Every time I’ve sought refuge or retreat, trees
have been at the center of my experience.
Beginning in late
elementary school, I went to church camps in the mountains several hours away
from where I lived. These areas were alive with thousands of Ponderosa pines
that whispered and whistled in the wind, and which – when warmed in the sun’s
heat - bore a sweet scent strong enough to taste. It was not the doctrine or
songs we were given - but rather the sanctity of sound and light, scent, and sticky-sap
fingers - that kept me going back.
In those winter and summer seasons, trees became
holy, utterly sacred.
Every time I cradled a handmade basket in travels abroad,
trees have been noted as the source of inspiration.
During graduate school, I
studied other people’s relationships to natural landscapes. Cloud forests in
Costa Rica and Rwanda were designated protected areas and restrictions to
access were imposed on local communities accustomed to using those natural
resources. Living fences (of trees) in rural agricultural areas in countless
countries abroad started rising up. Local artisans learned to sew, paint,
sculpt, draw, or etch images of trees and other flora and fauna as crafts
pieces, as keepsakes for visitors to the conserved lands around them.
In those upside down seasons in other hemispheres, trees
became livelihoods, areas of contention, conserved treasures.
Written for Tulpehaking Nature Center’s Arbor Day
Benefit 2016: Rooted, Performance Salon
All blog images created & photographed by Jennifer J. Wilhoit unless otherwise noted. Please circulate images with photo credit: "©2016 JenniferJWilhoit/TEALarbor stories. AllRightsReserved."
