Maybe the Trees Love Me Too

It is always good to go out in the morning and walk with a friend by the trees. It was cold this morning, even though it was supposed to get up to near 60 degrees today. The road we usually walk is cut into the side of a mountain, so while it is mostly flat, there are many areas where the sun doesn’t reach this time of year. We especially savor the sunny sections and walk a little slower through them, taking time for our backs to warm.

My friend’s dog romped and ran up the hills, and down the hills, and into the waterfall, and alongside the road into every little puddle she could find. Her golden paws turned dark with mud. She was so happy, and my friend didn’t mind.

I have lived in many different places over the years, but I think this place is my favorite. I get to walk among these trees everyday, and everyday I can pause and maybe wander to the side of the road and rest my fingers on bark, put my cheek on bark, and just breathe with the tree that is there with me, right there, and know that this tree is connected to all the other trees, that they listen to each other, and help each other, and maybe somehow the community of trees senses me? And breathes back into me something that I need. It sure feels like it.

I especially love the big trees. The ones that I can lean into. That I can’t get my arms around. That were there for a hundred years before I was born and will be there long after I am gone. Maybe part of me stays with the tree? Maybe part of the tree stays with me, and that is why I am so comforted by my walks among them?

Years ago, we took an autumn family day trip up to Lake Tahoe. We found a beach, and laid our towels down in the sun. It wasn’t so warm that you could take off your sweatshirt. But with the sun and a sweatshirt and long pants, it was comfortable.

Lying there with my eyes closed, and my children, much younger at the time, down at the water’s edge, playing in the sand, I had a thought which surprised me.

“Know that you are loved on this earth.”

Where did that come from?

Doesn’t matter, really.

It might have been me. But I don’t think it was.

I guess I should confess that sometimes I have not felt loved, not through anybody’s fault, not through anybody’s intention. None of the people in my life who love me have ever set out to make me feel unloved, just as I have never tried to make them feel unloved. But sometimes, it happens anyway.  We fail like that, all of us, all the time, with the people who are closest to us, who deserve our whole hearts but get only what’s leftover at the end of  the day.

Sometimes, you  move through your days, and you wonder if anyone sees you.

Or maybe you start to worry that you are little more than an errand running, onion chopping, menu planning, money making, permission slip signing, gas tank filling being who isn’t doing quite enough,  and shouldn’t you manage  a little more?

You know that you are most definitely appreciated. And certainly, you would be missed if you disappeared. But is that all there is? Is it enough? Are you enough?

Yes.

You are.

When I am with my trees, I remember this. I know that I am loved on this earth. The trees tell me. Everyday, I try to listen. I hold them. And somehow, they hold me, too.