Thanksliving is Thanksgiving!!
Today, November 14th 2010, I am finally going to get around to writing about something that I have wanted to write about for years. Today, I am reminded by all of the gorgeous fall foliage all around me (North Georgia seems to be at "peak") that I am tremendously thankful for trees. I love trees . . . I love them year round. I love the tittle "bumps" on branches that show early in the spring, sometimes even before the snow and ice are gone. I love the little tender green tips of leaves that come out of those bumps and the "pinkish" case of new green leaves as they are budding out. I love the varying shades of green that come with progressing Spring, and I love the full blown leaves of summer.
I lived in a parsonage a few years back that I absolutely loved. The house was big (four bedrooms and three and a half baths - separate living and dining room, den breakfast area in a large kitchen, and huge finished basement where our office was . . . a nice backyard and a beautiful front yard. I ended up despising the appointment and can hardly bear to think about it except for one thing - in the front yard was a HUGE Yellow Maple Tree. It's "spread" took up almost the entire front yard, and it was really something else!!!
(Here it is in what I called at the time "Four Seasons of the Clarkston Tree")
Ah, the memories I have of that tree . . . the changes I watched it go through for four years worth of "four seasons". One of these wonderful memories comes from a Thanksgiving - maybe our first one there? - when my sister came to visit with her family. My mom was able to come and be with us and we had a wonderful time together. I still laugh at the memory of my youngest nephew in that tree . . . I guess all kids climb trees when they get bored . . . if they can get away with it.
(My nephew in the Winter Tree - leaves mostly off the tree and raked up)
At some point, as deciduous trees are wont to do, the cooler weather and shorter days of approaching fall cause the trees to lose their leaves. This makes some people very sad and they decide they "hate fall", but I love everything about it. I'm at my most productive in the fall . . . I love Christmas and fall always brings thoughts of Christmas, but that's not it so much - at least as far as "trees" are concerned.
(The Winter Tree and Landscape - reminds me of a Christmas Carol - "See, Amid the Winter Snow")
I love the bare trees. Of course, they are gorgeous when they are just turning green and summer trees have so many things to commend them, but it is in the winter when the trees are "naked" and completely bare that their basic structure is revealed. We can see what they're made of and we can see their strength AND their weakness. We can see where they're bent and also where they're broken. Aren't people like that in a way? Without our "fancy" on (like flowers and leaves on the trees), stripped bare of anything to cover our frailties and shortcomings and brokenness and defenses, aren't we more visible to others and maybe more approachable? Life in the "winter" - whether physical or emotional - is more basic and we find out both what the trees can endure and triumph over and what we can endure and triumph over ourselves.
I read a book back in the early 90s that absolutely changed my life in some ways. It certainly changed the way I look at trees and at winter. It's called "The Tree That Survived the Winter" . . . written by Mary Fahy and illustrated by Emil Antonucci. It's first-rate allegory and it's inspiring and hopeful and faith-growing, and just one of those books I have to have nearby. It's even dedicated to "Claire, whose fidelity to her own inner journey inspired this story." I'm NOT the Claire in that dedication, but I love to think that I *could* be. The illustrations are a series of "dots" - - - absolutely fascinating!
The story is about a tree as it goes through a year of season changes - - - ostensibly like the seasons of change we go through in our own lives. It begins with the tree "awakening" to a warmer day and realizing that "something is different" and that she has "survived the winter". She realizes as time goes on that she has not only survived the winter but grown. She goes on to understand that she is STILL growing and affirms, "It is good to be alive", even as she acknowledges that the feelings and fears of the darkness of her winter were real and deserved to be acknowledged. Birds, breezes, even the sun itself, confirm not only her survival, but her growth and her beauty. She feels wonderful and is happy when . . .
Suddenly, she stops short and cries out as she remembers some of the pain of winter - - - pain she thought healed by the coming of spring . . . and she cries out to the sun, "Where were you when I needed you? I needed you so badly and you weren't there." She begins to ooze sap, like tears, and sobs about how long the sun was gone and how cold and dark and lonely and scared she'd been during her winter. She speaks of gray days and even days when she could see the sun in the distance but couldn't feel the warmth or reach the sun with her voice. She asks, rather angrily, "Didn't you see me shivering? I became so brittle I was afraid I'd break and my roots became paralyzed in the earth, and my bark cracked open, and . . . "
She's interrupted by the sun telling her she survived the winter because she was very much loved. The sun explains how it was always there even when it seemed too far away to reach her and that it sent snow and light at the same time sometimes, but the little tree thought the glare was too bright. The sun explains then that it was too bright because she was seeing more than she wanted to see.
