I was listening to a report on NPR last week about an American family who moved to Fair Isle, (way northern Scotland), and while a friend and I were indulging our so-not-gonna-happen-fantasies they talked about how Fair Isle has no trees. I keep thinking about that. Wondering about that. At first I wondered what that would look like, but then I started to realize that I would miss the trees! I actually would feel uncomfortable without them.
This is a revelation to me: I am sooo not the outdoorsy type. But I do love my trees. I love them when they sway and dance when the summer so'westers come in. I am held and wrapped in their beauty when their leaves come out. I am even captivated by their length and strength all throughout our enormous grey and white winters.
Yesterday was Maple Syrup Sunday in Maine. An article in the paper said that the trees aren't harmed if tapped properly, among other things not until they are about 40 years old. And then the article went on to say that there is a tree nearby which has been tapped for over 100 years. Now that is a friendship. Someone has been taking good care of that tree. Several someones.
And my other tree thought for this early morning is that I finished my "Cousin Tree" for all of my cousins - a new rendering of about 400 years of family history that blossomed from the Huguenot very great grandparents who left France and travelled across an ocean to see if they could figure out a way to live within their spiritual truths.
I am reading a novel about the languages of human, animal, plant and element. That sometimes we understand each other, even across the species, but always that the languages are here.
I believe that. I love knowing that the language of trees is being spoken nearby.