Walnut Mt.
Ever talk to a tree? I mean a real tree and not your hard-case mother-in-law. I don't recollect conversing with a tree, but it is very possible that I have done so. This I do know; at one period of my life trees did talk to each other ... and to me. The farmland where I was reared was speckled with clumps of trees, the woodlands being just a few giants clustered somewhere in a field on up to tracts of many acres of mixed hardwoods and conifers. I was an only child, so any trip into nearby woods was a singular adventure for a curious mind. Many times I lazed away hours of summer days with my back against a beech tree (the smooth bark was cool even through my shirt) and my butt nestled in a cushion of soft leaves and moss. When the wind was nearly quiet I might doze for a few minutes, but mostly the hours were spent listening to the whispers of the mighty trees as they gossiped amongst themselves. I do not know what profound or mundane things they spoke to one another as I didn't understand the fleeting wisps of arboreal language, but I do know they used the air moving through their leaves to pass along their thoughts; it was left to me to imagine what they were saying and to decipher the songs they sang. On the few occasions when they recognized my presence and condescended to speak to me I understood them completely, and every time I understood them, it scared me enough that I vacated my nest and ran for the fence and home. The friendly, warm forest of a sudden became a frightful place of deepening shadows filled with threatening unknowns, especially for a boy alone whom had not yet seen his tenth birthday. In these later times, I do not remember what the trees said to frighten me so, but it was enough to keep me seeking amusement in sunlit fields for several days. Sooner or later though, the woods again called for me to come, and I could no more stop myself from returning than I could lift my hand and still the wind. This call of the forest is still present in my soul, and when it rises to my heart, I have no choice but to respond by returning to places where trees grow freely and are left to their own devices. At times I hear again the whispers of old on the soothing air. The woods of my youth are now replaced by other giants; the many fine homes and green lawns of suburbia, but I doubt these things have the ability to speak to the children playing around them like the trees spoke to me, and I also doubt these new children would have an inkling of it if they did.
----
Yesterday's title quote is from the movie Alien Resurrection.
----
Ever talk to a tree? I mean a real tree and not your hard-case mother-in-law. I don't recollect conversing with a tree, but it is very possible that I have done so. This I do know; at one period of my life trees did talk to each other ... and to me. The farmland where I was reared was speckled with clumps of trees, the woodlands being just a few giants clustered somewhere in a field on up to tracts of many acres of mixed hardwoods and conifers. I was an only child, so any trip into nearby woods was a singular adventure for a curious mind. Many times I lazed away hours of summer days with my back against a beech tree (the smooth bark was cool even through my shirt) and my butt nestled in a cushion of soft leaves and moss. When the wind was nearly quiet I might doze for a few minutes, but mostly the hours were spent listening to the whispers of the mighty trees as they gossiped amongst themselves. I do not know what profound or mundane things they spoke to one another as I didn't understand the fleeting wisps of arboreal language, but I do know they used the air moving through their leaves to pass along their thoughts; it was left to me to imagine what they were saying and to decipher the songs they sang. On the few occasions when they recognized my presence and condescended to speak to me I understood them completely, and every time I understood them, it scared me enough that I vacated my nest and ran for the fence and home. The friendly, warm forest of a sudden became a frightful place of deepening shadows filled with threatening unknowns, especially for a boy alone whom had not yet seen his tenth birthday. In these later times, I do not remember what the trees said to frighten me so, but it was enough to keep me seeking amusement in sunlit fields for several days. Sooner or later though, the woods again called for me to come, and I could no more stop myself from returning than I could lift my hand and still the wind. This call of the forest is still present in my soul, and when it rises to my heart, I have no choice but to respond by returning to places where trees grow freely and are left to their own devices. At times I hear again the whispers of old on the soothing air. The woods of my youth are now replaced by other giants; the many fine homes and green lawns of suburbia, but I doubt these things have the ability to speak to the children playing around them like the trees spoke to me, and I also doubt these new children would have an inkling of it if they did.
----
Yesterday's title quote is from the movie Alien Resurrection.
----
6 comments:
What a beautiful photo and a lovely story. I spent time with the trees when I was young but mine weren't so majestic.. simply Florida scrub oaks and pine trees. My brothers and I played outside nightly until dusk (or until the shrill whistle of my father threatened). We had a whole forest of trees and made tire swings and forts. Trees are good for reading under, hiding under, and making love under. I miss those days as they were some of the best days in my life.
I recall one time when my brother was running from my father's belt. He scooted up a large knobby pine tree and parked himself until way after dark. My dad sat at the bottom of that tree for an hour smoking his cigarettes. Finally he gave up and we all thought Timmy was to get a worse beating than normal. Strange, my dad just laughed it off. I wonder if that tree passed some neutralizing energy along to my dad that day. Guess I'll never know.
I wish we had paintbrush trees in FL like you do there.
one of my favorite books is "The Giving Tree" by Shel Silverstein.
happy Thursday.
Some good memories and insights, Tammy. Trees have many good uses the lumber companies don't care about. You should be a writer ... if you aren't.
I used to see and enjoy Shel Silverstein's works in Playboy* magazine back in the 60's and 70's. The man was a genius.
*For the articles only. ;)
I used to love playing in the woods as a kid. Nowadays we have "The Lost Nature of Man" as kids today seem to rarely play outside anymore. They really have no idea what they are missing. For me I get that same feeling when I am in the mountains and at the ocean. Put the mountains and the ocean together and for me it is perfect harmony.
I have never read "The Giving Tree" but I do know Shel was a genius. Most people know him for his books, however the number of classic songs he wrote is outstanding.
I didn't know that Shel wrote music too. I'll have to google him. I would encouarage you to read The Giving Tree. It is short and to the point. It makes me cry. Peace
Shel was also a cartoonist. :-)
Thanks, Tammy; I will read The Giving Tree.
I'll put it on my list.
Post a Comment