill eventually climbed down after 738 days. Her legs had grown so accustomed to the tree swaying that standing on solid ground actually made her dizzy. I don't know about you, but after two years in a redwood, I'd probably hug the nearest toilet and refuse to leave it. Luna is still alive. Which proves that sometimes the most effective protest isn't the loudest one. Sometimes it's just finding the right tree and refusing to come down.