Trees Sublime

 Excuse the morbidity, but Jim and I have been shopping for cemeteries. We've got the time, and our three kids are running full throttle on the straightaway of their lives raising kids and building their careers. Deciding now where we want our cremains buried will give us peace of mind and will save them that decision later. This is no simple task and raises feelings and questions about life and death. Amid this search and accompanied by a trumpet blare, WannaskaWriter's recent Mother's Day tribute shows up in the Wannaskan Almanac. Although we've known Steve for many years through his teamwork with Chairman Joe and their publication, The Raven, we are not neighbors. His piece and accompanying photos introduced us to the decades-long project where he transformed his farm into woodlands. We found the story astonishing, and it got us thinking. 

My first job as an English teacher was a part-time gig, a writing class intended to give kids time to write creatively. One year-long project involved writing their autobiography. They could trace their lives topically as musicians, students, naturalists, jocks, and the like. Or, they might focus on themes like fears, challenges, regrets, or triumphs. 

It was the early 1990s, and Bill Moyers introduced the work of comparative mythologist Joseph Campbell into popular culture. Many of us watched the PBS television series The Power of Myth, which influenced many artists at the time, including George Lucas. Campbell's seminal work, The Hero with a Thousand Faces, brought the acclaim of heroism down to earth. His study of stories from cultures around the world revealed universal patterns of heroism. All of us are heroic when we meet challenges that bring us into something larger than ourselves and are consequential. 

As time passed, I began teaching literature full-time, and Campbell's ideas helped refine my focus. I'm not teaching you literature because you will all become English teachers. At some point in your life, I hope you see your life challenges as fascinating and transformative. I wanted my teaching to apply to life and enjoyed encouraging kids to think of their life stories as hero adventures.

Like Steve's - a story that packs a wallop and delivers all the elements of the monomyth, the hero's journey. An Innocent moves from the city to be close to nature and encounters the horrific loss of beloved woodlands. Natural beauty and privacy were obliterated, bulldozed before his eyes. All sorts of obstacles show up here: man against man, man against nature, man against himself. Questions sear. What about his relationship with the neighbor? Or his grief over witnessing the loss of trees? Did he experience regret or ambivalence over having moved? Anger, chagrin, confusion, frustration, regret? Author Janet Burroway gave us the brief formula for a good story. Desire plus danger equals drama. Does anyone know a screenwriter? I want to see this movie.

Whether or not the main character transforms is a compelling aspect of any story. Is adversity going to make or break the character's spirit? Steve realized he could do nothing about what [his] neighbors did on their land. Witnessing the destruction of the dense woodland resulted in a profound understanding of himself, a discovery of his driving initiative, and a sense of what he was called to do. All these years later, just look at his accomplishments.

As Jim and I continue to admire his post, we enjoy the image of the still-standing one-room schoolhouse and the memory of Steve's mom walking through the woods to attend school there so long ago. Equally memorable is the description of his plethora of trees. Trees, which he says echo one another across the landscape: poplar, bur oaks, dogwood, birch, spruce, pine, tamarack, and cedar. He pictures tree-planted stands called islands. Tree islands and a creek that hosts birds: great blue herons who silently glide by, eagles, ducks, geese, pelicans, and Tundra swans. We especially love his photo and notation of the majestic white spruce he and Jackie wake up to every morning.  

At one point, in talking about Steve's vision and efforts, Jim jokingly said, Well, Steve Reynolds isn't going to need a tombstone. We both agree. His trees speak volumes about his passion for nature, years of commitment to the environment, and the fruits of his labor. In addition to safeguarding the trees for generations, another boon, of course, is Steve’s craft as a writer. His ability to chronicle this part of his journey has inspired us to think about our sword-in-the-stone moments and life purposes. We haven't restored a forest, but at age 77, we feel compelled to take stock of how we've manifested what we've been called to do. Although we are all, thankfully, alive and kicking, this excerpt from Longfellow puts a fine point on what I want to say.

Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,

And, departing, leave behind us

Footprints on the sands of time. 

Footprints, that perhaps another

Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,

Seeing, shall take heart again. 

Let us, then, be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate;

Still achieving, still pursuing,

Learn to labour and to wait

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

A Psalm of Life

Thanks, Steve.   

A tree sublime