A giving tree
The first Fall I lived at Harmony Farm, the maple tree in the front yard of the house, clearly planted by those who built the house, was ablaze with red, orange and even yellow. Every Fall since, this tree has brought a flash of brilliance to the ever darkening sky-slide towards the dark night of winter solstice. The late day setting sun always danced it to life in new and ever changing ways. This is the story of honoring a tree that gave so much beauty and shelter to me and many creatures here, and is no more.
This tree died a few weeks ago (July, 2022): a sacrificial lamb to the building of my new healing arts center. We tried to work around it, but it became evident that it was going to always be in the way, and not as healthy because of all the roots we would have to move and disrupt.
When I moved here during 2012, it was already a beacon that seemed to anchor the house to the hillside. When the excavator pushed it out of the ground it was twice the size as when I moved here. A fast growing tree whose zeal for life was evident every October as it died all over again for the winter.
Every few years she would release her whirly-gig seeds. And I was a child again: remembering how I used to watch those perfect helicopters spinning slowly to the ground in the woods of Ohio. As an adult last year, I noticed that those seeds had their own intelligence. They would always land, seed down to the ground, wedged in between grass blades. Some would even find little divots and penetrate into the ground. There is a peculiar maple seed gravity, that guides the ships of future life into their own perfect landing sites. They know how to maximize their potential of germinating and sending down roots!
Two years ago, after building all of the outside temples and spaces, I started getting little nudges from the land, which came as thoughts, images, feelings, insights (also called “universal language”) that maybe it was time for me to start working on my inside space. And so, the vision I had for a garage and studio space from the moment I landed here, germinated and started to grow. And plans were made.
I started talking to this beautiful tree, telling her that I was hoping to build around her and leave her be. But I also was honest with her and told her that I might have to cut her down. It was around that time that she had a bumper crop of helicopter seeds, and then I noticed little maple trees sprouting up everywhere. So, I started transplanting them. Into the woods, along my drive way, anywhere I thought they would do well. I still have a “nursery” of dozens of those baby trees for transplanting later, and I also took a poker, made holes in the woods behind the house, and planted a bunch of seeds there too.
I get the feeling, she knew she was in the last years of her life, giving this many progeny for us all to remember her by. Still, even doing everything I could to ensure her legacy lives on, it was hard to watch the bulldozer just upend her in a matter of minutes. I learned a long time ago that machines can do a lot of quick damage, and it was amazing and terrifying to see it fist hand.
I have honored this tree so many times, with thoughts, with actions and with prayers. There is a greater benefit that will be served here, and I think she understood that.
My brother and I cut her up and the branches joined others to help stop erosion in the bank along the creek. Her burning wood used in the Sun Temple and Harmony Medicine Wheel, both places of honor. And, as we cut her root system from the trunk, ants poured out. They had created a channel up the center, and it was easy to see the trunk was not far from splitting in two. As it turns out, she was not long for this world, with, or without my new space. It gave me some comfort. Still…I have missed her every Fall until I can see her children big enough down by the woods, echoing their mom’s grandeur each fall in a symphony of color!
I am always amazed at the medicine and stories I find inside trees! There are always memories of beings, personalities and even other creatures inside trees. Their centers contain a record of glyphs that reveal collaboration or special relationships with other beings that have shared the tree’s space.
She is not gone, but the picture below is how I will always remember her: a beauty in her full glory. So much gratitude for how she showed up every Fall, for me, for the birds, squirrels and even my cat who occasionally made it part way up her many-fingered trunks!
Go well into the West my love!