Confessions of a Tree Hugger

Sunday around noon, inspired by LadyStyx's beautiful picture of a bare tree, and thankfully reminded by Alice Kay to take my camera, I desperately needed of a time away from the aches, pains, death, illness, and other fretting complaints that beset all of us. My spirits were rather battered and my inner light was at low ebb...I really didn't look forward to heading out into the cold and the chilly wind.

I left home thinking a dandelion break just...wouldn't be enough. No, I was in need of 'heap big medicine' so I went to Walnut Hill, located on the very western edge of Valley Forge Park and walked along the little used General Sullivan Supply loop trail. Part of the loop runs along the Schuylkill River near Flatland Ford, and the whole of it is deeply wooded.



About a mile and a half into the walk, I encountered the bridge over Walnut Hill Creek where there is a magnificent stand of Sycamore trees. I always call this place, Buttonwood Bridge.



I stood and looked up into the bare, gleaming white branches, transfixed for a long while - the wind was blowing rather hard and the sun came and went as the thick clouds scooted across the sky.



Finally, I staggered onwards, nearly drunk from...the fresh air and the wonder that the sight of these trees builds within me.



A couple bends down the river, I came to a huge tree that I call Granddaddy. This Sycamore tree is 15-18 feet around and is a little ways off the trail. Risking a fall in the mud, I slowly wended my way over to it and placed my arms around it to see just how big around this tree was. While I did so, I noticed that the sun had warmed the bark and now shone on my back, so I stood there, being warmed front and back. My outstretched arms barely reached far enough to start to cover one side of this huge tree.

I know Sycamores grow quickly, but even so, this tree was an ancient one.

Warmed and partially relaxed, I continued my walk and encountered another huge tree, this one with dark bark - a true hardwood, this tree was easily several hundreds of years old.



I slowed my pace and walked up to this tree reverently, and put my hand on it's sun warmed surface. My surroundings vanished - and for a time it was just the tree and I. I imagined myself feeling the slow movement of the sap heading up toward the crowning branches many, many feet above my head, and I closed my eyes...the texture of the bark against my fingers...and then I heard it, at first it was a soft breathing sound, much like the wind gently rattling the few leaves that still hung from its branches, but the tone slowly grew deeper and more resonate, until finally I heard the tree say, 'Hello, Iggy. Might you rest for a bit and share a moment with me?'

I silently nodded my willing assent. And then the tree and I shared a moment together - a few minutes for me being but a heartbeat for the tree -

And we spoke to each other:

Iggy: Well Old Tree, you have been here for a long time. I wonder what sights you have seen.

Tree: Turn around and look...and tell me what you see.



Iggy: Well across the river is the old Reading Railroad Bridge over Valley Creek. That bridge has been there for decades...well, around a hundred years now, I guess. That's pretty old.

I felt the tree chuckle and realized that the railroad wasn't really all that old to him.

Iggy: But before that…there was the original bridge built back around 1850 or so...a long time ago.

Still the tree said nothing.

Iggy: Um, before that, the Pawlings Reach of the Schuylkill Canal was there, it's buried now under the railroad...I think that was built around 1815....

And I thought perhaps I heard the tree sigh...so I thought some more.

Iggy: And before that even, before the bridges and the canal, you could see up Valley Creek for a bit, and the house that was Washington's Headquarters while the patriots spent the winter there...that house was built in 1760-ish. And of course you would have been able to see the smoke from the forge and the town next to it, named Valley Forge...and even before that, it...well, it was basically wilderness.

I heard the tree rumble and it said: Yes, Iggy, I saw ALL of that, for the squirrel that buried the forgotten nut from which I grew - was from back in the time it was wilderness.

I stood mutely, my hand still pressed against the tree's bark. And slowly, a spirit reviving warmth filled me, and my aches and pains left me - my worries and concerns faded away and an awed joy filled me. Unbidden, a smile came to my face and I heard the tree chuckle and whisper to me "Yes, Iggy, that is right...I've stood here for centuries, sheltering the birds, feeding the squirrels and the only things older than me around here is the river and the hills themselves."

I turned away from the tree and started my way home.

A whoop of laughter left me as I heard what might of only been the wind running through the Old Tree's branches, but it might of been it's age old voice saying softly to me, "Hundreds of years I've stood here, tens of thousands of squirrels have come and gone, and I too, Iggy, have never taken a good picture of a Charlie."