As soon as we heard the humongous metal caterpillars crush the underbrush and mow down our saplings, most of our energy shot toward the very tips of our branches, ready to leave our wooden shells for good. We fall as we live –with utter acceptance, devotion, and grace. We do not harbor vengeance toward humans who cut us down. It is our destiny to grow, multiply, and keep on giving way beyond our lives as trees. We are aware that we leave unique legacies behind. As long as humans have been around, they have needed our wood to feed theirs fires. Creative hands have turned parts of our corpses into magnificent pieces of furniture, utensils, art and paper. Our most valuable purpose, however, is not visible to the eye. It is well-hidden like a precious pearl. Whether humans realize it or not, it is we who keep them grounded, even after we have metamorphosed into a different life form.
Each of us carries a unique signature that artists and craftsmen recognize. Depending on who picks us, we gain new life under their hands. A life that still carries its main gift: to help humanity. Be it due to our beauty, or more on the practical side, we become people’s tool to stay grounded.
Parts of my sturdy branches, for example, were used to make a beautiful bed. Unfortunately, a person called designer had a final say and a layer of white paint covered up my unique pattern. Nonetheless, I made it into an exquisite showroom. Among many brothers and sisters it wasn’t easy to keep people’s attention on me alone. Yet patience is one of our virtues and it payed off: a couple kept returning to admire me. Measurements were taken. “It is perfect!” I heard them announce. Papers were exchanged. Days later I was carefully covered with cloth and carried into a huge van. After a bumpy ride, I was delivered to the couple’s home where I was placed in a cozy room. You should have heard the joy and excitement with which my new owner, a 5-year-old girl, greeted me! My soul rejoiced. What a welcome! Despite being told not to do it, the little child jumped on me as if I were a trampoline. I silently prayed that the slants wouldn’t crack under the violent impact of her feet. They didn’t. From that day on, she and I became best friends.
I cradled her when she was sick. I was her refuge when she cried. I supported her during play and homework. I was her punching bag when she was upset and angry. I was shared with many good friends during childhood and teenage years. The day came when the young lady didn’t return to me. She moved out. I was stripped of all the bedding and the mattress was covered with a heavy blanket with a Native American design. Time doesn’t mean anything to us trees, but a long while passed by before the young lady returned. Only to depart again. The cycle repeated itself a couple of times. Every so often, her mother would come into the room, sit on me quietly, or break down in tears. I could tell that the spaces between her daughter’s returns grew wider. Not long ago, the lady took pictures of me from all sides. I still can read energy quite well, so I sensed that change was in store for me. How ever my new chapter will be, I await it with curiosity, patience -and a sliver of excitement. After all, I am meant to serve!
About the author
Anja Kerstin Kuentzel,
Advanced Grief Recovery Method specialist, nature lover, photographer, and bilingual wordsmith combines her passions to offer a different perspective on life that might inspire, raise awareness or even heal.