I thought I knew what a big tree was like. I thought I knew, until I didn’t. I’ve seen the Coastal Redwoods and Giant Sequoias, grew up surrounded by the many species of Oak, Maple and Cypress in Texas, frequently sweet talk the humble and lovely Cottonwoods of the desert, but this one is different. It’s an anomaly in my mind. My years on earth have been relatively few, with today marking 26 years, but I’ve found unparalleled joy in living slowly. Intentional slowness, not the uninspired, suffocated slowness, but the feeling when you ask yourself why we rush, when nothing else does. The natural environment, with its fine tuned nuance and glaring beauty, sits as if still, but moves with purpose so refined, it can’t possibly be wrong. Sitting at the confluence of two perennial streams, with room to breathe and little past disturbance, is a tree quietly sipping from the ever flowing fountain of good fortune. I recall it catching my attention, though it didn’t receive nonchalant acknowledgment until I was rather close. Circling, eyeing bottom to top and hugging various sides, the usual measurements. I just stood, mouth agape, in the empty amphitheater, as the tree spoke not a word. It pulled up a chair, so I sat, returned to my feet, circled, eyed, hugged and sat again. Difficult to look away, even more so to leave. Its freckles, dimples and wrinkles. Its eyes glow solemnly, hoping for company again, but content nonetheless to sit in paradise. The eyes that say everything and nothing, leaving me to write these love letters until I return. — This tree has become a symbol for me; a constant through inconsistency. Cliche! Nice one! Standing on one foot is easy, though even the slightest nudge can cause your arms to begin a calculated flail and your back, abs, hips, legs, ankles, feet and toes to adjust in a subconscious rhythm so as to keep your body from crumbling into an array of loose parts. The nudges have been occuring more often and with greater force the last couple years. I feel constantly on the verge of collapse, but these seemingly mythical objects, like the tree, give me something to hold on to. Something to help me retain that change is never linear, but to continue with that refined purpose that I greatly admire. My attempts to wax poetic about life and nature often seem like just that; attempts. A personal journal at best and simplifying deep emotional states at their most futile, but I continue because it helps. No longer stuck within nostalgia or questioning things better left alone. — As humans ignorantly continue to believe that development is progress and that our finite resources will lead to infinite prosperity, or rather, immediately fat pockets, we tumble ever quicker down towards the fire. Literally and metaphorically. It’s only fun until it burns. When a twinkling ember fluttered down towards the parched ground encompassing the tracks of the local coal powered tourist transporter, drought stricken grasses, shrubs, trees and microbiomes ignited, crying into the void as the soulful old growth forest, endemic flora and fauna and local communities literally and metaphorically were burned, while the steel brute continued to screech and snake through the very place it unapologetically chastised. Many of the largest ponderosa pines, douglas firs and blue spruce in the entire state smoldered until a fine powder remained. A blow to biodiversity and objects of wonder, solace among life and secrets within seeds. This tree, a ponderosa pine, the one I started this story about, feels like a portal back to that ecosystem before the anthropogenic burn. Scarred by fire, but standing proud, inviting those who will look, a window into that increasingly scarce environment. The ponderosa pine’s evolution has garnered it a healthy resilience. Its thick bark and bud-protecting needles are accustomed to frequent, low intensity fire and its ability to maintain relative health through drought means that when one sprouts in a rather lush patch of Southwestern Colorado ground, it grows unhindered. So much so, that it may even become one of the largest and oldest living in the state. I hope to collect more measurements this spring. With an unofficial circumference of 16 feet and 9 inches, it very easily wears the crown of largest ponderosa girth known in Colorado. Soon I’ll be in that chair again, where sap seeping from skin steeps the air with the smell of vanilla, bubblegum and citrus, and the horizon laughs and whispers echo in the silence.
