Learning from the Trees

Last week’s warm spell, with temperatures in the 50s, suddenly revealed what’s been hidden for these last three months. For the first time since December, I can see what was underneath the piles of snow. The solar driveway lights, which were buried up to their tops, giving off a strange glow in the snow at night, now shed full light.  The trash that got blown into the yard last November and was forgotten about is now available for me to clean up: cardboard and beetle kill patches from the trees. The path to the water pump is clear, and the benches for the picnic table in the back have emerged from the once four feet of snow.

I can see where the rocks from last summer’s campfire ended up after the snowplow driver inadvertently pushed them to the back of the driveway last December. Most gloriously, I can see and smell the earth, still brown and covered with needles and flattened grasses, but breathing.

This winter, when I went for my walks around Meeker Park, it was always with difficulty. As much as I love the snow, climbing up the hills in snow up to my knees was hard work, especially when it was blizzarding. But with the snow now melted from the south-facing hillsides, I feel like I’m bounding up the hill, unencumbered, as if my feet suddenly got lighter.

I’m hearing more bird calls, and I saw my first bluebird this week. Unexpectedly, there was a fish swimming in Cabin Creek where the snow still lingered around the edges of a small pool.  The top half of Mount Meeker is already stripped of snow, its wide flanks open to the sun, but its lower half still has slivers of snow, especially in the wide gullies that run down its side.

Near the creek, I found a small pine tree growing from a boulder (above)—a seemingly improbable place to take hold. I’ve seen this before, with even fairly tall trees existing on the water that collects in the cracks that the tree’s roots have managed to force open in the hard granite.

None of us knows at birth where we will land: in loose soil nurtured by decaying pine cones and needles, on top of a ridge where strong winds try to constantly pull us down, or wedged in a granite boulder.

We all land someplace different, and we work with what we’ve been given. Some of us will have easy lives and others will struggle. The trees don’t complain but go about working to survive. They inspire me.  All I can do is hope that this small promise of a tree will grow strong.

Comments

[Erin Block]

"Most gloriously, I can see and smell the earth, still brown and covered with needles and flattened grasses, but breathing." What a perfect description of spring! Breathing again. I love it. I feel it too. Also, many years ago, as I lamented the soil into which I had fallen...my mother told me "you have to grow where you're planted." Your piece here is such a beautiful example of that.

[Sally]

I loved this wonderful wisdom too! Sooo true and so good to keep in mind as we have the struggles that each of us have. Thank You!

[shoney]

"None of us knows at birth where we will land: in loose soil nurtured by decaying pine cones and needles, on top of a ridge where strong winds try to constantly pull us down, or wedged in a granite boulder"---I was especially touched by your post, this line resonated--how lucky we are to love the landscape we live in, to be able to appreciate it. Thank you for your insights.

[Julene Bair]

Much wisdom in this one, Kathy. And thanks to you, I too am inspired by the pine to accept my circumstances and do the best I can with them. I also love your description of walking uphill now that the snow is gone and you can "bound" again. That's exactly what it feels like!