River tree tell me more
I have always had a special tree in my life, though the genus has changed over the years. Maple, willow, apple, cedar, pine, and many more; each brings back a special recollection.
One of my earliest memories is that of being placed by my father into the arms of a young maple tree, grabbing hold, breathing, feeling, Home. From that day forward I climbed trees every chance I could, though obviously, at first, I rarely got very far up the tree’s mast.
When I was five, on a Roberts Clan family picnic in the foothills to the Allegheny Mts, I saw in the distance and down a hill an elegant tree with branches like long, green braids nearly touching the ground. The weeping willow’s lithe, elongated tendrils swayed in the gentle summer wind. A spell of enchantment passed through me. I needed to get closer.
My aunts and uncles, parents and grandparents were standing about, talking near the picnic tables in the shade of the pines. I understood I had a choice: I could stay within the comfort of the clan, or I could go sneak a look at the mystical tree. It seemed brave and a bit bold at that age to set off on my own.
The possibility held mystery and felt more than a little scary. Even so, when the chance came, I drifted away from my parents and found myself running down the hill toward the willow.
I stopped short at its tendrils for the sun suddenly did not shine down here. It was very quiet, very still, and I could not see at first what I would find on the other side. I stood alert, listening for anything ominous… Silence. Looking left, then right, I peaked through the tendrils with intuitive caution. The sun whispered through the canopy offering dappled, dazzling, dancing light. I entered the canopy and felt myself a princess on a grand adventure. Hypnotized, I walked toward the willow’s base where a cleft in in the trunk provided a perfect foothold for me to step up to a higher branch, whose arm offered me a step up, higher still. I could not stop the climbing until I found myself sitting near the top, swaying, dipping and still; in tune with my arbor partner. Safe, protected, home.
Thus began my life-long dance with trees.
When I moved to Albuquerque, New Mexico it took me three years, the longest ever, to find my tree. Day after day I rode the bosque bike path north and south along the Rio Grande, stopping frequently to make my way to the river, battling salt cedar, tall grasses, biting vines, searching for a tree that 1) I could climb and 2) grew on the river’s edge. Three years it took me.
Here she is. She’s not a beauty blip, but she bends in the most provocative ways out over the river, providing shelter, offering inspiration. When she’s dressed in her full summer best no one even knows I am here within her leafy skirts and veils. I meditate, stretch, write, play a song on my recorder, give gratitude.
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