There was a tree. Of course it was chopped down. It was burnt, turned to smoke and haze to choke lungs and cease respiration. Infested with disease so that it died and spread aliens a-scatter. Because this is what humans do, except for periodic pestilence from the wild.
The tree did not waste. Its burning released carbon dioxide to grow yet more plant food crops. Its ashes additionally fertilised a richening soil after volcanic lava killed surrounding lives in an eruption. Its murder amongst forests awakened natural hue and cry, even amongst artificial settlements, to not forget the vegetation of life.
And so the tree is still around, albeit stunted or twisted or sickly in places. Like women throughout the times of humanity, too often enslaved and persecuted and taken for granted. But no matter, because in the end, roots and trunk prevail, far more and longer than transient, showy leaves, flowers, and fruits.