What the Eye Beholds

 

This has been a year of unfamiliar events for the whole world.  And the same is true for the forest near my home that welcomes me into its community of beings.  The mixed hardwood part of the forest that was idyllic during the lock downs of the summer of 2020 was changed drastically by logging activities in the late winter of 2021.  Mature Black Poplars, White Ashes and Maples were cut down.  Most of their canopy branches were left lying on the forest floor after the loggers left.

Once spring came, the canopy was punched through with holes left by the now absent trees, allowing the sun to stream down full force onto small Balsam Fir, Maple and Elm saplings that had been slowly growing for the past few years.  In the early summer the LDD moth caterpillars ate all the leaves of the remaining canopy and the sun like a giant grow light welcomed new growth from the roots of the logged trees.  Ashes and Maples suckered up from the stumps left behind.  But the Poplars which have root systems that are two to three times the height of the tree took full advantage of the light sprouting saplings everywhere possible. They shot up quickly in the sunny forest and reached six feet in height by the end of the summer.

An unusual Fall forest scene.

Now that it is Fall, the leaves which regrew in the canopy have fallen and the forest is once again filled with grey vertical trunks.  But, the new Poplar saplings are still green.  The sun once again is unobstructed and the bright green leaves are backlit and brilliant.  They are slowly turning brown but they feel like excited children who don’t want to go to bed.  "We just got here!"  It is not a usual, familiar Fall scene that I am used to and I spent some time watching and listening to these youngsters as the stiff November breeze got their leaves to dancing.

I thought about the difficulty for people in my area to face another winter of restrictions.  People talk about impending snow with a mixture of distaste and resignation.  Many are tired of COVID restrictions that change their normal way of getting through the winter.  Some have nothing to talk about now that they can’t travel to warmer places.  I watch for signs of depression.   And yet…

And yet, here is this Fall forest full of new growth, an abundance of green that is the result of logging and caterpillar feasting.  It is a result of the death and destruction of the big trees.  The Poplar saplings remind me that new growth is possible, that we can create new ways of being and doing from our deep roots.  They remind to look around the world for this new growth.  They suggest new eyes for seeing what is also there.

I spent some time photographing these new saplings in the forest to share here with you.  I was focused on the bright green when my partner noticed that the fourteen foot painted wooden snake that usually lies on top of a pile of branches was no longer there.  He asked me if he was looking in the right place.  He was.  It was hard to imagine someone walking out of the forest with a fourteen foot snake over their shoulder.  Perhaps someone didn’t like snakes and had thrown it deeper into the forest.  My partner wandered around looking for it on the forest floor.  Perhaps, we wondered, someone has relocated it within the forest.  We walked along the path looking from side to side but found no sign of it.

The fourteen foot snake emerging from a pile of branches in its usual spot.

The snake had been the prompt for many stories told there in the woods during the summer.  Some people told us that they were afraid of snakes.  My partner had wanted to situate it up in a tree but I thought that might make it more frightening so he agreed to lay it on top of a pile of branches as if it were emerging from them (see picture above).   In fact, the snake was made from one of these branches and had been transformed with bright paint to represent the seven species of snakes that live in our area.  Subsequently, my partner made a much smaller snake and painted it red.  He balanced it between two trees that had grown together while leaving a hole just perfect for a small snake to balance on, just a few feet off the ground.

We agreed that the large snake must be somewhere collecting new stories and reasoned that we could always make a new one since there were still loads of branches lying around.  As we headed back down the trail to the car, I wondered aloud if the little red snake was still in place.  My partner said, yes he’d noticed it there on our way in.  I thought I would still take a look for myself and as I approached the snake tree which I had already passed while taking pictures, I burst into laughter.  Seven feet in the air, above the red snake, was the fourteen foot snake balanced through another hole between the same two kissing trees.  Someone tall and strong had repositioned it up in the air where my partner had originally intended it to go.  Someone else had listened to the snake and put it in its true home.  We couldn’t stop laughing as we made our way back to the car.

The snake in its new position seven feet in the air above the little red snake.

Once I got home, I loaded my photos onto my computer and laughed once again.  Some of the photos that I had taken of the bright green saplings included the giant snake.  I had been so intent on capturing the bright green that I had not noticed the fourteen foot snake seven feet in the air in my photo.  This of course was the source of more laughter.

The fourteen foot snake is evident in the top left hand corner of the photo upon closer inspection.

We see what we focus on, what lights up for us.  I could focus on the empty branches of the mature trees or the bright green poplar saplings backlit by the sun. I could focus on death or new life.   I could focus on the green leaves or a giant snake hovering above me.  I can focus on the restrictions or I can focus on the relationships that people are now valuing more than ever.  There in the forest, the airborne snake reminded me not to take life too seriously for there is new life, creativity and joy to be found if I look for it.