This, I think, would be easier with crayons.
You see, the truth is that I really have no idea what I’m doing. Not sure I ever really have. There’s been a lot of “hold my beer, watch this.” If not literally, then at least metaphorically.
When I was 10, the family moved to some land out in the country. It was nice. There was a lake and pastures and woods and the required BIG RED BARN. The nearest neighbors house was hardly visible. It was nice.
Being the new kid wasn’t so bad. Coming from suburbia as I had I might as well have been from another county. From some foreign land with strange customs. The new didn’t last very long at all. I went from exotic foreigner to weird and bookish pretty quick.
It was fine, really. Just fine. I’d been weird and bookish where we moved from so it all felt familiar. Only this time I didn’t have friends that lived just across the street.
So my closest friends became the creek, the lake, the terraced pastures, and my own scampering footfalls in the woods. And Old Man Pine.
Across the lake there were a few stands of trees. There was one with about a half dozen pines. And off all alone there was one more. It wasn’t until years later that I named him, but that tree became my best friend.
When I needed refuge from the rigors of being a weird kid in the country I’d go sit in the shade of that tree. I’d climb the lower branches and just sit, looking down on the lake. When I was older and angsty, I climb those branches and indulge in writing crappy poetry.
And I’d go there and think DEEP THOUGHTS and feel DEEP FEELINGS. Well, as deep as a young man could.
I didn’t know it at the time, but that old tree was where I first began to ponder what it meant to be a spiritual person. At the time it just seemed like thinking and feeling.
Time passed, as is its habit and, truth be told, I tried to fit in. I really did. I was still weird and bookish but I did my best to make it cool. Not sure I really pulled it off, the cool part, but the bullies didn’t bother me anymore. And I made a few friends with whom to be weird and bookish. We bonded over dice, character sheets and rule books.
And then it happened…girls. There were many fewer deep thoughts and although the feelings loomed large, they weren’t really very deep.
I spent more time being social and less time on the hill hanging out with Old Man Pine. PLANS FOR THE FUTURE began to happen. I guess I’m not special. I suppose that happens to a lot of people.
Those PLANS displaced the DEEP THOUGHTS and DEEP FEELINGS. Of course, at the time, it seemed like those plans were deep thoughts and feelings. I’d still visit Old Man Pine from time to time. Just not very often.
Even after I left the farm for college, I’d visit from time to time. When I realized that life was confusing, Old Man Pine was there. Waiting with shade in the summer heat. Waiting for more crappy poetry written in the breeze kissed branches.
Years passed. Years filled with NEW PLANS. New thoughts, new feelings. And Old Man Pine was there. Waiting.
Through those years, the DEEP THOUGHTS and DEEP FEELINGS returned. All the whats and whys and wherefores. And there was Old Man Pine. Waiting.
And then he wasn’t. Seems that an invasive beetle moved through the area and killed a lot of pines. Old Man Pine wan’t quite dead when the chain saw came.
I wasn’t there when Old Man Pine fell. But I still feel it, echoing. I still feel the loss of friend, confidant, and protector.
Feels like I’ve been tripping over my own feet my whole life. Stumbling around in the dark.
But those kind spirits who have drifted through my life…many are still there…waiting. Old Man Pine is. Waiting.
