Always appreciate a glimpse of what you’re seeing and feeling Janisse! Changes, big ones, often heartbreaking ones, seem to have become the norm these days.
Thank you, Madame Advisor. Your barn is gorgeous. I can't speak coherently to the dire health situation of the planet, so I simply thank you for doing so. And that tree, so beautiful.
I chuckled at your re-write---hope to see more of those.
Back in 2011 I worked on a vegetation survey of the Beaumont Unit of the Big Thicket. This was a few years after Hurricane Rita had come through that region and really decimated the tree cover. We climbed over all sorts of trees in the bottomlands. Where tree cover disappeared and openings were forged, Chinese tallow trees got a foothold. It doesn't take much for nature to reshape an ecosystem and where a native species would have fit that spot in succession, instead an invasive came in and shaped it.
Yet another chock-full writing! That your swamp chestnut oak is still standing is wonderful. This gives a feeling of stability in a world of instability these days, as you write about. I love your rewrite of the the president's message. Raven did a lovely job on the barn!
At least know this, that deep drone that resonates between molecules and galaxies has a wavelength so broad across the span of space and time that, ultimately, the mere warbles of man cannot divert it from its strong center. We have no less responsibility because of that, and no less consequence for our actions. But there are waves inside of waves, inside of waves at Fibonaccian orders of magnitude. We only live within and can observe a few of those. Likewise, we can only affect a few. The rest? We cannot even perceive how they support us despite our folly, and they will continue unphased after we are gone.
Your self-appointed advisory position is well supported by your resume, even if it was only the simple example you gave.
Salute to Raven for the barn work. That saluting hand may have a splinter of two. I come from a long line of sawmill operators.
Whether we like it or not, our lives and this country were built upon the backs of all the ghost trees of the generations, the backs of coal miners in the belly of earth, and now in the womb of the soil that remains. May they groan not too much under the strain we place upon them.
First, I need to tell you this-- An architect in Bay St. Louis had one of the few houses that survived the dirty right hook of Katrina. I worked with her to prepare a place for her to design cement-based, storm-hardened housing in the only remaining place in town to replace what was lost. I can get you in touch with her.
That photo by Silas! Ghost pecans marching into Elysium after their demise on Earth. And the photo of the trees at Cedar Grove took my breath away. What a near miss. Whew!
Trees inhabit my memories. I grew up in a green bowl in West Virginia where the sun rose up over one hill rim and went down on the opposite side until it snuck around the hills sideways to come up again the next day. That is a 4-year-old’s homespun cosmology. I have hugged more trees than I can count, sometimes with a tree diameter tape, sometimes less technically, yet no less spiritually, no matter how it was hugged. In those cubic yards of loss, a forester begins to calculate board feet and dollars. I calculate the cluck of a squirrel, the shine of a ballooning spider’s web, the fall of a tuliptree petal, and the smile of a child: riches beyond measuring by mere money. We will be planting thousands more trees next fall.
I have admired those big old trees in your front yard when dropping off canned goods. I could almost hear the hogs of yore snuffling for those fat acorns, even while the smoke began to curl from the smoking shed behind them. When we find big sprawling open-grown trees in a woods full of smaller straight trees, we call it a wolf tree, but the landscape is telling us it was a fenced farmyard or pasture at some point and the farmers had the wisdom to allow the tree to give shade and succor to their livestock.
Thank you for a beautiful rewrite of a Presidential Message. It's a stark reminder of the contrast between what we need and what we have. I'm also moved by all that you have endured in the last year with extreme climate destabilization and your heartfelt, courageous response to Little Fawn's situation. I am thinking of the way David Whyte talks about the fierceness of the world requiring an equal fierceness inside us, and you embody it beautifully. I'm sure you know that I'm not the only one out here who reads your writing and loves who you are.
I agree with you about housing insecurity. Even without climate disasters and bombing, our two younger children with college degrees have lived with us for a couple of years because they cannot afford any apartment in the area (Boulder, CO) on their salary. Our daughter and her boyfriend just moved to North Carolina last week even though they had no desire to leave this area. After they drove away, I walked through their space and saw the empty closet. You can imagine the condition of my heart. The feeling is intense. No wonder we guard ourselves against love. But it's all that matters. What are you gonna do?
