Imagine Her Full Majesty

As promised, here is the mid-Spring view of the tree from the cow pasture just down the road from our place toward Youngsville. Sorry it took me so long to get back the this work and I am glad that it didn't miss Spring for it seems like Summer is advancing early in North Carolina this year. (I personally prefer the greens of Spring to those of Summer.) My initial shot of this scene was the subject of a January post and depicted a Winter look of this lone leaf-bare oak standing watch over the dormant pastures. Now she has budded and is fully leaved in the rich deep green of late Spring. The hay has come in very full and healthy in the field beneath her thanks to all the nice saturating rains we've had this Winter and early Spring. Nearly three and a half feet tall, these grasses will soon be cut, left to dry in the sun, raked, baled and stored for the cows next Winter. For now, it's amusing to to watch the fawns struggle to bound high enough to clear the tops of the grasses as they follow their mothers away from the road to the woods and a nice stream branch just over the hill.

While I drove with Emmylou down the road to try and capture the tree in "perfect evening light" to mark my return to this blogging work after a three month hiatus to deal with some personal stuff, I found myself thinking of life's cycles and aging. As we rounded a curve in the road and I strained to catch my first next glimpses of her, it was as though my conscious and earnest looking made the tree appear to leap into view from over the horizon: tall, towering, emerald green, strong and still , lording over the pastures, awaiting the return of the cows, a part of this Sunday's afternoon's warm fragrant peace - marking home for me again, making me feel a part of my place on earth. But then I noticed what I had failed to see every day as I passed by or to pay attention to in the earlier photograph ... she is damaged. Not slightly but significantly on one side. With the foliage out and the leaves rich green from Spring's new life, I now saw that she is at less than her full majesty. For a while, I stood and took in the view; simultaneously I marveled and wondered. I tried to imagine what the tree was like in her full glory, before the damage, in her full majesty. What was the cause of this damage - lightning?, insects? - and why did it happen and how long ago? I wondered if before the damage, the tree would have inspired me more? And I even considered setting out this afternoon to try and find a replacement for her. After all, more perfect tree might serve as a much better respresentative subject to use to mark the seasons in my blog?

Reasonably quickly my thoughts quieted and I realized that although visually the tree may be less majestic than before the damage, these imperfections make her more, not less, interesting and important to me. She is unflinchingly real; mixing blemishes and scars with breathtaking beauty. With time, she has progressed from youth and its beauty to a dignity and grace that is earned, not given. She is like that old dirt dog around the farm; the one all of us have seen or heard of. Long ago his puppy cute and playfulness faded; a coon got his ear and a train got his leg; but he is the dog justifiably honored and revered. We love and cherish that old farm dog as a survivor; a carrier of scars and memories, experiences and pain because he helps us begin to hear what our modern lives drowned out and let fade from our consciousnesses -- the truth and purpose of earth's cycles and nature's pace, and how to navigate them with grace. We have no choice: they are inevitable and constant, we are not. So, does my tree serve to remind that I am privileged to be here, to be a part of this natural whole.
















Above are shots from January (left) and May (right) of the tree from her south side. I thought it would be interesting to compare the tree from this perspective as well. I was surprised by the dogwood in the foreground that I had forgotten was there in winter and by the height of the hay. The collection of six or so dogs at the farm behind me as I took this shot greeted me again with anger and disdain saved for strangers as they had in February; that is until Emmylou tried to make friends baying at them from the cab of the truck. Yeah, I miss the flag in the most recent shot too - not really sure why but I do.


Finally, while I couldn't bring you the sounds and smells of this bend in the road about half way between our place and Youngsville proper, the photograph above of wild honeysuckle climbing an anchoring cable for a power line post is my attempt to share a little of the ambiance. Wild honeysuckle bloomed rampantly all over this stretch of road and the sweet smell permeated and complemented the nearly perfect quiet of this afternoon broken only by occasional wistful bird songs.