Old Wood

This wood tells a story. If Things I get to do today included being a tree,  I know I would be quiet.  Trees don't get hysterical, run about and lose their senses. And they don't talk, at least outloud.

Wild storms come, and the wood might bend, twist and sway.  The roots could even fail and let go with the trunk crashing to the ground.  But the essence of the tree remains--solid and quiet.

Trees submitted to the saw and ax and became a split-rail fence after years of growing up, growing branches, swaying in the wind. Now they provide a safety guard along a steep cliff by Smith Rocks. 

The old timbers remain, still solid, still quiet with tiny words of its life inscribed in the wood.

In the Arms of Love

Trees die a slow death.  It's not really different for a Christmas tree unless it's blessed to still have its roots in a pot.  For the others, after the pain of the ax or saw, they hold on bravely as long as they can.

Hugged by the persimmon, a new friend

We bought a tree from a local lot this year.  It was the first time in several years that we were at home during the holidays.  Getting a tree when we're off visiting family in another part of the country seemed ridiculous.  But this year, our lovies came to stay for Christmas at our house. We wanted the trimmings, the smell, the brilliance of a great, green, majestic tree.  That's what we bought--12 feet tall--a tree that would touch the highest part of our ceiling before it was coronated with its gold star.

So when Christmas was over, New Year's Day passed and the needles started to drop heavily, we knew it was time to lay it to rest.  We have several signs in our neighborhood telling of drop-off-for-a-few-dollars-for-charity services for Christmas trees.  But sending this gentle giant through a shredder wasn't how I wanted its life to end.

A strong, loving, supporting arm

We hauled it out of the house and thrust it into the embrace of our now-bare-since-the-leaves-and-fruit-are-gone persimmon tree.  It will stand (with some assistance--Things I get to do today) close to its supporting friend.  Birds will land on its branches.  The rain with bathe it.  The frost and snow will chill it.  And for a time it can pretend it is still growing in the forest.  As the life leaks out of its trunk, the needles will fall, and branches will turn brittle.  At some point, we'll allow it to shine brilliantly again--in our fire place--probably next Christmas.  And the ashes can go back into the soil, the soul of the tree now nourishing new seeds in its arms of love.

Burning Dirt

New meaning to "dead wood"

It looked like dirt.  As I gather up fuel for the fire--wood that had been cut at least ten years ago--it suddenly struck me. This decomposing wood was now closer to being soil than it was to the tree it had once been. But will dirt burn in the fireplace?

Over the holidays relatives came for a visit.  Memorable, remarkable, wonderful times in the making.  And I wanted to use the fireplace, have a cozy fire or a roaring blaze for a good part of that time.  Our weather has been brisk and often raw over the last couple of  weeks.  A fire seemed like a sensible as well as sensuous solution.  And the practical part of me wanted to clean up a nuisance ten-year-old wood pile that was past its prime, was collecting bugs and had started to rot.

I asked my husband to "chop" the chunks that were too big.  The resulting "wood" pile looked more like rubble from an earthquake and dirt.  That was what was available, so that is what we would use.  Experimenting with fire and "dead" wood blazed through the Things I get to do today, as I tended the hearth all day.

We sat by it, snuggled up to it, gazed into it and enjoyed it.  The coaxing and inviting warmth drew us in, closer to it and closer to each other.  Truly, under the right conditions, dirt wood burns.

Tree ghosts ignited together, warming our family gathering