I appreciate this piece so much, Janisse. Thank you. I am stunned by the number of storms/disasters you've weathered in this past diamond year. Phew! May 63 bring a breather. Happy birthday! Here in Salt Lake we had a rough 2020. First of course we were all on lockdown at the beginning of Covid. Then a few days later we had a big earthquake. Then in September we had a rare hurricane-force-windstorm that took out thousands of trees. I still feel their absence when I'm out walking. And of course the backdrop of our drying Great Salt Lake legislators are weirdly happy to sacrifice to industry though we won't be able to even live here if it goes... There's so much to grieve. And so very much beauty to take care of. I just keep planting. I appreciate you bringing up housing security, not just food. I'm grateful to dive down that rabbit hole with you. Big love and hugs from out west. xoxo
The loss of trees is heartbreaking. We are mourning with you. Your new self appointment, however, is much needed and offers a ray of hope for all of us.
I'm always in awe of the content and the spirit of your posts. We have a swamp oak at the end of our driveway, it's a stunning tree. I look forward to the tree stories you will be sharing. Also....that rewrite!!! And the picture of the pecan orchard! Thank you for sharing these!
We, too, have lost more trees than it will take our lifetime to remove, replant, restore… and my heart breaks every time I walk through (or try to navigate) our nearly 100 acres of mostly native hardwoods in Northwestern Ware County. The unique forestation of our property brought us to this area and made us fall in love with the peace and privacy of our wooded homestead; however, the landscape has forever changed, and we try every day to embrace with a sense of appreciation a different panorama. We still love it, though, and will be faithful stewards of our land til we’re gone from it.
https://poets.org/poem/remember-0 “Remember”
Always appreciate a glimpse of what you’re seeing and feeling Janisse! Changes, big ones, often heartbreaking ones, seem to have become the norm these days.
Have you read Migrations by Charlotte McConaghy? Loss of birds and wildlife and (of course plants) in the future. But sends a hopeful message.
Highly recommend this moving book.
Thank you, Lisa. I have not read it. However, I plan to and will add it to our Bibliography.
Thank you, Madame Advisor. Your barn is gorgeous. I can't speak coherently to the dire health situation of the planet, so I simply thank you for doing so. And that tree, so beautiful.
I chuckled at your re-write---hope to see more of those.
Back in 2011 I worked on a vegetation survey of the Beaumont Unit of the Big Thicket. This was a few years after Hurricane Rita had come through that region and really decimated the tree cover. We climbed over all sorts of trees in the bottomlands. Where tree cover disappeared and openings were forged, Chinese tallow trees got a foothold. It doesn't take much for nature to reshape an ecosystem and where a native species would have fit that spot in succession, instead an invasive came in and shaped it.
Oh no. I had not thought of that.
On the subject of climate disasters, the novel, Lark Ascending by Silas House is strangely prescient.
Thank you, Ray. I'll add it to our Bibliography.
It is a story of a young man and his family fleeing forest fires and a right wing extremist government.
Yet another chock-full writing! That your swamp chestnut oak is still standing is wonderful. This gives a feeling of stability in a world of instability these days, as you write about. I love your rewrite of the the president's message. Raven did a lovely job on the barn!
Thank you, Jenny.
You are welcome☺️
I love your presidential re-write! More of this, please.
Tree Hearses-- I hadn't thought of them that way, and you are so right!
I got the term from my friend Mark Albertin.
At least know this, that deep drone that resonates between molecules and galaxies has a wavelength so broad across the span of space and time that, ultimately, the mere warbles of man cannot divert it from its strong center. We have no less responsibility because of that, and no less consequence for our actions. But there are waves inside of waves, inside of waves at Fibonaccian orders of magnitude. We only live within and can observe a few of those. Likewise, we can only affect a few. The rest? We cannot even perceive how they support us despite our folly, and they will continue unphased after we are gone.
Your self-appointed advisory position is well supported by your resume, even if it was only the simple example you gave.
Salute to Raven for the barn work. That saluting hand may have a splinter of two. I come from a long line of sawmill operators.
Whether we like it or not, our lives and this country were built upon the backs of all the ghost trees of the generations, the backs of coal miners in the belly of earth, and now in the womb of the soil that remains. May they groan not too much under the strain we place upon them.
