With apologies to my high school drama teacher…

I owe my high school drama teacher an apology. When I took Drama 10 I had expectations that were plainly different than my teacher’s. To say we didn’t see eye to eye would be an understatement.

I know she felt I was difficult. I know that because she wrote it on my report card. I don’t know if my other teachers would have felt the same way but I doubt it. I wasn’t generally a difficult kid. Let’s be fair though, I was 15 and I know I had my moments. But when it came to that class…well like I said, I owe my teacher an apology.

My problems with the class began when we were instructed to purchase leotards for class, a dancer’s bodysuit (I can’t remember what the boys had to wear). I was a teenage girl with all the self-image body issues you can imagine and she wanted us to wear clothing that showed everything and hid nothing.

Things escalated the day she had us form a circle and, standing in the center, she gracefully waved her arms and swayed and instructed us to “Be a tree!”

I thought, “Oh hell no. I will NOT be a tree!” And I was not a tree.

The irony of that is not lost on me because somewhere along my path through life I have found a deep love for trees. There are photos and paintings of trees on the walls of our home and books about trees on the bookshelves. I’ve written essays about trees; published articles about trees. *sigh* I love trees.

For the love of trees…

When I’m in need of peace and renewal I find it in the forest, laying my hands on their trunks, leaning my forehead against the bark. I listen to the sound of the wind in the leaves and branches. I wrap my arms around them feeling the gentle, powerful energy that comes from those grand beings. I leave feeling calm and grounded.

I have stood in the woods with my eyes closed and face turned up to the canopy and let go of my cares. I can tell when I’m starting to relax because I will begin to sway a little, feeling the gentle rhythm that nature makes. And I confess I have thought to myself, “She was right. Be a tree.”

There are countless analogies that people offer about the wisdom found in trees. Bend don’t break (willow). We are all connected (aspen). Say you’re sorry (olive). Great things come from humble beginnings (oak). Trees teach us humility, strength, endurance, and other lessons about the qualities we should strive for.

Destructive forces…

This week I have learned another lesson from my beloved trees:  there are times in every life when outside forces and inside conditions cannot coexist peacefully; one must give way. One must break, shatter even; there is no gentle bending only an explosive splintering from the inside out.

We’ve had a mild winter, but last week we had a true Canadian cold snap. Temperatures hovered near negative 40F with wind chills that felt much colder. The air was hazy with ice fog. It is weather like that which causes a phenomenon many people will never experience:  exploding trees.

Extreme cold temperatures cause sap in the trees to freeze. The expanding sap creates enough pressure to force the wood and the bark to explode. The sound is like a gunshot and carries loudly, reverberating in the frigid air. The trees simply cannot withstand the permeating devastation of the deep cold.

“I was relaxing in front of a fire in the crispness of early morning when Crack! A sound like an explosion came from behind me in the woods. I scanned the trees and saw that a maple tree had “exploded”. The explosion caused a big crack in the tree about three feet high. When a winter wind stirs the frozen trees, they sometimes appear to burst vertically. When it was 40 degrees below zero at night, I lay awake and listened to the trees explode.” ?Linda Runyon, The Essential Wild Food Survival Guide

The cold winter of grief…

It’s been a hard week. I have found myself turning inward which (to those around me) makes me come across as remote and unapproachable. When I speak, I sound blunt and short, impatient. I know why I have been this way and yet I have been unwilling to explain my mood or frankly to do anything about it.

Friday marked the four year anniversary of my Dad’s death. For whatever reason, this year that day hit me like a hammer blow. It was apparent to those around me that I was struggling with something, but I didn’t want to talk about it. I just wanted to let my grief run its course and like the sap in the trees I let myself absorb the cold until I felt utterly shattered.

Aspen are one of the most common trees in the northern boreal forest. Part of the aspen’s beauty and strength is its ability to not only survive but to thrive in a challenging environment. Even in winter when other trees have gone dormant, the aspen continues to produce sugar for energy. Its bark is able to photosynthesize and create energy and sustenance even through the coldest months. They are incredibly resilient and though they may explode from the inside out from stressors beyond their control, they can still heal and grow.

Grief is a uniquely individual experience; not one person will feel or process loss the same way as another. I can’t say why this anniversary was so difficult. I can’t say why a tidal wave of grief will wash over me on a random day void of any obvious reminders of Dad and why a day like his birthday can pass without a twinge. But I can say this…

Life goes on…

Loss can shatter you every bit as dramatically as an aspen exploding in January. And when the warmth of life comes back and spring begins to bloom, the healing begins both for the aspen and for the heart. Both will slowly cover over the wound, branch out from it and continue to grow and what feels like the end is revealed as a new kind of beginning.

Trees – so much to learn from them and to appreciate!

And Ms. Z., I’m sorry. I’m not ready to get past the leotard, but you were right about the trees.