The Tutelege* of Trees
Some of my best friends are trees. All of my life they have been. We lived in a rural area outside of New Haven, Indiana for most of my first thirteen years. It was a tall apple tree in my back yard that first whispered to me, Look again. I'm not only an apple tree. I'm a pirate ship. Climb aboard. I did. Even though I was a stowaway, I always felt safe in its arms. Many are the memories I still cherish of that tree.
When the writing urge descended on me, I branched out to the apple orchard next door, where I could hide away in the grape arbors at the end of tree rows and let my pencil have its way. That's where I wrote my first novel.
As a young wife and mother, college student, and Head Start teacher, overcome with the feeling that there wasn't enough of me to go around, a wise man named Mario advised me well. "You're suffering from battle fatigue (environmental fatigue)," he said. "You must find some time for yourself. What would you most like to do?"
"I would like to take a few poetry books and a blanket to a place in nature, read, and soak up the words and the environment." We lived in Riverside, California at the time. When he learned how much I love the mountains, he instructed me to go up in them somewhere on the way to Arrowhead and find a great tree, spread my blanket beneath its branches, and to rest and read or meditate for one morning a week. I did. Looking up into the heart of the great evergreen tree a flood of peace filled me. It was as if I had found a serene mother who needed no words to nurture me. I came away renewed, more each time I followed his bidding.
A few years ago I was privileged to write plein air poetry as local artist, John Barnard, painted a tree in autumn from the tailgate of his truck. He took the name of the poem I wrote, "Autumn Tree Song," as the name of his painting and I am honored.
No wonder I love the tradition of Christmas trees and all that goes with them. Not long ago, my husband and I saw a photograph taken by our good friend and fine photographer, Jim Viscolini. It is a great evergreen in their meadow, covered with snow. We both fell in love with it. Jim
kindly permitted Gene to paint it. Gene's rendition of Jim's image is our gift to you this holiday.
May it warm your heart and inspire you to recall the rich tutelage of trees in your own life.
* Under the guardianship or protection of something.
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