When Trees Are Your Friends

It can be hard on your heart

Jack

I may or may not have already told you the story of Jack, my tree friend in Ireland. I feel like the more I write, the more I repeat myself. So, apologies if you’ve already heard the story.

Funny note - as I’m typing this, Grammarly keeps wanting to correct “my tree friend in Ireland” because that can’t possibly be correct, right? A tree friend? Named Jack? What is that? Grammarly wants to know!

It was June 14, 2016, and I was visiting Ireland for the first time. My Irish friend, Glenda, who I’d never met in person, was generously chauffering me around the country, from forest to forest, because she loves Trees as much as I do.

All of a sudden, she slammed on her brakes and veered off the road and into an obscure car park next to a forest. An Gleann Mor. Devil’s Glen, the sign read. I’m sure I’m butchering the Gaelic pronunciation, so pardon me, my Irish friends.

Glenda had never been there. And, although it was late in the day - 5:16 p.m., according to the time on my photo, we decided to go exploring. There was not another human in sight.

Believe it or not, as much as I’m a Tree person, not every single forest feels good to me.

I’ve been in forests that felt laden with grief.

Forests that felt creepy and dangerous.

But An Gleann Mor? Even with a name meaning “Devil’s Glen,” it felt like pure magic.

This was not an old-growth forest by any means. But, the mostly Spruce trees seemed healthy and happy.

Glenda had brought her drum and was lost in the drumming, so I began to wander around, picking up litter that was lying about. A wine bottle and some empty wrappers, mostly.

All of a sudden, I felt a magnetic pull guiding me to go left. No idea where or why I was headed in that direction, I found myself walking straight for one Spruce tree about fifty yards away. Of course, I’m guestimating here.

When I approached him, I gasped. He had two round soulful eyes and the sweetest crooked smile I’ve ever seen - on a tree or a human.

And then, I heard a voice say, “Hi. I’m Jack. Thank you for picking up trash and for taking care of the Earth.”

Well, I did what anyone would do who just had a tree talk to them. I burst into tears.

Call me crazy. Go ahead. I’m beyond feeling embarrassed about telling this story.

Was it a “real” voice?

Was it a voice in my head?

Was it my imagination?

All I know is that it happened, just as I’m telling you.

At this point, Glenda heard me crying and came to see what was wrong. She took one look at Jack, and she gasped, too.

I told her what had happened, and, well, Glenda and I are like two peas in a pod, so she wasn’t at all surprised.

It was getting dark, and so we said our goodbyes to Jack. I promised I would return to visit him.

I thought everyone saw faces in trees.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had deep relationships with the Trees around me.

Some of them have been heart-wrenching, much like the death of a loved one.

When I was seven or eight, living in Detroit, I woke up one summer morning to see all the leaves from our beloved American Elm tree shriveled up and fallen to the ground.

Just like with our human friends and families, sad things happen.

Nature has a way of touching our hearts in ways that are sometimes hard to fathom. But it’s really not that surprising because, of course, we are Nature, too.

All the elements make up our human body. Rivers rush through us. The wind keeps things moving. Our bones are of the Earth. A fire is lit within us.

We can help to care for our fellow Nature beings, but some things are out of our control.

Just yesterday, while I was reflecting on all of this, I found a tree had fallen across my driveway.

It was a Hemlock. There was no green growth on it. It had snapped near the base and looked sickly. The wind must have dealt it the final blow. A few of the other trees along the drive look like they’re struggling too, yet there are others that look healthy as can be.

I feel the worry rise in me, knowing that places like North Carolina have had their Hemlock population decimated.

When you let yourself develop relationships with the Nature around you, you can’t help but care and worry a bit.

Sometimes, it’s even hard to take a walk in the woods for fear of stepping on a baby Pine sapling, a cluster of Ghost Pipe, or any other plants teeming with life.

And then, there are the things happening to Nature that tear at our hearts on a catastrophic level that make us feel helpless.

