The Book of Trees

In these days of trouble we can still find hope in the little, unnoticed things. For me that hope resides in nature. In normal times, we often just take the natural world for granted. We put up with rain, snow and clouds. We know the sun will shine again, the clouds will part and the moon will glow. It is comforting and predictable. Nature teaches us to be hopeful if we pay attention.

In ancient times, people always looked to nature for signs. In Homer's Odyssey, the Heroic Odysseus fought for victory along side Achilles in the decade long war with Troy. He was triumphant on land, but found himself at the mercy of Poseidon, Lord of the seas, for an offense he committed against his son, the Cyclopes. The result cost him ten extra years to return to his family in Ithaca. These were adventures fraught with danger. Every time Odysseus sailed closer to home, angry Poseidon stirred up the waters and pushed him back away from his destination.

In an anonymous medieval ballad Sir Patrick Spence, Patrick was called the “greatest sailor who ever sailed the seas.” When his king wrote him a command to ship out to Norway during winter time, one of his sailors saw the “new moon with and old moon in her arms.” This was a sure sign of dangerous storms. It was warning he ignored. All travelers watched the stars, studied the flight of birds or consulted the bark of trees to gauge the wind. Ignoring the omens in nature brought disaster. The heroic Patrick Spence and his crew ultimately sank fifty fathoms deep where they met their final rest.

Later, in a more scientific age, we can still look for signs in the natural world. Henry David Thoreau branded himself as the “self – appointed inspector of snowstorms” which involved observing and documenting winter's dangers even down to the level of the individual snowflake. When it snowed, Henry called it creative genius in the air. Years later, the writer Robert Frost read meaning in bent, fallen birch trees and stone walls near his New England home. For the poet, a path in the woods became a meditation on the meaning of his life and the choices that created it.

Recently, my wife Meg and I went for a stroll down Mckinley Parkway to get some air and stretch our legs. The sky was heavy with clouds and the wind pushed cold against our faces. Along the way I found myself buoyed by the steady, silent trees standing sentinel on our route. At first glance, their slick bark and bare branches seemed dead on the outside. But on closer inspection, they were clearly alive on the inside. Walking these quiet streets, I could imagine their sap beginning to run while tiny buds were busy decorating their branches. It was a clear message that Spring and the promise of brighter times were on the way.

For me, these trees are a sort of book, and I read in them a story of resilience and strength. They teach us lessons and serve as bookmarks for the countless chapters of creation. Trees do not mark time by the ticks of a clock or the fleeting pages of a calendar. Rather, they stand strong while the harsh winds roar. And in this way they show those who care to notice, a steady path to the brighter future up ahead.