What is essential?
~ Carolyn West
This week’s post is offered by Carolyn West, senior teacher and trainer for the Stress Reduction Clinic and Oasis Training Institute.
Turning right at the bottom of the hill, my walk takes me along the perimeter of a fenced pasture on one side and an expanse of uncultivated, wooded land on the other. Hugging the edge of this familiar country road, I round a deep bend, moving onward to a stretch where farmland has given way across time to homes and adjoining yards. Not so many years ago I would run along this same route almost daily. I wonder now how I could have missed the apple tree…the one that occupies a space at the foreground of the yard, right next to the low stone wall…the one that has captured some piece of my heart.
Its top has been shorn - by strong winds, perhaps, or maybe by the thick blanket of heavy wet snow that arrived in October a few years back. Its upper third stands exposed like a skateboarder’s half pipe and the remaining branches are a tangle, twisting this way and that without any discernible uniformity or schema.
Most striking to me is that the interior is mostly hollow, the tree’s uprightness supported almost entirely by the rough gray-brown bark and what appear to be quite thin and meager outer layers. This recent spring and summer I noticed a cluster of pansies abiding in the loamy recess of the base…violet and shades of blue, their eager, sprightly beauty adorned the quiet grace of the tree. Perhaps they had been deliberately planted in there. Perhaps they had found their own way.
I’ve recently Googled the biology of a tree, having forgotten most of what I had been taught long ago. I wanted to know something about how trees - this tree, in particular - survived on what seemed like so little - how, after enduring so much, it stood humbly, yet regally, willingly offering its unique beauty and sweet fruit to the world. …And I am curious about why the tree touches me so deeply - what it has to teach me beyond the biology refresher. How much can we lose and still remain whole and vital? What, after all, is essential?
One day I head out for a walk, remembering to tuck my small camera in the pocket of my pants. “May I take a picture of your tree?” I call to the homeowner as I step onto the edge of the driveway. She pauses and looks up from her sweeping. “Oh, of course.” She waves her hand in a gesture which serves as both hello and invitation. And then with the broadest of smiles she adds, “I love that tree.”
So do I.