Talking To The Trees: Go around or through?

(This is the 8th from my collection of essays. To read the other 7 go here,  here  here and here and here and here and here Or click under Topics, Walking in nature) 

Jilly and I were walking through the woods enjoying the sweet sunshine and light breeze.  She was sniffing here and there.  I was watching the leaves shift and shimmer.  Meandering along familiar path, we were forced to stop, our route blocked by a large clump of fallen birch branches. 

Last week, the path was open and Jilly and I went our merry way.  This week, the path was blocked and Jilly and I could not go down the path to the big tree I call, Father Birch. 

I felt disappointed.  I don’t like not being able to go the way I want.  I considered how much time and strength it would take to clear away the branches, then I had a better idea.

Go around.

I remembered a path up the hill to my left, further ahead, that wound back into the woods by Father Birch.  Jilly and I turned and went that way.  Leaning my tired and tense left shoulder against Father Birches huge, multi branching trunk, I breathed in the fresh summer air and listened.   Here’s what I heard Father Birch say to me.

“You are strong. You don’t have to tense your shoulder, arm or wrist to protect yourself.  It’s strong enough, so are you.  Trust it.”

Tears welled up in my eyes as I took in the wise words.  I wasn’t protecting myself from future injury.  I was holding onto my old injury, weakness and pain that came when I broke my wrist 7 years ago.   I am healed.  I am strong.  And it’s time now, to let go of that old wound and trust my healed bones and muscles.

I walked up the slope and along the winding path from Father Birch to visit the other, smaller birch near the water I call, Mother Birch.  We stopped.  Blocked.  Again. 

This time, it was a pile of bare branches long and short, thin and thick from a variety of bushes and trees.  There was no other way to get to Mother Birch, because these branches were piled directly in front of her.  Again, I felt disappointed.  But this time, I was mad.   I looked down at the pile in front of me and made a decision.

Go through.

I asked Jilly to stay and reached down to the first branch in front of me, picked it up and threw it into the brush beside the path.  One by one, I lifted each branch, big and small, and placed it beside the path to my right.  I slid the bigger branches down the slope to my left.  The last branch, the biggest, had to be lifted up and over my head, around the tree and pushed down the slope and finally came to rest next to a large fern.  I looked up at Mother Birch, down at the ground newly cleared in front of Jilly and me.

 

I walked forward, reached out and patted Mother Birch.  Then turned and leaned in.  I felt her kind, strong warmth supporting my back.  I sighed and listened.

Mother Birch said, “Yes.  He’s right about your strength, of course.  But there’s another thing you need to know.  You don’t always need to use it.  But, then, you just proved that, didn’t you?”

I wasn’t sure I’d proved anything.  I’d just taken a different path to Father Birch and cleared some old branches in front of her.  What did that have to do with being strong?

She said, “Knowing that you are strong, believing in your own strength gives you more choices.  You know you don’t need to run and hide.  And you know that you can fight, but you can choose not to.  You can choose another path, or you can clear the path.  It’s up to you.”

Suddenly, I saw what the wood was teaching me today.

First, the path to Father Birch was blocked.  It was big.  I felt it would take a long time for me to clear it on my own.  Then, I realized that I didn’t have to clear it.  I could take another path and still get where I wanted to go.  By going around.

The other path to Mother Birch was blocked, too.  It was a pretty big pile of branches.  I’d heard Father Birch’s words to trust my strength.  I did.  I decided to clear the path so I could get where I wanted to go.  By going through.

Life’s journey takes us down many paths.  Some are hard.  Some are easy.  Some are open.  Some are blocked.  When faced with the blocked paths, now, I realize I can believe in my own strength.  Trust it.  And with that strength and trust, I can make a choice.

 

Go around.  Or go through. 

Talking To The Trees: Enjoy the Adventure.

(This is the 7th from my collection of essays. To read the other 6 go  here  here and here and here and here and here.)

It’s sunny and warm today as Jilly and I walk around the lake.  Blue sky and puffy white clouds rise above us and buttercups bloom at our feet.  I watch the geese swim in battle formation along the shore line protecting their newly hatched goslings. 

