Conscious Planting

Brooks and I participated in the Treevolution yesterday. Ever since I stood on the Wesley’s back porch with Uncle Tom this summer, watching their weeping willow weep, I’ve been wanting to plant one at the farm. I mentioned this to Brooks a while back, and sure enough, when we came back from California, the weeping willow Brooks ordered was here.

We decided by the backside of the lake would be a good place, so we dug a hole, and followed the steps he’d given me to type up a while back (see earlier blog).

I held the cutting in place while Brooks wound the few, delicate roots around the inside of the hole we had dug, then gently filled it in with the planting soil/organic mix we made with the soil we’d dug out. Then he gently firmed down the ground around the tree, and almost imperceptibly, seamlessly, I let go and the earth took hold. I gently let go- and the tree stood on it’s own. There was a power shift there, between the planter and that which is being planted in, and it’s subtle, but I think I feel it. I think this is a good way to think about the relationship between worrying about what you can control, and have faith that there is something omniscient that is all powerful and can influence your life invisibly.

Healing, for example. Healing is sort of like faithfully planting yourself in something more powerful and good than you think you are, and then allowing the Tao to return you to equilibrium. When you cut your leg, your skin starts to grow back whether you want it to or not. What is that state it’s returning to? What power causes your heart to beat without you thinking about it at all? What is a pulse? I mean really, think about it. Think about it. ...BaBump-BaBump-BaBumbp… Life is always trying to return to that initial perfect state, and something keeps it going, and going, and going, and going. Whether it be in your own self- or in the garden of Eden, there was once perfection. I think that is why we intuitively swim for the Divine, it just feels true. It resonates with our deepest self. Like bugs to a light, it just feels like home.

And now, for the first time, this weeping willow is begining to support itself. The soil keeps it steady, but it cannot grow the tree for the tree. The tree must work with the soil to learn to grow itself. It was planted tenderly and with love back into the earth from which it came from, from which we all came. This tree, which came from who knows where, is back home now, like a fish out of water it's back into the earth where it can breathe. Ahhhh, relief.

I mused on the process that was about to begin, thinking about how the roots are going to feed off the nutrients in the soil and grow, deeply, into the earth. Deeply into the earth, right here, on the farm in Alabama. And where did all those nutrients come from? I know how long it take's fossils to turn into oil, how long does it take to form a nutrient? What life cycle feeds the green? Ashes to ashes we all fall down, and the Sun of course too.

I know, planting a tree seems simple, and it is simple, but it’s awe inspiring just the same. Amazing the way nature works. Amazing that you can plant something, in the dirt, and it will grow. Life feeds off life, in accordance with one another. Of course there are some other elements, and threats like the beaver and bad weather, and that’s the part you’ve got to surrender to the gods, so to speak. Have faith the Higher Power is more creative than you, and remember the golden rule. Be conscious of your vibe, ya dig?

Brooks explained to me that, because it’s so cold, the tree is going to sit dormant for most of the winter. (I guess that’s the same higher power the hay fields are working with too, huh?) The reason it’s good to plant trees in the fall instead of the spring is because this way the tree can focus all its energy on growing its roots, and by the time spring comes around it will have a solid foundation to grow up from. When the spring comes, all that energy shoots up and out the trunk, and that’s when the above ground growth really begins. Think about it in relation to yourself. Which part of you is growing above the ground? Which part of you is growing beneath the ground?

The sun set just as we finished, and I had a moment of expanded presence vibing on the whole thing. I tried to imagine myself in five years standing right here, next to this tree. I wonder how much the tree and the land will have changed? I wonder how much I’ll have changed. Go ahead, imagine you planted a tree, and you’re standing there next to it. Are you there? Now try and vision who you will be in five years. Who will you invite to come sit under that tree with you?

Go dig a hole, plant a tree, and get your hands dirty. It feels good, you’ll see what I mean. Then comes the patience part, but that’s another part of what makes the experience of growing so beautiful. Trees grow nice and slow. This tree is planted for the future.

I think I might have heard stories about Dad trying to plant a weeping willow by the lake one year, but it didn’t work out, so we are hoping this is the year it’s meant to be; meant to begin. Weeping Willows need a lot of water, they love water, which makes the spot by the lake ideal. I’m sure Dad knew that for the same reason we do. I wonder if the reason there aren’t weeping willows here is because he learned something trying to grow trees that we are about to. If he were here, we could just ask him.

“Hey Dad, did you ever try to grow weeping willows down by the lake? Is there some reason this isn’t going to work that you could just tell us and save us the time?”

But then again, if I put it like that, I don’t think Dad would tell us. I think he’d honestly rather we just try to grow the trees ourselves and see what happens. I think that’s something he taught me early on, but I didn’t understand it I guess. I was unaware of what it really meant, and it was never stated this clearly. To be honest, if he was still here to tell me, I’m not sure I’d understand it yet either. But from here, standing right here next to this tiny little tree by the lake, watching the son go down on the farm on the first day of the first December without Pop, shivering a little bit because the first real cold of winter cam in last night, from here I think I understand it. I think this is something Dad taught me, but that I only understand because Dad isn’t here now. Dad would say you have to just get in there and do it and figure it out as you do. It’s like Arts and Crafts, I see now. Experience is the teacher, life is the teacher, get in there and get your hands dirty, it’s time to go.

God willing, in a few years, this tree should grow to weep out over the lake. It’ll be a mighty fine spot to have a picnic with my children under. It’s only one tree, but it’s a conscious tree.

Brooks and I said a blessing, and left it to be.

All this tree talk got me thinking about a poem I remember writing when I was on my NOLS course for thirty days in the Idaho/Montana wilderness. I sort of wrote it as a joke to pass the time, and it was meant to be silly, and to be honest I had forgotten all about it until recently. When I was home for Thanksgiving, I found my NOLS journal and remembered the poem. It’s not a great poem really, but it feels serendipitously appropriate to where I am in my life right now. This would have been the summer before my junior year of college I wrote it, and I think I’ll share it with you now. I could try and smooth out the edges, but it wouldn’t have as much character, so this is straight from the journal. Think Dr. Seuss rhythms.


To Be a Tree – written 7/5/02 on a mountain, next to a tree
ChS

To be a tree would be fine by me,
Big or small or wide or thin
I’d have a forest full of friends.
I wouldn’t have to move, just sway,
I’d be a dancer, the wind my partner,
Wake to the sun and bird’s song sweet,
Sleep with the stars never leaving my feet.
No feet at all, in fact, I think,
Just deep running roots and soil to sink
my seeds in, or cast them to the wind
Sharing my vision with my forest of friends.

Some might say, “Why be a tree?
There’s a million of them, and boring they be!”
“Maybe you’re right,” to them I say,
And chuckle sadly as I watch their dismay.
Maybe I should be a man,
Work all day, and summers too,
When I see children through my office window
Climbing on trees with faces of glee,
Thinking "Oh how I wish that could still be me."

No I think that’s not for me,
It’s nice but most men never see
How great it is to be a tree.
Growing slowly, up and free,
All the room in the world to be
And when it’s time my roots will dry,
The wind will dip me one last time,
I’ll fall to pieces, smiling if I could,
Life starts over, my life as wood,
Seeping back to the soil that bore me,
And in a few years I’ll be up again,
New friends to live for, new birds to nest.
Things will change, but I remain.

I realize now I’d rather be
A tree because they live eternally,
Until the man cuts all the trees
To build another office, smothering me.
Trees are living, always never dead,
A cyclical future sounds good instead
Of dying once, living with that dread.

To be a tree, that’s fine by me.
I hope you’re listening, help teach me.

Everything explains everything else, nothing explains itself.