Through several pages, the sun talks to the tree and explains how it has helped the tree to survive the winter. The affirmation from the sun is that the tree has survived because she is loved and because she has been faithful in her inner being and that without this faithfulness, she could not have made it. In the end, the tree asks what her "name" is, and comes back with a resounding "Faithful" from her inner being . . . "I am called faithful".
Faithful, as the dedication says, to her own inner journey. WOW!!! I wish I could sit with you and read the book to you and tell you all of the places I see myself and tell you how I hope to come through the winters of my life able to affirm "I am called 'faithful'". Are my branches strong enough to survive the winters of my life? Is my bark intact? Do I have broken places? Where am I weak? Where am I strong? I want to be called "Faithful" . . . to my inner journey which is one that I *KNOW* I don't take alone. I want to be true to myself . . . to be strong and sure and to survive my winters.
(The Spring Leaves Appear)
(The Tree in summer - fully leafed out)
Fall will come again to follow spring and summer . . . the beautiful, young green leaves will show their age, as I do - and autumn will return once again to be followed in short order by winter, and we will do it again. Life isn't all sunshine and roses, just as it isn't rain and dark days, but both are part of life. Some of us survive those winters. I hope to be one of those in the survivor category.
(The Tree in the Fall as the Color Change Comes)
I miss that tree.
I lived in a parsonage a few years back that I absolutely loved. The house was big (four bedrooms and three and a half baths - separate living and dining room, den breakfast area in a large kitchen, and huge finished basement where our office was . . . a nice backyard and a beautiful front yard. I ended up despising the appointment and can hardly bear to think about it except for one thing - in the front yard was a HUGE Yellow Maple Tree. It's "spread" took up almost the entire front yard, and it was really something else!!!
(Here it is in what I called at the time "Four Seasons of the Clarkston Tree")
Ah, the memories I have of that tree . . . the changes I watched it go through for four years worth of "four seasons". One of these wonderful memories comes from a Thanksgiving - maybe our first one there? - when my sister came to visit with her family. My mom was able to come and be with us and we had a wonderful time together. I still laugh at the memory of my youngest nephew in that tree . . . I guess all kids climb trees when they get bored . . . if they can get away with it.
(My nephew in the Winter Tree - leaves mostly off the tree and raked up)
At some point, as deciduous trees are wont to do, the cooler weather and shorter days of approaching fall cause the trees to lose their leaves. This makes some people very sad and they decide they "hate fall", but I love everything about it. I'm at my most productive in the fall . . . I love Christmas and fall always brings thoughts of Christmas, but that's not it so much - at least as far as "trees" are concerned.
(The Winter Tree and Landscape - reminds me of a Christmas Carol - "See, Amid the Winter Snow")
I love the bare trees. Of course, they are gorgeous when they are just turning green and summer trees have so many things to commend them, but it is in the winter when the trees are "naked" and completely bare that their basic structure is revealed. We can see what they're made of and we can see their strength AND their weakness. We can see where they're bent and also where they're broken. Aren't people like that in a way? Without our "fancy" on (like flowers and leaves on the trees), stripped bare of anything to cover our frailties and shortcomings and brokenness and defenses, aren't we more visible to others and maybe more approachable? Life in the "winter" - whether physical or emotional - is more basic and we find out both what the trees can endure and triumph over and what we can endure and triumph over ourselves.
I read a book back in the early 90s that absolutely changed my life in some ways. It certainly changed the way I look at trees and at winter. It's called "The Tree That Survived the Winter" . . . written by Mary Fahy and illustrated by Emil Antonucci. It's first-rate allegory and it's inspiring and hopeful and faith-growing, and just one of those books I have to have nearby. It's even dedicated to "Claire, whose fidelity to her own inner journey inspired this story." I'm NOT the Claire in that dedication, but I love to think that I *could* be. The illustrations are a series of "dots" - - - absolutely fascinating!
