Please welcome my guest Rick Wilcox, a fellow writer who is certainly a Connection Messenger.* His beautiful reminiscence of the trees in the Texas woods he played in as a child will stir the soul of anyone fortunate enough to have had childhood adventures in and around trees and absorbed their soul-nourishing beauty.
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I played in those woods as a boy and had to be forced out of a high tree house when the day was over. Back then, the woods were my friend and playmate, and I memorized every leaf. I spent hours alone and there learned the company of good books, nature, and a boy’s imagination.
I see the woods differently now.
A severe drought in 2011 claimed dozens of them, and my heart broke afterwards during the necessary deforestation process. I’m now like a man who has recently lost an eye or a limb, feeling insecure and protective of the remaining life. These days I spend time looking at them from a comfortable swing rather than high in their branches. They are still my friends, but we are old men who silently nod as they teach me about things I still don’t understand.
I hear their voices, but I can never quite understand what they are saying.
It reminds me of a line written by Nathaniel Hawthorne, “There seem to be things I can almost get hold of, and think about; but when I am just on the point of seizing them, they start away, like slippery things.”
I think about what all those old trees have seen – the people they’ve known and the secrets they keep.
They are most precious to me when I see my grandchildren playing there. Like me as a boy, they appropriately take it all for granted, not yet understanding the value of their gift, but also like me, their play under the forest’s watchful eye is creating a safe place in their soul they will retreat to when they are older.
I imagine my granddaughter many years from now, sitting on a sofa speaking to her own granddaughter and saying,
“Oh my child, I wish I could explain it to you…”
Rick Wilcox is a businessman, theologian and literature wonk. Founder and moderator of Literary Life, a website dedicated to the illumination of truth through reading the classics, Wilcox is an ordained minister with a heart for all of God’s children.
* A Heartspoken Connection Messenger is someone who helps point the way to strengthening the essential connections in our lives: with God, with self, with others, and with nature.
This is a wonderful post, beautifully told. I was born and raised in suburbia, but got to the woods occasionally, but too young, I did not appreciate it. I was never so close to a woods that I could take long walks or explore. I think I have missed something significant.
I understand, Karen, but now you have the chance to do it with your grandchildren, and seeing trees through their eyes—and introducing them to the joys of climbing and exploring and building forts—may be even better than what you might have missed.
In Minot…We don’t have ‘woods’ here. We have a tree. And then a few miles out, we have another tree. We have no woods here. Perhaps, on base, I may be able to talk about trees. They have more trees on base.
Hmmm, well, Rick and I will just have to get you and those boys either to Texas or Virginia! 🙂
Beautiful, reminiscent post that brought me back to MY woods during MY childhood, and how I developed a relationship also with the trees and each individual leaf, with the stream and the mossy rocks, with the sounds of each piece of nature, all together making a lovely symphony just for my ears alone. Yes, those woods of my memories are gone (replaced with a larger highway),but the good news is that nature keeps coming back, keeps replacing itself, and I love exploring it wherever I live. Thank you Rick for the lovely memories and the lovely reminder of what surrounds us.
Thank you for sharing your own reminiscences, Pamela. Weren’t we the fortunate ones who grew up in a place where we could explore the natural world around us!
Thanks, Elizabeth, for featuring this lovely piece. I too feel a deep, deep love for trees. I especially like Rick’s sense that the forest’s watchful eye is creating a safe place in the children’s soul that they will retreat to when they are older. I’m sure one of the main reasons I love being in a forest is that I experience the trees as benign, stalwart beings, who are nourishing my spirit.
April, thank you so much for sharing this. I knew you and some others would resonate with Rick’s deep and abiding love for our tree friends.
Esther, I’m so sorry to remind you of what you are leaving behind here, but I am excited for you to be making new tree friends wherever you go. And your love of Nature and trees will be imparted to others along the way. Through these bonds we are all connected.
I understand this post, Elizabeth, but it serves only to remind me that “my” trees are no longer mine. The tiny sprouted red oak acorn is now a sturdy sapling, the mutilated red maple sapling was pruned and pampered and now it is big enough to withstand thoughtless powerline trimmers, the tulip poplar is too tall for the deer to nibble its tender sprouts. But I’ll never know if the wild holly survives along the seasonal spring or if the dawn redwood finds enough moisture and nutrients to thrive. The huge unrotted logs in our woods never revealed their secrets to me, only managed to support a massive tangle of poison ivy. I won’t see those trees again, but they will live on in my mind, much like foster children who were mine for a time. I gave them the best I could.
I will be fine, but right now I’m missing “my” trees.