‘ONCE, IN A BEAUTIFUL, FAR AWAY LAND, that was, somehow, not so very far… A land where every stone was a teacher and every breeze a language, where every lake was a mirror and every tree a ladder to the stars…’ (From Old Turtle and the Broken Truth) We are born into this land, into such a world. But oftentimes,
‘THERE SHOULD BE at least a room, or some corner where no one will find you and disturb you and notice you. You should be able to untether yourself from the world and set yourself free, losing all the fine strings and strands of tension that bind you, by sight, by sound, by thought, to the presence of others.’ Thomas
THERE IS A PATH I know that leads to the most marvelous series of trees. Northern White Cedar, Arborvitae. Their roots stretch and reach over bedrock—anchoring, holding fast to the earth. To life. I know other paths, many of them, that lead to shadowed haunts and streams of sunlight. A great many people are hurting right now, burdened by doubts
THERE’S NOTHING like the smell of a forest on a misty, foggy day. Be it the Coast Redwoods or the Olympic Peninsula or the humble Church O’ The Pines. It’s a fragrance that reaches inside of you and reminds you that you are a part of everything and everything is a part of you. On a gray, monochrome day, not
IT IS, OF COURSE, altogether amazing how the entire moon can balance on the tip of a balsam bough. How is it there are so many extraordinary things in this ordinary old world? The world we think we know. There are, as Uncle Bill Shakespeare once said, more things in Heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our poor
IN THE FOREST, some things glow. Even on a cloudy, drizzly evening, half an hour before dark, they glow. Not so much from the sunlight, of which there is little, but somehow from within. A red maple Kathy and I planted twenty years ago. A redbud tree like the one my grandad and I planted and watered so faithfully, one
THIS IS AN ANCIENT Limber Pine, perhaps 3,000 years of age. Perhaps the oldest tree in all of Canada. The glorious photo was taken by my son, Bryan, on a pilgrimage to the Canadian Rockies, far off the beaten path. The image speaks deeply to me, as he knew it would… Here is a being rooted in the high ground
WHEN THE LAND is swallowed up by cults and conspiracies; when weak men pretend to be strong and fools pretend to be wise; when all is pretense leavened with hate; then it is good to spend time among trees. Small trees or big trees, it does not matter. All that matters is that they are real. And honest. All that
THERE ARE A NUMBER of goals or concepts in the world of bonsai. Beauty. Grace. Symmetry. The interweaving between between nature and living art. And things that are harder to describe. Part of it is recreating in miniature the effect of a large, old tree. Weathered and bent, perhaps, but still strong. I rescued this little juniper, now about 10”
SOMETIMES, rising in the morning, simply going out the cabin door and looking up… is enough to begin the day with perspective. Peace. Inspiration. As Aldo Leopold said, “I love all trees. But I am in love with pines.” It is good to live in the company of trees.