I live in trees. I don’t mean in a treehouse or a hammock but surrounded by huge, varied trees that soar and thrive, that are covered with moss and mushrooms and ferns that grow 40 feet up. I love and respect them, they fill me with joy and peace, and though I’ve had favorites, I never did that, ‘get to know a tree’ thing I’ve heard about.

I love science too, and more and more information is coming to us about how sentient living things are, all of them. I won’t go into it here, but you can do a little research. Plants can ‘see’ and they can ‘think’ and they can ‘care.’ For example we know for a scientific certainty that they communicate and can send nutrients to ailing trees through mycelium, a root-like structure of fungus. They do this, we think, because they understand that the health of the entire forest is essential to all of its parts. Conversely, the health of all of its parts make it a healthy forest.

It’s the same for us, of course, but we’ve gotten so lost and confused that we have forgotten the forest for the trees. We seem to have entered an era where the ‘parts’ or individual people count for nothing. Those at the very top take all the nutrients from the rest of us, gorging and laughing with glee, and we just let them. Sometimes I can push that horror aside, and sometimes it really gets to me.

So I decided to give ‘getting to know a tree’ a try. I picked a tree, a lovely cedar, on one of my frequent hiking trails. I sat down and just looked and touched and listened, and felt.

I thought about how it would feel to be that tree, how long it had stood, growing from a tiny seed beneath the loam of the forest floor, through seasons and then years, until now, it stood, tall and gently moving in the very air it helped to create.

It felt beautiful. And then I thought about the roots and how they delve down, connecting to everything else around it, and through those things to all of the forest, and indeed our world. It felt grounding, and it made me happy.

I began to bring tea in a thermos every time I took that hike and instead of rushing past thinking busy thoughts about incidental human things and counting my steps for exercise, I would stop. sit down, nestled in the roots, and drink my tea, and look up at the branches, or around at the mushrooms growing at the base. I started ‘talking’ to the tree. I thanked it for just being, for offering me shade, shelter from the rain, for teaching me about patience and giving without expecting anything.

It felt beautiful, and I want to extend that to people. I want to remember that everyone has roots and branches, stories to tell, pain to recount, and love to give.

So when the day came that I was overwhelmed by sadness that so much of our world doesn’t care about each other or the very earth on which they dwell, and that I couldn’t see light ahead for all of us, I sought that tree out. As I walked along the path, I was thinking that with what is coming we cannot even count on nature being there for us, not if it’s worth a buck to the already over-saturated rich. It sapped me with helplessness, and when I came to that tree, I sat down and began to cry.

Because it is winter, I seldom see another person walking on this path, and the last few weeks had been especially quiet, that’s why it’s my favorite time to hike. I sat on a huge root, secure in the fact that I was alone, far from human ears, wrapped one arm around the tree and wept. I mean I sobbed, just so fed up and tired. I let the tree take all that energy, hoping to be cleansed somehow, I just knew that poison had to come out, and better to do that in a place where I was alone and wouldn’t put it on anyone else.

And that’s when I heard a voice behind me. A quiet, calm, middle-aged, female voice say softly. “What’s going on here?”

Desperately trying to wipe away the tears and snot from my face before I turned, I said, “Oh, you know, just communing with a tree, like you do.”

She knew that I was lying of course, that I had been basically retching up the bile of fear and disappointment and sorrow. So she stood for a few moments and we chatted, about hiking shoes and wet feet and the joy of being alone and at peace in the forest, and then she went on with a wave of her hand and the comment, “I’ll let you get on with your love affair with the tree.” as though she were keeping me from errands I had to run. I waited a bit, then followed, thanking the tree, or nature, or the universe, or all of it, for just letting me be with my confusion for a bit. I felt much better, still sad but okay with the fact that I was sad, and that I would be sad sometimes.

When I got toward the bottom of the trail, I saw the woman again, and I went up to her. “Thank you,” I said, “for checking on me. It was very kind of you.” She just nodded a bit, letting me know there was no need to explain, we all leak pain sometimes when it gets to be too much. We talked for a bit about wanting the world to be better, and knowing that there are so many people right now who seem proud of hating. The way she put it was, “I just think they don’t have a heart.”

And that was exactly what made me so sad in the first place, but for that day there was joy too. Joy that I found a place to be safe and let go, that a person who could have snuck past without dealing with the crazy lady had instead taken the time to make sure I was okay, to let me know there are still decent people who do care. She reminded me that no tree is ever alone in the forest.

I feel joy just to know that special place under the tree is waiting for me.

If you love something, you will protect it.

And it will love and protect you back.

Don’t give up.

Weep, cry,

and then get up

and go on.

Shari, December 31st, 2024