I don’t see the goslings, though, and that makes me worried.  Who or what are the geese hiding their goslings from?  I look up but see only clear sky and the tall fir tree tops are empty.  No eagles.  No hawks. 

As I keep walking, I wonder at this and other things. 

Jilly stops and sniffs.  She pulls me through the grass, along the lake, around the mounds of goose droppings and over the clumps clover.  When she stops, I stop.  Sometimes, I’m impatient and want to pull her forward faster.  Get the walk done.  Go home, have another cup of coffee and read my email. 

Today, I stop and feel curious.  What is she sniffing?  What is the grass whispering to her?  Why do the tree trunks hold her nose like a magnet? 

I know, I’ve joked that she’s reading her ‘pee’ mail.  And, yes, I do think she’s finding out who was here last. Who left their mark or calling card by the tree?  But, I think it’s more than that.  Because Jilly is trained to walk with me, so for her to stubbornly pull me off the path to some spot in the park makes me sure there is more to it than just sniffing.  I wonder if her sniffing is a way for her to gather energy from the earth that she needs.  Is it a way to connect with the other creatures in the world? A way to communicate?  A connection?  Or a collection of symbols that have meaning with every sniff?

A movement in the lake catches the corner of my eye.  It’s almost invisible, camouflaged by the leaves and murky water.  But I see it and my heart lifts.  It’s an otter swimming from one of the little lake islands to the grassy reeds by the shore where Jilly sniffs. 

I’ve been wondering and worrying about the otters that live in the lake.  I haven’t seen them in a long time.  That’s not too unusual, as they’re a shy and close little community.  I love them but they aren’t all that popular with everyone in the park.  They’ve attacked and eaten a heron, who in all fairness, was stalking the otter’s den.  They catch and eat many of the fish in the lake, competing with human fishermen.  Crawling up on the shore, they pull up and eat native plants.  And they eat eggs from the nests of the ducks and geese.  I smile.  I’m glad they’re ok.

As Jilly and I wander into the woods, I lead her to the Cedar Mother tree.  I lean in, listen and open up to the energy and wisdom from her warm trunk.  I feel the tingling and softness along my spine, while my head fills with recent events and questions.  I feel the smile forming on my face while I hear the message coming to me. 

“Ah, you’re going on new adventures.”

My mind fills again with recent experiences, details and worries.  I feel a pause.

“Enjoy the adventure.”

Moving away from Cedar Mother tree, I find Jilly busy, as usual, sniffing by my side.  I see Cedar Mother’s message isn’t the only one I’m picking up today. Yes, I have been doing new things with my art and life.  I’m feeling exhilarated and overwhelmed.

As Jilly sniffs beside me, I see there are many ways to have adventures.  Maybe instead of worry, I can be curious.  I can take a tip from Jilly and sniff my way through life.  I can walk and take in the new smells, sensations, developments, adventures.   And pause to inhale it one scent at a time. 

The geese were patrolling. I was worried.  Sniffing along with Jilly, I saw the reason: otter in the water.  The otter did nothing to the geese or goslings.  It was just going with the flow of its life, just like I’m going along with mine.

Enjoying the adventure.

Talking to the Trees: Relax and Be Supported.

(This is the sixth from my collection of essays. To read the other five go here and here and here and here and here.)

It’s a beautiful, sunny summer day.  Jilly are meandering through the woods, stepping across the little creek and up the hill from the Birch woods to the Cedar grove.  She stops to take a quick drink as I step across the water, moving my foot from one side of the bank to the roots sticking out of the other side.  Jilly just pads through the water to the other side. 

I am cautious.  She just does what comes naturally to her.  We walk on.  She’s sniffing and so am I.  The closer I get to the Cedar Mother tree, the more excited I get. 

The last time I was here, I was sad.  I needed her comfort to deal with the passing of a special friend.  As always, Cedar Mother reached out and into my soul soothing me. Now, I am healing from the loss as we all heal from the losses that life hands us.    

Today, I felt different.  I was excited to see her, to lean against her and be open. 

I leaned in and listened.

