“It’s interesting how something that
comes so easily to one person can be so impossible for someone else.” Susane
Colasanti, So Much Closer
My wife and I were out for a walk the other day. As we
returned home I looked up into the maple tree that dominates our front yard and
noticed some leaves beginning to change. It shouldn’t have surprised me,
because I had noticed a few dried leaves blowing about the driveway like a
flock of drunken, whirling dervishes. I checked my phone and confirmed what I
had suspected; we were still in the first half of August, so it seemed strange
that the leaves should be starting to fall.
Trees are intriguing. I love the shade they provide on a hot
summer’s day. I love how they look so dead in winter, yet each spring they
return to life. New branches shoot forth while dead stuff falls to the ground
with each passing breeze and storm. Leaves unfurl, as if by magic, and one can
almost hear them inhale the old, stale carbon dioxide we’ve let go, while
returning oxygen to the lunged species of the world around them.
I don’t know if trees experience happiness or joy; I know
scientists say they “compete” for resources, like light, water, and the
nutrients of the soil, but I’m not sure competition is the best word to
describe what they do. Humans compete. Wolves compete. Birds compete. We
so-called higher life-forms compete for food and mates, but it isn’t that way
with trees and flowers.
We may describe what they do as competition, but in reality
there is no ego involved. A plant needs water, so it sends forth roots. It
seeks, and it finds. It does not desire the death or dehydration of its
neighbor. In times of plenty it thrives, and in times of deprivation it stands
still and waits. It does not twiddle its stems in boredom, but stands ready to
change as needed with the seasons.
Although I can be a bit of a blockhead, I’m not a very good
tree. I can measure two board feet at the lumber yard, which is strange as I
can’t hold a tape measure with my two bored feet. I used to pine for oak, but
now I pre-fir walnut.
In any case, I found myself befuddled by the sight of leaves
turning brown so soon. It seems too early for leaves to be turning colors and
dropping from the tree, and yet I believe a tree knows by nature what we try to
figure out by the calendars we hang on the wall.
The maple doesn’t turn red in embarrassment that she’s
losing her cover. It is in her DNA to do what she does when she does it. She
responds to the arc of the sun and the lengthening or shortening of days to
decide when to send forth shoots and when to let go.
I sometimes wish I could be more like the tree in that
regard. I prefer to hang on to things. I think I got that from my father, who
recently passed away.
He was not a hoarder, but he was a child of the Great Depression,
so he never replaced what could be fixed. And when things were beyond repair,
he would scavenge the parts for future use. Jars and cans of leftover screws,
nuts, springs, and washers fill the garage and shop. It wasn’t an obsession; it’s
simply what he did out of habit.
I’ve learned to let go of things over the years. Ministerial
transfers made those sacrifices essential and, truth be told, they really
weren’t sacrifices. In lightening the load, we saved ourselves (and those
moving us) a fair amount of money.
Harder to give up are life’s grievances. Each of us has them
and, as long as we hang onto them, they weigh us down, slow us up, and cost us
far more to carry than we generally realize. If we are wise, we learn to leave
our burdens behind as we move forward – to drop them like leaves.
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