Trees

In honour of my blog's most missed reader: CRM

My father-in-law and I sat on the veranda overlooking an early August morning on the farm.  The
horses were still lazy in their paddock.  The day was fresh; just beginning to warm in one of the driest summers I remember on our farm.  We sat in silence over our mugs of steaming, hot coffee.  We could sit in peace with each other, which I always liked.

Photo of the line of trees taken Oct 2013

The air had a crispness to it, a freshness; a different energy.  A line of alder and old evergreen trees on the length of our property boundary stood before us approximately two hundred feet away holding our eyes.  I cuddled in to my chair, my feet up, with knees huddled in to keep warmth.  There was something new in that line of trees.

I broke our silence with an analogy: One droplet of a colour, set in to clear water.  That colour is carried outward, permeating its secret to a new tone of being...  Autumn had begun.  He agreed.  He responded telling me of his love for autumn - the beauty he saw in it, how it was dear to him.

I have always loved Fall as well.  The fresh, crisp smells, the burst of colours that leave me and Little
M awe-struck.  The winds and breezes that dance with the trees, freeing them of last seasons' growth, setting them to the ground for nourishment and protection.  The chill that sets us inward, to reflect, to busy ourselves within - ourselves and our homes.  It is a peaceful, loving and introspective time.

It is October 20th now.  Almost one month has passed since he lost his battle to cancer.  The day he left, autumn was in full force.  The skies shifted from blue skies, to migrations of immense, powerful clouds erupting across it. Those clouds moved so fast.  The winds chased through the fields and shrubs outside of his window and took his life with them...

 

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Trees have always been something my eye have been drawn to.  When I travel, it is the trees that my eyes notice first.  I can not buy a real Christmas tree without the intention of buying one that I will then plant on our farm.  I can not kill a tree.  Seeing Christmas tree lots are like walking in to a butcher shop for me.  Yup, odd.  Even my daughter: one of her dreams is to just have a tree that she can climb.  There has always been a connection to trees, but the past months, trees were consistently and frequently in my field of view.


My father-in-law gave me a gift - a watercolour of an Alder tree, "Elder Alder".  It sits in my office to my left. 


My favourite time with him was during that mid-August trip he made to visit us just after he was diagnosed.  Himself, my daughter, and I went to the forested part of our property and sat on our meditation deck in front of a group of alders.  The entire morning, we did art.  He chose water colour, I chose to sketch in pencil, my daughter Little M, drew chalk on trees and did her own water colour.  She bravely showed her grandpa her creation and then fluttered around us as he and I just sat and created together.


Then the leaves began their brilliance.  I love the countryside most for the symphony of deep colours those trees bring.  Trees were on the forefront of my mind.



A couple of weeks after his fathers' passing, my husband encouraged me to connect with aspects of my cultural background - Buddhism, mindfulness, community.  A dear friend of mine South of the border informed me of a meditation retreat she had once lived and worked at.  Every so often, they would host a Day of Mindfulness.  We made plans to go together.

She and I met part-way on an early day in the first week in October.  Together we drove through the countryside, catching up and just taking in the vibrant, picturesque landscape.   Every turn was something out of a calender.   The trees were gorgeous.  Though I was nervous about feeling so incredibly raw, vulnerable and still in the aftershocks of our family's loss, the trees seemed to help anchor me as each one slipped by the car.

Our day consisted of sitting, walking and working meditations, a formal lunch, and a talk by Dharma teacher E. K..  To that point, I felt as though life was more and more intensely swinging from event-to-event, with just enough energy to grasp the next task.   Though I was feeling effective and productive in most things, I was well within the red-line of my reserves.  I did not feel like the"me" I am meant to be, in the moments where I was not doing.  Does that make sense?   Everything had now aligned with that day, and there I was.

Grove of trees on the walking meditation

E.K. spoke of community, of an analogy: trees.  Fancy that.  She noted  how one tree would take on all of the elements if standing alone out in a field.  Yet a forest or grove is a safe harbour.  It is a place that shares the elements, but is able to offer protection and shelter.  We thrive together.

I have written previously here about death - "compost" I believe I said.  Crass in some light, except in light of nature.  How so?