First, I need to tell you this-- An architect in Bay St. Louis had one of the few houses that survived the dirty right hook of Katrina. I worked with her to prepare a place for her to design cement-based, storm-hardened housing in the only remaining place in town to replace what was lost. I can get you in touch with her.
That photo by Silas! Ghost pecans marching into Elysium after their demise on Earth. And the photo of the trees at Cedar Grove took my breath away. What a near miss. Whew!
Trees inhabit my memories. I grew up in a green bowl in West Virginia where the sun rose up over one hill rim and went down on the opposite side until it snuck around the hills sideways to come up again the next day. That is a 4-year-old’s homespun cosmology. I have hugged more trees than I can count, sometimes with a tree diameter tape, sometimes less technically, yet no less spiritually, no matter how it was hugged. In those cubic yards of loss, a forester begins to calculate board feet and dollars. I calculate the cluck of a squirrel, the shine of a ballooning spider’s web, the fall of a tuliptree petal, and the smile of a child: riches beyond measuring by mere money. We will be planting thousands more trees next fall.
I have admired those big old trees in your front yard when dropping off canned goods. I could almost hear the hogs of yore snuffling for those fat acorns, even while the smoke began to curl from the smoking shed behind them. When we find big sprawling open-grown trees in a woods full of smaller straight trees, we call it a wolf tree, but the landscape is telling us it was a fenced farmyard or pasture at some point and the farmers had the wisdom to allow the tree to give shade and succor to their livestock.
Thank you for a beautiful rewrite of a Presidential Message. It's a stark reminder of the contrast between what we need and what we have. I'm also moved by all that you have endured in the last year with extreme climate destabilization and your heartfelt, courageous response to Little Fawn's situation. I am thinking of the way David Whyte talks about the fierceness of the world requiring an equal fierceness inside us, and you embody it beautifully. I'm sure you know that I'm not the only one out here who reads your writing and loves who you are.
I agree with you about housing insecurity. Even without climate disasters and bombing, our two younger children with college degrees have lived with us for a couple of years because they cannot afford any apartment in the area (Boulder, CO) on their salary. Our daughter and her boyfriend just moved to North Carolina last week even though they had no desire to leave this area. After they drove away, I walked through their space and saw the empty closet. You can imagine the condition of my heart. The feeling is intense. No wonder we guard ourselves against love. But it's all that matters. What are you gonna do?
Hi Janisse. It is possible to retrofit hurricane straps. It's a bit labor intensive. Some who can afford it hire a handyman or contractor.
I appreciate this piece so much, Janisse. Thank you. I am stunned by the number of storms/disasters you've weathered in this past diamond year. Phew! May 63 bring a breather. Happy birthday! Here in Salt Lake we had a rough 2020. First of course we were all on lockdown at the beginning of Covid. Then a few days later we had a big earthquake. Then in September we had a rare hurricane-force-windstorm that took out thousands of trees. I still feel their absence when I'm out walking. And of course the backdrop of our drying Great Salt Lake legislators are weirdly happy to sacrifice to industry though we won't be able to even live here if it goes... There's so much to grieve. And so very much beauty to take care of. I just keep planting. I appreciate you bringing up housing security, not just food. I'm grateful to dive down that rabbit hole with you. Big love and hugs from out west. xoxo
The loss of trees is heartbreaking. We are mourning with you. Your new self appointment, however, is much needed and offers a ray of hope for all of us.
I'm always in awe of the content and the spirit of your posts. We have a swamp oak at the end of our driveway, it's a stunning tree. I look forward to the tree stories you will be sharing. Also....that rewrite!!! And the picture of the pecan orchard! Thank you for sharing these!
We, too, have lost more trees than it will take our lifetime to remove, replant, restore… and my heart breaks every time I walk through (or try to navigate) our nearly 100 acres of mostly native hardwoods in Northwestern Ware County. The unique forestation of our property brought us to this area and made us fall in love with the peace and privacy of our wooded homestead; however, the landscape has forever changed, and we try every day to embrace with a sense of appreciation a different panorama. We still love it, though, and will be faithful stewards of our land til we’re gone from it.
On behalf of the forest & the place & the Wiregrass region, please accept my gratitude for your love.