TALL WHITE PINE

WISCONSIN INDIAN SUMMER - 

LOOKING FOR A TREE

I'm delighted to say I fulfilled an important goal on my bucket list this past October weekend...  I have never watched the movie that made this phrase so popular but I've heard enough about it to know what a bucket list is.   

Almost a year ago I was taking a walk down a dead end road near my home when I spotted a huge white pine tree through the fog, across a huge marsh.  Of course it was there long before me, but I hadn't bothered to notice it before.  Since my cancer dx, I notice so much more in nature and I hope I can help you open up your eyes too.  Please try not to take little things for granted.  I didn't forget that pine tree and I yearned to get up close to it.  It’s beauty and awe inspired me to write this poem.

TALL WHITE PINE 

Through the misty fog I see,

A towering, ancient, white pine tree.

Across the marsh it juts out high,

Above the tree line in the sky.

When I see an old pine tree

I feel just like its calling me,

To come and sit and meditate

And rest beneath, appreciate.

Once these trees were everywhere.

Now they’re only here and there.

Beneath this tree I yearn to sit.

I’ll find a way to get to it.  

Just a couple days ago my husband agreed to help me find that white pine tree and the bonus was we were having a good old Wisconsin late October Indian summer.  We drove part way, parked the car, and walked north on a trail through our neighbor's woods.  When nearing the end of the trail, a mowed field revealed a fresh leg bone from a deer, left behind by a pack of wolves not long ago.  

We trudged along on a back eighty acre clearing through deep and wide puddles filled with plenty of recent rain water.  A bald eagle chattered nearby as he quickly rose into the sky and several crows cawed all around us.  That made us wonder if perhaps a fresh wolf-killed deer carcass might be lying in the thick woods north of the trail.  I stood behind while Tom ventured off through thick tag alders looking for something dead.  I waited, and waited, and waited.  Finally he reappeared just down the trail from me with no stories to tell.

We continued on our jaunt towards the area of woods that we knew the giant pine tree must be hiding in.  As large as the tree looked from the road, the dense woods concealed it very well.  When our water hole trail ended, we spotted one white pine tree just northeast of us, but it didn't look majestic enough to be the tree I was seeking. 

Again my husband ventured off toward the east through the thick marshy brush to look for another white pine, a larger tree that might be lurking just a little further on.  Once again I stayed behind, resting, and waiting, and waiting.  I leaned against a couple of oak trees as the ground was too wet to sit down.  After several minutes I became anxious, worried that my hubby might be lost.  He carried the cell phone and I had nothing, no water, no snacks, no watch, and no gun.  What would I do if a timber wolf appeared?  We had heard wolves howling in this very direction just a few nights before from our home.  

Finally Tom reappeared in the distance and told me, with utmost confidence, that the white pine we had spotted just north of us was thee one...  I gave him a high-five and after a short jaunt we were there at the base of this majestic tree.  It was a double leader as two branches rose to the top, not just one.  We noticed an old deer stand in the tree, a rope hanging down from it, and several rusty spikes jutting out of it.  Good thing for the deer hunters, as the metal in the tree may have saved it from recent logging nearby. 

So here I was… standing at the base of it, giving it a huge hug.  We joined hands together, Tom and I, and completely encompassed the tree.  I pulled from my pocket the cloth measuring tape I had snatched from my sewing box and measured the circumference about three feet up from the base.  It measured exactly 9', not a record breaker, but a dandy!

The walk out was exhausting for me, but I was elated to have met this great white pine tree (a double leader and a double hugger) up close and personal.  I’m so thankful I had the chance to fulfill the wish I made in my poem almost a year ago.  It doesn't take a lot to make me happy!  

Could never have made it without my knee boots!

TAMARACK TREES - GOLDEN GIFTS OF WISCONSIN OCTOBERS

Amid the tamaracks today I sit and ponder.  I've got my knee boots and a warm jacket on, my journal and pen in hand, and a peaceful easy feeling in my heart!

I can smell the pine needles that have freshly fallen on the forest floor around me.  Golden needles cling yet to the upper branches on the tamarack trees above.  I can hear the wind gently blowing through them now, chanting sweet thoughts to me.

A few withered mushrooms dot the forest floor, tattered with time, sporting fresh pine needles atop their golden brown caps.  A blue jay cries in the distance as I reflect back to what seems like yesterday when we planted these tamarack seedlings about twenty years ago.

We carried the seedlings around our marsh in a five gallon bucket and with my husband's home-made spud we dug holes to plant them in.  He'd push his spud down, then work it back and forth, and we'd shove a seedling carefully into it's newly created hole, pushing the tender roots down inside.  Then we'd kick the wet sod back around the split earth until each seedling was firmly set in place.  

Five hundred at a time, this was the only way to purchase seedlings from the DNR, but the cost was minimal.  They were tied with twine in bundles of fifty.  We'd slip a bundle or two in at a time, until each one had a new home in our marshy woodland.  We'd step back then and wish them luck, and quietly watch them grow.

My husband, myself, and our son planted our tamaracks in mid spring, about the time the frost was supposedly out of the ground.  Many times the spud revealed sod still frozen in early April, in Wisconsin, but as we slipped the seedlings into the cold earth they didn't really seem to mind.  

About forty percent of our tamaracks survived.  A few of them died naturally and some were smothered by the tall marsh grass that surrounded them.   Many trees fell victim to aggressive whitetail  bucks who polished up their antlers each fall by rubbing on the trunks.  My husband put fencing around as many as he could to protect them.  He used a scythe and hand weed whacker in mid summers to cut down the marsh grass around them until they were tall enough to see the sun.   He was stung several times by unseen hornets nesting in the tall grass.  

And so here I sit today, leaning up against a stout tamarack tree in our small forest, watching the falling needles drop onto my coat.

Each beautiful breathe I take, each tiny needle landing on my journal, each soft swish of breeze flowing through these trees gives me peace.  I gaze at the delicate branches dotted with pine cones above me and know I have so many things to be thankful for... but most of all, this very moment... I feel so lucky that I'm still here and have the chance to connect with this small cluster of tamarack trees. And I'm so glad that my husband invited them to come and live with us not so very long ago.

These golden needles, from light greens to soft oranges, light up my soul with their florescence like a glowing bonfire on a cool summer night, like sun light shimmering over rippling water, or a pretty pink sunset.  As a child I didn't know what a tamarack tree was.  Today I have a deep appreciation for their beauty in all seasons. 

Journaling amid the tamarack forest at my Wisconsin home