Morning on the mountain

A TRIBUTE TO TREES

A Beech tree that grows on our farm.

     The other night, as I was nodding off to sleep, I started thinking about significant trees that I have known in my life. I'm sure everyone has one or two. As the memories wafted through my mind in that smokey way sweet memories often come to us, I saw a huge American Beech tree. It grew on the bank, on the left side of the road, between my parents and Aunt Valorie's house. It's branches were low to the ground, maybe 5 foot up on the tree. I remember the trunk being huge but that is coming from a child's memory. I've always thought that the bark of Beech trees looks like elephant's hide. I thought this of that particular Beech tree too. So we kind of had an elephant to guide us.

     We kids played under the limbs of that tree. The ground was worn bare and packed down from our activities, so we had a lovely playhouse floor. Since the limbs hung low, we could hang things in the tree. I don't remember ever climbing it but I'm sure my brother did. It would have been an easy climb.

    In my pre-teens, the county put a gravel road in to replace the rutted out, logging road that ran the distance of our "hollar". The Beech tree had to go. It was like loosing a beloved, family elder.

      I thought of an old Apple tree that stood in the side yard of my husband and my first home together. We lived in Thorn Hill, Tennessee for thirteen years. The Apple tree had been there much longer than that. It's trunk was at least 2 foot thick and was a bit twisted and gnarled from age. That tree grew the best apples in the world. They were sweet yet a bit tart and just the perfect texture and juicyness. It's really hard to describe the experience of eating those apples. I have hay fever and before the modern development of allergy medicines, the juice from those apples was about the only thing that would give my itchy throat any relief.

     I feel like I need the talent of Mark Twain to write about my trip, about 10 years ago - on the Winter Solstice, to see the Sequoias. My husband and I, along with two of our sons - Barnaby and Ben, decided to travel from Los Angeles up into the high country to see these giant trees. It was such a nice break from the crowds and smells of the city: to journey into the mountains. It was a day full of golden sun. I remember travelling through the San Joaquin valley as we headed north and thinking about tv westerns and songs by the Sons of the Pioneers. Then we came out of the flatlands and headed into the mountains. When we arrived at King's Canyon National Park, I got out of the car and flung myself onto a Sequoia! My family has always called me a tree hugger and here's the proof... me hugging a tree.  These are some of the oldest, largest, living life forms on Earth. As soon as my hands touched this wonderful giant, I was surprised. The bark, even in the winter sun, felt like a warm, cushy, firm, sponge.       As I mentioned before, we arrived on the afternoon of the Winter Solstice, so the day already felt special. As we walked around among these giants, I couldn't help but notice how quiet it was. There were no sounds of cars or industry. Since it was near to Christmas, only a few other tourist were in the park. Occasionally we heard the sound of birds or wind blowing through the trees. The air was cool and fresh.You could smell the wilderness. It's indescribable how utterly spiritual this experience felt. We were truly in God's best cathedral.

     Finally, I return to my childhood and my family home in North Carolina to mention a tree that was a gift to my childhood. It was a Weeping Willow. As I lay in bed thinking about this sweet tree, I began to tear up. The Willow grew in the side yard, near a little stream. It was a huge tree and it cast shade over a large part of the yard. It could be raining and you could stand under that tree and never worry about getting wet. It's long, leafy whips were like ribbons that swayed in the breeze as we played under it's canopy. Then one day, my Dad told us that the tree would have to be cut. It's roots were growing into our septic system. This news just slayed me. As an adult, I understand the rationale of what my Dad had to do but as a child, it was almost unforgivable.

 

Honorable Mention:

*The little Plum tree that grew at my grandparents house. It was located just feet away from a small mountain stream. In the summer we kids could just reach in, pick a plum, then sit in the shade of that tree as we ate those warm, juicy fruits.

 

*The  large Maples and Oaks that grew like Greek columns in my grandparents yard. Shortly after my grandfather died, my grandmother had those trees removed. She was afraid that they would fall on her house. Before they were cut, my grandparents house looked like a huge, southern plantation. After they were cut, their house looked tiny.

 

*A Beech tree that grew in my parents yard. A friend gave my Dad the seedling to start that tree. As it grew, my mother complained that it blocked her view of the road. She liked to sit on the porch or look out the living room window at the view of the valley and those coming and going.  Dad refused to cut it. Then one day, maybe 30 years after it was planted, lightning hit that Beech and cleared out the view.

 

*A Persimmon tree that grew in the "hollar" just back of my parent's house, about 30 foot beyond the pig pen. The persimmons on it were the size of ping pong balls and they dropped at our feet every fall. How wonderful life is....

 

 

 

 

Clarification: In my last post, I mentioned that my sister and I were wearing flip flops to school and that kids could no longer go barefooted to school. I always wore shoes to school. And as far as I know, all my siblings always wore shoes to school. My parents took good care of us and that included having shoes for us to wear. It was the South, we didn't have air conditioning in school, just windows. So flip flops were perfect for keeping cool.

