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.