Sometimes I get infected with the belief that I have to fix every problem that comes at me. I forget that the answer to many problems is just to accept them.  When I keep looking for a fix that isn’t there, one thing that restores me to sanity is to go outside and listen. I have learned letting go from pine trees in Colorado and patient acceptance from a quiet woodland just outside my window here in Galena, Illinois…

When we were in Colorado this fall, I took my morning quiet time beside a rushing mountain river.  I would sit on a boulder, read, and then just look: at the rushing water, always changing, always the same.  At the rocks in the stream, causing dozens of little cascades of white water. At the sunlight peeking over the rim of the valley.  At the giant pine trees overhead, growing right out of the riverbank.

One day I wondered how the pines managed to stay upright, growing so close to the river.  Did they have roots in the water?

Curious, I got up and looked.

No roots in the water.  No roots at all that I could see, on the part of the tree that faced the water.

I marveled that these trees could survive in this strange world (for a tree) where they could not spread their roots out evenly in a circle around them, 360 degrees, as trees do, to balance their weight and keep them upright.

All they had was 180 degrees of a circle.  Everything else was cut away by the swift-running current.

I looked to the land side of these trees, and saw extra-thick, extra-large roots.  Twisted, gnarled, massive roots, spreading fan-wise across the ground, gripping the land hard, anchoring the trees.

These trees had survived by deepening and strengthening their roots on the landward side.  Obviously, it was working; they towered 50 feet above me, glossy, green, vibrant.

How many times in my life have I found myself stuck next to a rushing river that is tearing away my comfort, my ability to go on as before?  How many times have I ranted and raved and complained to all who would listen about that horrible river, my adversary?  How many times have I tried stubbornly to send new roots out into the water only to have them repeatedly washed away?  How many times have I fantasized about dams and bulldozers? Wasted my energy ranting at the inevitable?

I marvel at the power of simple acceptance.

Those towering pines gave me a powerful lesson that I took with me when I came home from Colorado.

When the river washes away half your roots, stop trying to fix the river.

Just make the rest of your roots bigger.

And thrive.

&&&

This week I am learning again, from other trees, during my morning quiet time beside a forest of oaks, maples, and other deciduous trees, in Galena, Illinois.

Two weekends ago we drove to Iowa for the funeral of Frank’s sister Carolyn.

Then we drove on, stopping here in Galena for ten days, waiting for renovations on our home to be completed.

Our rented townhouse in Galena sits next to a wooded ravine with a stream running through it.  The tree branches are bare; all is gray; the only sign of life a crow perched on a topmost branch.

Spring is coming, but it is not here yet.

No amount of wanting can rush the green leaves into appearing.

Just as no amount of wishing can take away our sadness from the death of Frank’s sister, who died too young.

No amount of wanting can undo the fact that Frank and I are both sick, that Frank has Covid and I have shadow Covid or whatever they call it when you test negative but have Covid symptoms.

Covid!  A frightening illness.

Here I am, stuck beside another rushing river that moved in and washed away any feeling of control I had over my health and my husband’s health.

The bare trees outside my window speak to me of patience. Of waiting.

As always, I have choices. I can choose to fret, or I can choose acceptance.

I can choose to rest in the hope and the certainty of spring, to anchor myself in trusting my Higher Power.

And I can choose to enjoy the day that has been given.

After all, Frank and I are in a beautiful place in which to isolate ourselves and get better. We are blessed by the sunshine, by walks in the quiet woods, and by our deep gratitude.  Covid did not cause serious illness for either of us. We are very grateful for that, and grateful for vaccines, for boosters, for antiviral drugs, for good health, for shelter and food and for a working furnace while we wait out this little storm.

“All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.”

Julian of Norwich