Bend like the Birch

Solace sought from sour siblings,
Nature’s parchment curling on slender arms
Beckon challenge out of the soil
Grip us.
Conquer us.
Come see with our eyes.
Fleshy limbs seeking wooden ones,
I scamper up the trunk, gaining
Footing on knobs and knuckles and knots,
Until my weight bows the bough.
My arms and legs tendriled, and
With the greater bole below,
Together we sway.
Leffffft. Righhhhht.
Cheek pressed to the bark and eyes closed,
Pounding xylem and phloem in my ears, I
Inhale.
Exhale.
Autumn’s cool kiss tousling my hair
We bend deeply together,
Rocking daughter, cradling mother.

Much of my time as a small child was spent outdoor amidst the wooded land behind our home in rural Southern New Hampshire. Being the youngest sister of three, I spent much of my time observing nots: learning what not to do, how not to get caught, how not to be found. I was all of three when my father found me at the top of one of our birch trees, and after “rescuing” me, proceeded to cut off every limb below five feet high on every tree on our property. This effort was not enough to dissuade my love of being in the arms of the woods, and I soon learned to shimmy up a smooth trunk just as limberly as if there were footings. The vantage point of being situated thirty to forty feet up in a tree makes all troubles soft and insignificant, and I quickly learned how to at once both hold on and let go.

In Robert Frost’s poem “Birches”, he muses about an imaginary boy having had played and swung amongst the willowy treetops, causing them to bow and bend to his will “until he took the stiffness out of them and not one but hung limp”. It is easy to relate to this fictional child, swinging like Tarzan from treetop to treetop, feeling the bend of the branches beneath, and the rush of the conquest of riding each to the ground.

But can we relate to the birch?

The birch, while firmly and often aggressively rooted in the ground, is flexible and soft. It is a fast growing tree, usually at the edge of the thick. As it grows and is weathered, its papery bark peels and yields and curls like so much fine parchment. During the harsh New England winters, while the skinny trunks and branches hold little snow, during storms they become encased with ice, and you can hear them often burst with the expansion of freezing sap. Despite the destruction, these injured trees continue to grow in other directions. In the spring, birches tend to bud and leaf out early, the first to frost pink and green into a landscape of white and gray. In the summer, it welcomes chickadees and other nesting birds in its branches and shade. In the early autumn, they are quick to turn yellow and the first to yield to the oncoming cooler climate.

So how are we in relation to the birch? In the relationship of our roots to our trunks to our limbs, our foundation should be grounded in love and respect for ourselves and our inherent nature. We should not let that, however, cause us to be resistant to change, growth and new experience, or so stalwart that we should uproot when perceived catastrophe strikes. When our hearts are broken, do we resist and stew in anger, or do we allow them to feel the pain (burst) and work it through until we can grow again in a new direction? Are we the first to admit wrongdoing, the first to forgive, the first to change? Are we welcoming to new influences and willing to be a perpetual student? And when it is time to pass on, whether from life or just to a new situation, are we accepting and willing to follow the path of peace?

It is often asked of me why and how it is that I am so happy all of the time. Anyone who has known me is aware that I have had my share of hardships, trials, and challenges that could justifiably had made me a bitter person. The fact that I have earned my living managing a chain of retail stores for more than a decade would to some make me a clear candidate for the president of the miserable. My retort has been “so much water off a duck’s back” – I learned early on that if I am not flexible and accepting and willing to change, that misery torments my soul. Seeking the way of peace allows the hardships to blow through my branches; the changes in season to blossom my heart; the yield of forgiveness to let go of pain; the yearning for knowledge to entice growth. Perhaps I ought to change my adage.

I bend like the birch.