Dear Friends,
To mix things up, I offer you something lighter this week. I am part of a wonderful writing group and this past week’s prompt was about trees. I have a special love for trees, partly because I live in a place where their shade is vital to summer survival. But it’s more than that. An old tree feels like a spiritual being to me. I enjoyed reflecting on trees I have known this week. Please consider this an invitation for you to do the same.
In Braiding Sweetgrass, Robin Wall Kimmerer writes:
Imagine walking through a richly inhabited world of Birch people, Bear people, Rock people, beings we think of and therefore speak of as persons worthy of our respect, of inclusion in a peopled world. We Americans are reluctant to learn a foreign language of our own species, let alone another species. But imagine the possibilities. Imagine the access we would have to different perspectives, the things we might see through other eyes, the wisdom that surrounds us. We don’t have to figure out everything by ourselves: there are intelligences other than our own, teachers all around us. Imagine how much less lonely the world would be.
I get goosebumps when I learn about trees’ respiration, circulation and communication systems which just confirm their being-ness to me. Mary Oliver tells of the trees turning their bodies into pillars of light in her poem “In Blackwater Woods.” (I will include the full poem at the end.)
Awe overcomes me in the presence of an old tree and wraps me in their magic.
I spent time in pine forests, redwood forests, and oak woods as I grew up in California developing fondness for all of them. The fragrant pines shade dry summer woods or snowy winter ones. Redwood forests offer deep, moist shade, quiet and sanctuary. Oaks reach out their branches, dividing as they go, and resembling our own lungs when the branches are bare. I associate them with carpets of golden dry grasses, and varieties of acorns that feed squirrels, birds, deer and other wildlife.
I think of the particular trees I have known.
Unknown trees surrounded me while I sat on a blanket in the early spring fingering a blade of grass. When I look at that picture of 3 year-old me, I can see that I am not alone, that from such early days the trees have stood like guardians.
Willow tree in grandma’s front yard hid us under her skirt of weeping branches and transported us to secret worlds.
Nine olive trees in my childhood yard dropped poky leaves and olives which were great for pelting each other if they were green and even better when they were purple and left deep purple stains. Their widely branching trunks made for easy climbing.
The redwood tree in our backyard with closely spaced branches made a ladder for my children to climb high up inside that tree. I wished I could climb too. We could all imagine ourselves outside of our urban life and in a wilder place in the presence of that tree.
The silver maple in the front yard was considered a “junk tree,” but my cranky baby was soothed by sitting under their canopy. They calmed her and they calmed me. Maybe they calmed her because they calmed me. The tree’s canopy shaded us through scorching summers, and then dropped yellow fall leaves all at once.
I moved to a house with no trees, the prior elderly owner having removed all of them. I planted six trees: fig, persimmon, California redbud, Chinese pistache, black tupelo and crape myrtle. I talk them through the drought and extreme heat offering extra water and extra love. The climate may be changing too quickly for some of them to survive. If I had my way, I would live in the shelter of a big tree.
Across the street, our neighbor has a huge red maple tree. We are blessed by her fall display, and the way the afternoon light catches the oranges among the reds.
I seek out “my” oak tree down on the banks of the American River. They are a special tree, hidden below the path and perched just above the river. Their trunk, like a very a wide U, forms the perfect nest in which to rest and watch the river run. Sitting there feels like a secret, but I know this secret belongs to many.
We got married in a redwood forest standing among the trees. We eloped, but we were blessed by the trees who were our witnesses. Redwoods have always felt sacred to me. I don’t think you can be surrounded by their presence and not sense their majesty.
This summer, my daughter will marry her love under the canopy of an old Chinese pistache tree. Her wedding under the tree feels auspicious, which is of course what her mother hopes.
If I am too long away from the company of big trees, I miss them. Sometimes I just need to be in their presence to connect with what is real. In her poem, “In Blackwater Woods,” Mary Oliver writes:
To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.
When it is time for me to let go of all that is mortal, I think I would be happy to return to the trees. Maybe I will become part of a tree body’s pillar of light, or nutrients for one of the Birch people.
Who are the trees that you have known? I’d love to hear about them.
Thanks for being here. Please share this post with folks who might be interested.
Lots of love,
Maija
(The full poem.)
In Blackwater Woods
By Mary OliverLook, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillarsof light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shouldersof the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, isnameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learnedin my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other sideis salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this worldyou must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold itagainst your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.
Thank you Maija.
Thank you, Maija. How i enjoy reading your words AND hearing your voice. It is calming and soothing. Full of every day wisdom. I too feel the presence of trees, especially big ones and old ones.
I remember a big old lemon tree in your back yard many years ago. I was marveled by its abundance. How its heavy branches drooped to the ground, dripping with lemons. I asked if I could take some home and you said "of course, help yourself." I walked underneath that canopy and it was like entering a magical world. I filled my suitcase and traveled back to Colorado with a smile. No one else knew why I was smiling so much, but I knew the secrets I carried inside that suitcase. When I got home, I proudly unzipped it to reveal a world of fragrance and yellow joy! What fun our had making lemon curd, and adorning our food with splashed of citrine! I still think of that tree with a grin and thank you inside my heart. And now I think of you too and our shared love of trees.