The reason I wrote this post was because of something my soul brother, Gavin Mounsey, recently wrote.

Death By A Thousand Clearcuts

I’m not gonna lie. It took me all day to make it through Gavin’s post. I kept closing my laptop and going outside to be with the Trees.

But I wanted to honor him (and the Trees) by reading every single word of it. I’m sure it was just as painful for him to write it as it was for me to read it.

I felt sorrow. And rage. And helplessness.

I remember feeling that way during the Standing Rock protests against the Dakota Access Pipeline. That time it was about the water.

My friend and I were in the city, day after day—night after night. We talked about driving out there, but I just wasn’t feeling strong enough.

I gave more time and money to that cause than any other in my lifetime. It struck such a deep chord within me, just how wrong it was.

I remember one of the women leading the protests in NYC talking about doing what each person could do on an individual level.

Not everyone is equipped either emotionally, physically, energetically, or financially to take on giant corporations.

And it’s certainly not for us to judge who does more to help Mother Earth.

Some of us can be on the front lines, holding hands and making human barriers to protect the land or the trees, or the water.

Some of us might be lawyers who can help from a legal standpoint.

And some of us can work to love and honor and protect the land, the trees, and the water around us, including the animals who live among us in our own backyard.

We can work to raise our vibration and send it out into the world.

It will never seem like enough if you have a deep love in your heart for this planet.

Personally, I feel like I was guided here to love and help steward the land I live on.

And so, I walk with care when I’m out among the Trees and all the other plants and animals.

And I sing.

I sing to the Mountains, to the Trees, to beautiful Yarrow, the Queen of the Weeds. To the Spring that offers me her water.

In fact, over the past few months, every time I’m outside, I start singing a little song that I’ve been writing in my head. I’ve never written a song. It’s no masterpiece, that’s for sure. But it’s my song of thanks for having the good fortune of living here.

It’s not finished. It may never be because it changes each time I sing it. Maybe one day I’ll share it with you.

I know that this is not going to solve the monumental problems Gavin writes about. But right now, I feel like all I can do is share the information and stay as connected to the Earth as I can.

In 2018 I returned to Ireland. Glenda had moved further north, but she kindly drove me back down to An Gleann Mor to visit Jack again. It was a homecoming of sorts.

And then, a friend of mine who lives in Switzerland flew over and went with me to Scotland for a week. Our plan was to fly back to Ireland, spend a couple more days and fly home from there.

Before we left Ireland, Glenda was looking over our itinerary and poo-pooed the Airbnb we had chosen to stay in when we returned to Ireland. She didn’t like the area it was in. She helped us find a better choice, and we were lucky enough to book it.

After a wonderful rainy week in Scotland (another place I call home), we flew back to Dublin and rented a car to drive to the Airbnb.

It was nighttime and dark already. We turned down a long gravel road, and the navigation said we’d reached our destination. I looked up and saw a sign that read “The Devil’s Glen!”

We had unwittingly booked a place literally on the edge of An Gleann Mor!

The owner couldn’t have been friendlier, and she had a German Shepherd who took her guests for walks in the woods!

I’m blanking on his name. As always, I was the dawdler, looking at every rock, tree, and forest flower. He would patiently come back to me, wait, and then lead me down the path again.

I got to visit Jack once more. I guess he just wasn’t ready for me to leave Ireland without saying goodbye.

The owner was able to find him in the woods after I left when I told her the story.

Time to wrap this up.

Don’t ever forget how much of a difference you can make on an individual level just by honoring Nature, both in yourself, other humans, the plants, the water, the land, and the animals.

Much Love,
Barbara

P.S. I want to take a moment to say thank you for the unbelievable comments some of you have left for me. I truly am awestruck at the depth of some of them. I can’t even call you strangers because you’ve connected yourself to me on such a beautiful soul level. Really touching my heart. Thank you for reading, thank you for listening, and thank you for responding in such a beautiful way. 💕

Central Park, NYC