Seedling beside my meditation spot

A tree drops a seed.  Often times nearby its source.  It breaks ground, sharing the same soil of its parents.  It is somewhat harboured from the elements.  Yet independently, it throws out each branch (experience) along its tradgectory of growth.  Each branch reaches outward, collecting new energy and bringing it back to the trunk to relay energy to the roots to synthesize nutrients from the earth, or for upward growth.  The roots grow deeper, the tree grows upward and outward, from a strong centre.  It grows, not to be the tallest, but grows to best fulfill what it has the tendencies for and potential to be - a living thing which is robust, unique, gives back and has a place in the whole and most often times, is so incredibly vibrant in its own rite.  The stronger our root system (our history and foundation and connection to what truly counts), the greater chance our upward growth will be, if our centre/trunk maintains strength.  Sometimes our branches (experiences) grow to touch others, which helps when things get stormy.  We disperse the winds and elements as E.K. says.  Sometimes, the storms prune our branches, or sometimes we, ourselves must do so.  Yet all that falls, will fall to the ground, and over time, will become the strength of our foundation again.

Along the way, we inevitably lose those close to us.  As a life falls, we collect those branches of shared experiences, we mediate tough things, we feel how empty those pockets are where once our branches touched.  Everything that comes to light around losing our loved ones become part of our foundation.  They become a part of us in which ever way we choose to carry them forward.  

In the twelve years my father-in-law was in my life, I knew him as a caregiver, an artist, a beloved family member, and one who consistently supported my own endeavours.  He was a naval veteran, and a man who winced everytime me and my daughter offered him "nori" (Japanese seaweed snacks) - ha ha!  We liked to do that.  One of his strengths was that he was incredibly 'in the moment'.   He did not technically meditate that I know of, unless you consider doing his art or being amidst nature to be meditation (which I often times do).

In our last day of him being lucid, my husband, myself, and he sat over lunch in the warm sun and the cool air of September watching Little M off and again fluttering around the open field that we sat at the edge of.  I told him when he left our home in August, my husband and I felt our farm was at its' best for his time with us.  I told him I had then realized since, that it was not the farm that gave us such a peaceful, loving, slow and full visit.  It was him.  His presence carried his strength of just being in that moment, together.  And he brought that to all of us.  His strength made me realize how outside of myself I was.

For a while, I was giving everything to whatever I was doing (parenting, researching, working, projects, community, doing my best to support those I love), which sounds kind of good, but not when your branches are overloaded, and your foundation and trunk are having their resources diminished. 

I was often so busy sifting through the past so I wouldn't make mistakes in the future.  I strategized for the future, but it took my time from the moment I was in.  Again, I was investing my energy forward and back, so heavily in upward growth and in my roots, that the connection to both, the trunk, was teetering.  Who I am, truly am, who I value of myself, was not reflected in how I was doing things, from the priorities to the everyday moments.

Living in this way made my life spin by in overdrive - packing thoughts of 'should-dos', 'could have dones', and 'what ifs' tightly in to any moments that I could fit a thought in edge-wise.  It is the reason every event, even the small ones, seemed to require so much energy and little reprieve, and rarely any time to rejuvenate.  There was always more to process, more to jam in to my head and I had no inkling that I should turn it off; only the feeling that I was never able to do enough.

My father-in-law brought me this deeper realization of the cliche I thought I knew.  E.K's Day of Mindfulness helped give me the tools to be mindful of those moments.   The trees, well, they remind me along the way, and I appreciate all the reminders I can get.

Today, myself, my husband and daughter walked our farm property.  We started counting trees as a part of a homeschooling exercise - a piece of chalk in hand numbering each one as we went.  We got to twenty five, when, with great urgency, my daughter scurried over to a well-worn path in the grass, to a slight hole in the fence.  It was a place her older cousin "Z" used to play when he lived on the farm.  He showed her last year when he visited.  She begged to go through.  We threw our count of trees to the wind and slithered commando-style under the barbed wire in to the neighbours side of the fence.

There it was - a climbable tree.  A big ol' evergreen, with branches so low, they were like steps waiting for a little one to step up on.  She climbed, and climbed - so many branches perfect for little arms and feet to ascend upon.  I climbed after her, until I found a grouping of branches that reached outward almost crossing themselves.  It was like the palm of a hand it fit so well, so I lay back and just looked up at my daughter living a dream.  Up she went until she found a branch to sit upon and look down upon the two of us with a smile of complete joy across her face.  No thoughts in my head, just my daughter, my husband, and a big ol' tree in that same line of trees that my father-in-law and myself gazed at, that morning back in August.

To my 'darlin' CRM - we will always carry your light forward in all that we grow.