Support Groups

      You may have read my last blog entry about letting go of old thinking and getting clear on what I want in my life. It's often stated that the people who live the longest, are a part of a great, social group. So one night last week, as I fixed dinner, I stopped for a moment to post a statement on facebook - "I need a support group." I got several comments offering support from my fb group before an old friend in Tennessee asked "?"

     It's a good question.  I deleted the post. I decided right then and there - deep, philosophical insight, probably won't be attained on a facebook page...probably.  Besides, my youngest son called to see if I was OK. No need for a little growth to worry my kids.
     As this whole process was unfolding, and especially after the good question from my Tennessee buddy, I stopped dinner preparations long enough to write the following description of the support group that I need - "There's Still Time to Save The World / A Funny Thing Happened on The Way to The Graveyard / I Did Kinda-Wanna Be a Mad Scientist / Mental Fight Club Support Group" on the chalk board in my kitchen. Whatever their name and wherever they meet, I'm there.

 Days passed and the group name remained on the chalk board. Then one night, several days later, I was washing the dishes and I looked at that group name and suddenly found myself breaking it down. "Still Time to Save the World" - First off, it's going to take more than one person to save the world. The truth is that the world is getting better in so many ways, everyday, because people all over the world are working to improve things. Yet, we can all do more to help in our own way. And in an instant I knew that what I want to do is something to help the Earth. I want to plant trees - either in a group or by myself. You'll be hearing more about this later.

 

     How about "A Funny Thing Happened on The Way to The Graveyard" ? As I looked at that, I knew this was speaking more to my memories and my current experiences. It means more writing. Does this mean I join a writer's group? I'm hesitant. I grew up in a family of 9 kids. I have a large extended family. I could start writing right now and never speak to another human being and I'd never get all the stories covered.  For instance, check out this old photo of me and my younger sister (the blond). We had just walked over the mountain from our house and were on the way down Coxes Creek Road to our school bus stop at the Coxes Creek Freewill Baptist Church. We stopped in our Aunt Cairie's yard for some long forgotten reason and she took our photograph. Sis and I are wearing flip flops because kids could no longer come barefooted to school. Hey, it writes itself.

 

Finally, "I Did Kinda-Wanna Be a Mad Scientist /  Mental Fight Club." Why are mad scientist so mad?  Most of the time they're just frustrated by somebody else grabbing the brass ring before them. I'm not feeling that. I'm just not that mad about anything but to keep my gray matter gray, I feel sure I need challenges. I feel sure that my art endeavors can help me there. Do I need a support group? Maybe. I'm not sure. But, in pondering the question, I have decided that I need to take a few more risk in the name of art. So I'll be explaining that in a future blog.

 

ABANDONED PROPERTIES

 

     This picture says it all regarding this time of year. The new year's resolutions have been made and now that the winter sloggs on, broken, with the attitude "Forget it, bring on the whipped cream!" It's an abandoned photo from a box left in my husband's storage building. Someone, somehow, walked away from the story that this image tells. Yet, when I came across it the other day, it triggered my own stories of all hope is lost, bring on the whipped cream. I have had those semi-desperate moments in my own life. And good for me because sometimes, letting it go, abandon all hope, is the very right thing to do.

     I woke up early one morning last week. I believe it was around 3:30AM and for the life of me I couldn't get back to sleep. So I got up with the intentions of getting the day started. I did fine until after lunch, then suddenly I dozed off at my desk. I must have slept at least 10 minutes with my head laying on the back of my office chair before I woke up with a start, looking all around to see if a customer had walked in while I napped.  The coast was clear but I immediately started beating myself up mentally. I caught myself as I heard this statement shoot through my brain "If Phil had caught you napping, he'd have all kinds of comments to make about that." And the contrarian in me asked the questions "Why do you assume that? Phil knows you woke early, and he, himself, might have had the same thing happen. He is not unreasonable. He ain't your Daddy. So who is actually doing the criticising?"

    For years, I have listened to motivational tapes and lectures. I have heard them talk about the tape we have playing in our heads. The tape of your mother or father's voice as they criticize you about a million and one flaws. Or maybe it was a sibling, friend, teacher, acquaintance, lover, or enemy picking at you. What I never heard them say is that the voice in our heads is actually, most often, our own voice running foreman on the criticising. And it was me saying all that stuff to myself - "You are going to disappoint someone, you have come up short once again, you are pathetic." These were my words. And I had to laugh. I have been fooling myself all these years. Now, I find myself noticing my inner nudge. I tell her to "shut up" and "stop pushing me around" as I try to get clear what I want to do. I bring on the mental whipped cream as I try my best to abandon this old thinking. 

    I've got more to add to this later in the week. Until then I am also posting this lovely photo I took of a room in a house that my daughter and her husband saw as they looked for a new home.  

 

 

 

So peaceful and serene.