First, I felt the tingling and warmth of her spirit reaching out to mine.  I breathed in, sighed and leaned in some more.  I never know if or what I’ll hear from her.   Sometimes, it’s just a feeling of warmth and comfort.  Sometimes, it’s words of wisdom.  I had no expectations today.  I was just enjoying stopping by on a beautiful summer’s day to visit an old friend for a while.  As I leaned in, thoughts crossed my mind about gatherings I’d gone to and stories that had been told.  I remembered it wondering about what I’d heard, said and shared.  That’s when I heard her.

“Relax,” she sighed to me.

I felt my tension flow out of my left foot, leg, hip, lower back and all the way up to through my jaw, cheek and eyebrow.  I was surprised at how much tension I was carrying.  Walking through the park this morning, I thought I was relaxed.

“Relax. It’s ok.  You can be supported, too,” she counseled.

I sighed, smiled and saw that once again, Cedar Mother had seen into me truly.  My worries weren’t about what I’d shared with new friends but whether I’d find support for what I’d shared.  I don’t trust easily.  But after many years of keeping my inner walls up, I’d let them down for a few minutes.  Was it a moment of weakness that would be unacceptable?   That was the fear and tension that I’d carried into the woods. 

Cedar Mother saw it.   In her wisdom, she showed me that I could relax, let myself be supported and also, be strong.  I sighed, patted her trunk, smiled at the sun and walked home. 

Talking to the Trees: A New Path.

(This is the fifth from my collection of essays. To read the first four go here and here and here and here.)

Jilly and I stepped into the wood and sniffed.  She smelled scents of other animals on the ferns and rocks.  And I caught the scent of summer, bright and fresh with a hint of warm cedar and lake water.  It’s uplifting and comforting. 

I didn’t realize how much I’d missed my ramblings in the woods with my yellow lab, Jilly.  But life is like that, sometimes.  It just gets so busy and changes so fast; it’s easy to let time slip by.  My son moved back home temporarily with his little dog, Apple.  She’s a sweet and smart little 5-pound two year old Chihuahua- Terrier mix.  But she came with some behavior and training issues.  She had a lot to learn.  Walking on a leash without pulling.  Passing people, children, bikes and other dogs without barking or growling.  Doing her business outside all the time.  Learning to settle on her bed.  Come when called.  And adjusting to having two new people plus another dog and cat in her daily life.  

Life hands us all challenges for a reason.   I think the biggest reason we all get challenged is to overcome fear.  Little Apple had a lot of fears.  She’d grown up around tension and stress with very little exercise.  I always find exercise is the solution to most of my stress, so that’s where I started with Apple.

For the last 3 months, our morning walk included Me, Michael, Jilly and Apple.  Michael walked Jilly and I walked Apple.  It only took a few weeks for Apple to become a good park citizen.  She learned to heel, walk by people, dogs, cats and geese without no problems.  She had a regular routine with naps and playtimes.  She learned to come and settle on her bed.  And, best of all, she stopped pooping in the house!  Jilly and I have worked like a good team to get Apple re-oriented to a new way of living.  I can see she’s happier and calmer. 

But all this change and work comes at a price.  That price has been no ramblings in the woods for Jilly and I.  Today, with Michael going to an early morning appointment and Apple doing so well with her training, I decided that Jilly and I needed a little one on one time. 

Entering the woods, I caught myself watching Jilly.  She stopped.  She smelled.  She stuck her head in the ferns and brambles.  I realized that I was caught up in what I’ve been doing for the last 3 months, watching the dog I’m walking.  But, with Jilly, I didn’t need to watch her every move. 

Instead, I could move.  Free. 

I went to my old yoga spot by the birch that went from huge to almost gone one stormy winter.  But here it is, taller than I am now and holding its own on the slanted mound of earth.  I smiled.  Glad to see her growth.  As I stretched into mountain pose, something caught my eye.  

 What I saw was a path.  What I expected to see was the old pile of fallen branches that had been there for a few years blocking the space. But formed around the fallen branches, there was now a new path leading through the woods to Father Birch.  I didn’t have to go around anymore.  I could go through.

That’s when I caught the not just the scent of summer but the spirit.  Felt the breeze cooling my warm skin.  Looked up to the twinkling sunshine through bright green leaves and remembered. 

This is where life lives.  Whether I’m here or not, life grows and flowers here.  And blockages break free creating a new path.