The story is about a tree as it goes through a year of season changes - - - ostensibly like the seasons of change we go through in our own lives. It begins with the tree "awakening" to a warmer day and realizing that "something is different" and that she has "survived the winter". She realizes as time goes on that she has not only survived the winter but grown. She goes on to understand that she is STILL growing and affirms, "It is good to be alive", even as she acknowledges that the feelings and fears of the darkness of her winter were real and deserved to be acknowledged. Birds, breezes, even the sun itself, confirm not only her survival, but her growth and her beauty. She feels wonderful and is happy when . . .
Suddenly, she stops short and cries out as she remembers some of the pain of winter - - - pain she thought healed by the coming of spring . . . and she cries out to the sun, "Where were you when I needed you? I needed you so badly and you weren't there." She begins to ooze sap, like tears, and sobs about how long the sun was gone and how cold and dark and lonely and scared she'd been during her winter. She speaks of gray days and even days when she could see the sun in the distance but couldn't feel the warmth or reach the sun with her voice. She asks, rather angrily, "Didn't you see me shivering? I became so brittle I was afraid I'd break and my roots became paralyzed in the earth, and my bark cracked open, and . . . "
She's interrupted by the sun telling her she survived the winter because she was very much loved. The sun explains how it was always there even when it seemed too far away to reach her and that it sent snow and light at the same time sometimes, but the little tree thought the glare was too bright. The sun explains then that it was too bright because she was seeing more than she wanted to see.
Through several pages, the sun talks to the tree and explains how it has helped the tree to survive the winter. The affirmation from the sun is that the tree has survived because she is loved and because she has been faithful in her inner being and that without this faithfulness, she could not have made it. In the end, the tree asks what her "name" is, and comes back with a resounding "Faithful" from her inner being . . . "I am called faithful".
Faithful, as the dedication says, to her own inner journey. WOW!!! I wish I could sit with you and read the book to you and tell you all of the places I see myself and tell you how I hope to come through the winters of my life able to affirm "I am called 'faithful'". Are my branches strong enough to survive the winters of my life? Is my bark intact? Do I have broken places? Where am I weak? Where am I strong? I want to be called "Faithful" . . . to my inner journey which is one that I *KNOW* I don't take alone. I want to be true to myself . . . to be strong and sure and to survive my winters.
(The Spring Leaves Appear)
(The Tree in summer - fully leafed out)
Fall will come again to follow spring and summer . . . the beautiful, young green leaves will show their age, as I do - and autumn will return once again to be followed in short order by winter, and we will do it again. Life isn't all sunshine and roses, just as it isn't rain and dark days, but both are part of life. Some of us survive those winters. I hope to be one of those in the survivor category.
(The Tree in the Fall as the Color Change Comes)
I miss that tree.
What a beautiful, well-written post!
ReplyDeleteWow! What a book!
When my children were in elementary school, I helped out in the library, and while there, borrowed a book called The Giving Tree. Have you ever read it? It will bring tears to your eyes!
Your maple tree looks lovely in the pictures. We had a water oak in our yard when we lived in Birmingham. I loved it, too. The children played in it, and hung "ghosts" in it at Halloween, and when they were older, their friends "rolled" it for us!
In our yard now, we have a pecan tree. You may have seen pictures of it on Flickr.
I love trees, too, and I loved reading your post about your love for trees!
Thanks, Nancy!!!
ReplyDeleteI'm almost sure I wrote a reply to you when you first commented! I wonder where it went . . . technology!?!
It was the most beautiful yellow maple tree ever and I really really enjoyed living with it. I didn't even mind raking the leaves!!!
"The Giving Tree" is still on our shelves . . . it was one of Dorothy's favorite books, along with "The Light in the Attic" and "Where the Sidewalk Ends". It is TRULY a tear-jerker!!!
When I was a little girl, I hung out (literally) in a HUGE Magnolia tree across from our house. I forget now whether the Fire Department had to come and get me out of the top of it twice or three times . . . LOL. I was fearless going up - - - not so much coming down. We always took Christmas cookies to the Fire Department. What a great bunch of guys!!
The very minute I saw that tree, I started wanting to climb it! I never did, but I so enjoyed watching my niece and nephews play in it that Thanksgiving day. Jake was even young enough, or sweet enough, or both, to pose for pictures.
Thanks for your very flattering words about the post. I'm so sorry the first reply got lost in the shuffle somewhere! Maybe I'll get the hang of all this technology one day. :)