Snow Cave - One More Yuletide Story

     A new year has started. Before all the Christmas has been scraped from our homes, I'd like to tell you about a certain revelation that I had this Christmas.

     About a week before the big day, I was having trouble sleeping. I would wake about 3 AM and lie in bed, eyes wide open, my brain on overdrive! So much to do, so little time. Days before this point, I was just meandering along like Christmas would never come. I was thinking other thoughts.

     Then, one day as I was driving to work, I came back to reality long enough to ponder this question: "I wonder if I have enough time to send out Christmas cards?" And then that inner voice that speaks inside all our heads said "You sure do spend a lot of time living in the past.... not dealing with past issues which ends up messing up the present and future."

     This stunned me and it was a good thing that I was sitting at a red light when this piece of juicy truth crossed my mind. It was as if at that point my brain engaged and a decision was made..."No, not this year." Simple. I love my people but no cards for you! It was the reasoning of Yoda "Do or do not do." And the card question was not the only ponderance that dropped off the docket. Suddenly my brain felt free.

     With this clear thinking guiding me, I started getting in gear for the holidays. Then a few days later, maybe 5 days before Christmas, I stood at my kitchen sink washing dishes and I happened to look over my shoulder at my entry foyer. The creative spirit inside me said "That foyer would look so pretty with some of those paper snowflakes hanging all about - you've already got them cut and laying over there in a box. Just imagine them fluttering in the breeze.  You could call it a snow cave." And the other part of my brain said "I'm running out of time. I really don't have the time to do it this year. Next Christmas I'll bring the pizazz to that foyer!" And the other part of my brain ended the argument with this "Sarah, you don't know that you have another Christmas." Talk about clear thinking!

    OK, I start decorating like there is no tomorrow. It's garlands, snowflakes, decorated trees, angels, reindeer - the works. And with all the pondering that had already got me in this mess, it went deeper. I began to wonder why we do all this stuff at Christmas time. A lot of people will simply say to honor the birth of Christ. OK that takes care of a little over 2 thousand years. But northern folks were celebrating Saturnalia before it became Christmas.

    Let's move on to the morning of the 24th. My kids and their families came to our house for Christmas brunch. We ate great food, visited a while and then we had our Christmas program... which is a throw back to my Grandmother who always had a Christmas program for her huge family. My 4 year old grand daughter said a poem that she learned in preschool. And then (even with a huge headache from thinking too much and heckling from my husband and youngest son - the peanut gallery) I began....

    "I have a couple of things that were reveled to me this past week. And I am sure that if I had a spare brain to help me, I could prove 6 degrees of separation from Santa Claus and the power of magical thinking."  A couple of my kids giggled. And I pointed out to them that I knew that when a woman gets to be my age (60 in March) that a statement like that could send a family looking for outside services. My headache twinged. Getting back on track, I assured them that I need more time to develop that thought. Instead, I wanted to talk to them about the "Snow Cave." This brought a little heckling from the peanut gallery.

     I flinched then regained composure. I told them about the "Christmas card and the next year Christmas" revelations. And I put the pondering of why do we even do this thing called Christmas. How does that tie into the Snow Cave? I posed the question. If people have evolved physically to acclimate to their environment, do they also evolve mentally? Is the winter celebration a form of evolutionary mental health defense? Consider this. Thousands of years ago, around the Winter Solstice, people were celebrating. They brought evergreens into the home for greenery. They lit bonfires for extra light. They prepared special foods. Some experts say that Saturnalia and the celebrations before that were about thanksgiving for the harvest. Yet, by the Winter Solstice, the harvest had been done for months. Especially in the colder climates. These folks had their harvest in, they had their wood ready for the winter. If any group was aware of the yearly cycle of the seasons, these northern hemisphere people were aware. They knew the Winter Solstice meant that the dark, gray days were ahead. They knew the Earth that had given them the harvest to feed them and the wood to warm them was now ready to kill them. But they were a tough crowd. They did not flinch at the cold, hard truth. They were not afraid. The winter celebration was their way of looking winter in the face and saying "Not only are we not afraid but we are throwing a party to celebrate the return of your challenge...what the heck, let's just make it a festival!"

     From this thinking about families gathering together, in a dark, frozen world, to regroup and show their defiance, my mind went to the image of Christopher Reeves as Superman. Superman battling his enemies to the point of almost being conquered himself. And he journeyed to the frozen Artic - to the Fortress of Solitude - to speak with his father - now long gone - along with the entire home planet of Krypton. There in this ice cave, Superman looked to the wisdom of his ancestors to give him renewed strength to fight back against his enemies. So the simple snow cave in my foyer was a way to urge my children to stay defiant against their modern day enemy - to celebrate their own, personal challenge which is basically, stress. So our Snow Cave was our way to regroup and let winter and all other forces that would do us harm know that we will not be defeated! What does not kill us will make us stronger!   

     The peanut gallery had grown quiet and several in the group listening to me, just looked at me like "Yeah, that is somehow making sense."

GOOD TIDINGS!