for as long as I can remember, trees have been my friends. My protector, my confidant. Cubby houses and secret places... where whispers of my heart would be told.
The old cotoneaster from my childhood home. Growing in the front yard.
this is the only photo of have of the old cotoneaster tree.
me at 17 years old, a very young mother with my son Caine.
when I was little, the tree was a lot more dense than in this photo.
my parents had thinned and pruned it out.
In the boughs, I would sit, pretending that I was Jo from Little Woman. always munching on an apple with my head in a book. Then the lemon-scented gums that my dad planted became protectors for me when my parents had one of their many, many arguments.
I felt safer, even at night out under their protection, than I did inside the family home.
oh and there was a hawthorn of sorts, down the road and around the corner. Where I would scrabble in through a small opening to find a vast [to me] cavern. This is where I sat with a simple picnic of sandwich and cordial and whisper my dreams, wishes and sometimes share my angst.
the hawthorn of sorts has gone, my secret little cubby house, a thing of memories and in its place someone has planted bamboo.
The old Oak tree in the school playground, who would gift me with acorns and leaves of magenta, gold and orange. Whose trunk I could lean upon when I was shunned by the 'cool' girls in the school.
yesterday, I went for a drive over to my old childhood home.. and took photos. I remembered.
The old lemon scented gum is standing SO tall. I wondered if other little girls have sat under that tree, being protected and feeling safe. Silently, I said hello to this old friend of mine.
Sadly, the cotoneaster has gone. The hawthorn of sorts has been replaced by not quite as magical bamboo hedging and in the school playground, instead of a grand old oak tree, there is a new building.
Time has passed. As it does.
and over the years, while I still admired old trees for their gift of shade, I lost the deep connection of my childhood. It was lost, consumed in the task of living Of surviving. Of wounding.
time passes some more and I have found the connection with the trees, once again, as I [re]discover who I am. The trees have always been there, standing strong where they are, knowing their purpose in life.
When I use to go on the back of the Harley, trees would call my name as we rode past. Ancient forests of trees protected me as we rode along. I often wondered if those trees that had died, still held their wisdom within their now barren trunks. I can remember once as we rode home from a long trip, hearing 'welcome home'. This welcome is forever in my memory.
Now living in Katoomba. I am surrounded by many trees, mostly natives but some old pines planted by those gone before me. I feel at times, as if I am surrounded by kindred spirits. I once wished for a women's circle to share my journey with and now I wonder if these trees are the answer to that prayer. I can sit with these beautiful souls. Talk, listen, learn and share and tap into a wisdom, so ancient. For all of this, I am grateful.
