trees
Towards the end of September, our maple tree received a hefty trim. The photo above was taken from our front door window as I spied on the workers.
I have written about our beloved maple tree over the years. It is as old as our second oldest daughter and has provided a landmark in our lives and home.
I am stubborn when it relates to change.
I didn’t want to have the tree limbed. I loved the umbrella of shade it provided in the rain and intense sunshine.
I loved how I could sit, as I am now, at our dining room table for morning devotions and coffee, writing lists or words to fling out into the world and feeling undiscovered by the endless number of walkers and dogs who parade before our panes.
Our next-door neighbors have assured me of my continued hiddenness due to the window glare. They further asserted that if people were looking my way, it was undoubtedly to witness the flocks of birds before the window, not me.
Despite my hesitation, as I look towards the blue sky and fix my gaze on our reshaped tree, it definitely looks healthier, its beauty firmly intact. The deep cuts from large branches sent towards the earth have mellowed in their contrasting shade to the bark.
Slowly with a tiny bit of reluctance, I admit, this evidence of cutting away will quickly vanish from sight.
Sometimes, a trim is necessary to maintain health and proper growth.
Our tree basking in the October sunshine.
The past week has been full of trees, ones photographed and one I was unable to capture behind a lens.
I had a dental appointment and while assuming my position in the chair, I commented to the hygienist what a nice view her window provided. The rectangular window was filled with a tree instead of the grocery store across the street. She said it was the benefit of seniority and had chosen wisely.
After the dental hygienist finished my cleaning, I had an unusually long wait for the dentist to visit the cubicle. I leaned back and gazed at the tree. For some reason, the date crept into my mind and at that moment, I realized that October 4th was six months to the day of being admitted to the hospital with the diagnosis of Guillain-Barré syndrome *.
Sitting in near silence and solitude created an access point to unleash a moment in time where I had resided sidling up with the place I now reside. The realization made me catch my breath but overwhelmingly, I felt gratitude. Despite mountains of support over these months, as I have processed my residency, it has been a bit of a lonely patch.
Our tendency as fellow life dwellers is to share our commonalities. We recount birth stories sometimes in too much detail. We join our voices when we or someone we know has gone through a “fill in the blank” situation. My syndrome is rare and it has been challenging to know what is normal, what is part of recovery and what will remain as the new me. I am learning this passage of time is about allowing my body, mind, and soul to play tag and praying to be caught.
As my appointment was at day’s end, the reason for the quiet, I started to rise from the chair and retrieve my camera to snap my window view but at that moment, the dentist appeared and asked if I was trying to escape.
I left the dental office full of small bits of perspective woven with joy about more than not possessing any cavities.
I have started walking our beloved park again.
On this particular late afternoon, the park was filled with a palpable hum. In the gazebo pictured above, a group of people were drumming. Their percussion became my steps’ cadence.
The rose garden was dotted with the final gifts of blooms. Kids playing, people on benches chatting while others jogged and corralled dogs. This is a park where it is not uncommon to see groups of friends dancing or people vowing their lives to one another. As I rounded one corner, I looked up to hear the conversation of three climbers practicing their rappelling skills.
I believe my pace was picked up by the gift of my park home or perhaps by feeling like my community was returning to full bloom.
Portland has received its fair share of bad press. The last few years have been undoubtedly a rough patch.
It thrilled my heart to see glimmers of the old Portland vibe.
Trees are filled with wonder, possessing rings that tell their age and a story.
If we were to crack open our lives, what would our rings reveal?
What stories would overflow from our centers?
I am so grateful for trees.
Trees provide me with the lessons of their shade and resilience.
Trees, when given time, are sturdy enough to be climbed and explored.
Trees maintain their framework even when leaves remove their grasp.
Trees are a place to build nests, a hallowed home.
Trees take my gaze off my frame and extend it up and beyond the earth.
Is there a patch in your life waiting for a tree to be planted?
Or is there a sapling in your life needing additional care to grow beyond its current expanse?
Is there a struggling tree in need of stakes?
Do you need staking or to be the stakes for someone else?
Is there an overlooked tree in your life, overgrown, heavy-limbed, and desperately in need of reshaping?
Oh, how I love the lessons of trees and how only one of the trees that shaped me this week was in my own yard.
What are the trees in your yard and beyond?
As the wind courses through their branches, lean in close enough to hear every whispered lesson.
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