A lone birch amongst other deciduous trees, hundreds of trilliums at its feet.
To me, the picture represents . . .
. . . determination to be authentic no matter what is going on around . . .
. . . a white tree being applauded by an audience of trilliums . . .
. . . alone, but not lonely. . .
What does the picture bring to your mind?
On Sunday I walked in the woods near my home.
Last autumn’s leaves have not yet composted, so they cover the parts of the path that aren’t muddy. The trees in my Ottawa, Canada climate are budding, but branches are still bare of leaves. Muted colours of grey and brown and dark forest green dominate.
I rounded a corner in the path. Up ahead, white leaves fluttered on a single tree. With branches stretched out in a triangular shape, the leaves resembled the flickering lights of a Christmas tree.
I stopped to appreciate it. I walked closer to examine the leaves. I thought about another of Robert MacFarlane’s words: marcescence. It can refer to trees that hold on to leaves through winter, or people who wither but don’t fall.
Others might have passed by without noticing the simple gift of nature. I’m glad that I walk mindfully, on the lookout for sparks of light on my path.
If we’re watchful, we can perceive those little boosts to the spirits. They help us during times when we’re withering, so we don’t fall.
This time of social distancing is easy for me. I’m in my home. I love my home. It is my sanctuary.
Or one of the anyway. I also find sanctuary in other places: the woods, friends’ houses, and, yes, church.
Are you in a sanctuary? Which sanctuaries do you miss?
I work in a fantastic place. How do I know that? Because this is on the wall there.
It energizes me to know that my workplace supports me for me.
They benefit when I do good work, of course. It’s in their best interest to create an environment where people love what they do and are happy doing it.
But there’s more to it than that. I take those ideas along with me when I leave my workplace.
I’m always growing, and helping others to grow too.
Who is helping you to grow?
I awoke early.
An early walk would be nice, I thought, to see the sun rise.
When I walked out my front door, I turned west first. Above me, still high in the brightening sky, was the full moon.
I watched the sun rise, and I watched the moon set.
Every end is a beginning, every beginning an end.
Meet my great-grandmother.
I’m told I have her chin.
There are many things to love about this picture—the long dress, the apron (!), the hat that looks like something Charlie Chaplin might have sat upon, the natural grass untouched by any lawn mower, and the corner of a barn that was probably raised on a good old-fashioned barn-raising day.
And, of course, the tree stump she’s wrestling into submission.
The thing I love the most is that she doesn’t look unhappy. There might even be the hint of a smile.
The woman is digging tree stumps in a long skirts and she doesn’t seem to mind.
In some ways her challenges were greater than mine. She probably sewed that dress that she had no choice but to wear. She had to clear the land where they grew the food they ate, she had to bake from scratch every single cookie and loaf of bread she consumed, and she had to can her green beans and tomatoes. She was driven to do those things because otherwise her family would go hungry. She worked hard—physically—from dawn to dusk.
In other ways her life was simple. She had food, faith and family. She never had to suffer the irritation of four-way stops, she never had to receive emails from hackers trying to scam her, and she never had anyone in the next cubicle eating curry for lunch.
The modern “tree stumps” I have to wrestle into submission are quite different, and I don’t have to do it while wearing a long dress. (Although I can if I choose.) My tree stumps challenge my mind, my emotions and my spiritual equilibrium more than my body, but they still challenge me from dawn to dusk.
But, from what I hear, I inherited another thing from my great-grandmother—the calm joy of moment.
No matter what’s happening—no matter what—there’s joy to be found, even if it’s the flip-side of sorrow.
Somerton Smith 