Jane's Medicine Tree

In the book Between Earth And Sky: Our Intimate Connections To Trees by Nalini M. Nadkarni, the author tells of an Inuit man from tundra land in the northern corner of Canada who encounters large trees and forest for the first time in Washington State.  In his native language Inuktitut, where there are more than 25 words for different kinds of snow, no words exist for tree or forest.  Instead, the language uses words that mean “pole” and “many poles”.

The author had brought a number of people together to experience the forest canopy and its immense diversity for the first time, and to hear their responses.  The Inuit man, Emil, passed an hour on a platform in the canopy, then returned to the ground, where for the next few days he wandered from tree to tree, spending long minutes with them, with a hand to the trunk.  In particular he passed time with western red cedars–trees regarded as most significant to the native peoples of the area.

At the end of this time in the forest, a celebration of stories, dance, and impressions of the forest took place around a fire.   At this time Emil stood and offered his perceptions:

He looked at each of us in turn and in a formal tone, said, ‘In these days, I have learned that trees are more than just poles.  You must learn to treat these big trees the way we treat the elders in our village–with great care and great respect.  Trees are as important to you as our grandparents are to us because they teach you things.’  A long pause followed Emil’s words, given weight by the strength of its source–a man who until the week before lacked a word for tree or forest.

Reading this story, several realizations rippled through me. Awe–but not surprise–that the presence and spirit of the trees was so palpable to this man from a culture that did not really know trees. And sadness in his comparision: how he and his culture regard the elders of their community and the wisdom they caretake–and how we, in our culture at large, do not.

And yet–I also find myself awash in hope. If a man from a culture that does not know trees can come to an understanding and awareness of trees from his own experience with elders in his community, surely places and opportunities exist in each of our lives to connect with elder wisdom, recognize it, and learn from it. In each of our lives, is an elder or two or three … who embody a deep understanding or a way of being, a way of seeing who we really are, or some profound knowledge or experience well beyond our own that speaks to us, to the core of our being. And if not a human elder, then a particular place–a magnificent landscape, a sweet home, or museum or chapel or … that calls to some realm in our hearts, connecting us to past and future generations, to legacy and promise.

Or perhaps the stars offer these qualities to us, connecting us with layers of being beyond what we know on earth. Perhaps it is that tenacious dandelion, seizing the day in a sidewalk crack. Surely in each of our lives we have experiences of place, people, dreams, other beings, spirit that teach us how to experience the profound presence within something else entirely.

What is elder wisdom? I think you and I both know that answer — if not in a sentence or paragraph, then in the expanse of feeling and association, yearnings, and comforts that shift across our psyches when we are touched by–something–that pulls us to strive to be more attentive, more honest, more connected and rooted and purposeful, more mindfully of service within our weave of family, community, more-than-humanity, spirit, self.

The ancient connective ways that sustained humanity for hundreds of generations is not lost to us in the 21st century. These ways are written into our cells, into our blueprint as human beings. We can reclaim our awarenesses and understandings, because they have never left. We just need to look around and notice where they are alive and well: in a gesture, a kind word, in wise old eyes that might be found on an elder, a child, a tree. In the dreams that shake us or whisper us awake. We can take notice, pay attention, absorb the energy. Then we can go out, feeling that elder wisdom move through us, reshaping our understanding of who and what we are, and how we are with one another.

Take a moment now. Without thinking too hard–or even thinking at all!–place your hand on your heart. Take a few deep breaths, then ask yourself: where do I experience this deep, connective wisdom in my own life? How may I caretake it, nurture it, listen more deeply? How may I embody this nature when next I step out my door? How might my perceptions shift? My attitude? My words? My relationships with others, human and otherwise?

Take time traveling through what comes to you. Then, with words or thoughts of gratitude, breathe deeply again, and return to the present. Reflect on what came forward for you, write down your thoughts. Then, perhaps, go out your front door, and discover what happens. Perhaps you too will discover, figuratively speaking, how ‘poles’ have become ‘forest’.

These bonsai were shown at the San Mateo Bonsai Club’s 46th Annual Autumn Bonsai Exhibit.

Bonsai have always spoken to me of elder artistry — a tree and its natural beauty encouraged into miniature form — a relationship between the human artist and the tree itself.

In Tamora Pierce’s fantasy series Circle Of Magic #02: Briar’s Book and Circle Opens #02: Street Magic, the young plant mage Briar Moss works with miniature trees.
Not only does he shape and care for these trees, but he infuses magic into them as well. In these books, a particular elder miniature tree (called a shakkan) has been infused with magic for 150 years, and so is a potent and powerful being in itself, able to offer magic when needed … I love this concept–a tantalizing way to partner with a tree …!

Gwynne loves the fairy world of this bonsai

A shakkan indeed