This forest that we know and love
And walk each day
Tolerates us.
This forest that tolerates us
Is like family extending in all directions,
A family that works,
A working family.
The oldest ones preside
Within sight of each other
In this house, this forest.
Grandmother in the kitchen,
Grandfather in the living room dozing in the rocker.
There is great uncle oak and aunt maple
Over-reaching the dilapidated walls
That used to box pastures but,
Having lost their human purpose,
Seem to have found a greater purpose
In reminding us of our folly
Which we manage to escape
By walking on paths that we have names for
Somewhere between plan A and B.
Oh forest family tolerate us.
To you we are but children.
Children having children!
Let us earn your trust,
May our children's children
Also know and love you
And walk these paths
That we have named.
..........
A friend commented: Don't know about you, but I feel like the forest is happy to see us. I believe the forest can read our hearts. (He maintains an intimate relationship with the forest that is in my poem, a 35 year-old relationship.)
I hear what my friend is saying about the forest reading our hearts, but, for the sake of discussion, I'm sticking with my more tepid reading of the forest's feelings toward us.
We are just beginning to understand what the forest is outside of our need for maple syrup and wood and pretty walks and places that we can depend upon for escape from our challenging lives, for contemplation and renewal, and I'm not referring to forest for habitat for the animals we love, although that is important, I am talking about forest for the world-wide resilience of Nature, forest that deserves to become "old forest". . . that is, forest as family, trees related to trees, that are communicating with each other via the fungal understory . . . The forest that doesn't need anything from us to continue just fine, that forest, to my way of thinking, would be hard-pressed to love us even if our hearts are open and full. We gain so much from being in the forest, but the forest does not really benefit from us in any way I can think of, not in any way that might convince me that we can "help" the forest.
Not in the long-run anyway. As a species, we haven't demonstrated that we can even think in terms of the "long run" -- 8 generations.
We are responsible for Climate Change, which we might visualize as cresting like a great wave. Climate Change is going to prove to be more of a threat than anything we have unleashed on the forest, including the ubiquitous clear-cuts of the 19th century and the 1950s. Those forests that were clearcut, including the forest in my poem, are back, different, but mostly healthy; not because of anything we did to heal it, but because we left it alone. Climate Change will change the ecology of our forests irreversibly. Climate Change is like inoculating the planet with a high fever from which it may recover, but if it does, it will not be the same planet that it is now. The planet has undergone upheavals before during its epic lifespan, and it will probably survive Climate Change, but this poem is about this forest, where I walk every day. This forest is facing some tough times, and for that, the human race is responsible. Therefore, I cannot imagine that we deserve its love. But I do not believe that forests are capable of hate, so I choose to imagine that it tolerates us . . . that it forgives us, in advance of what is about to play out. To the forest we are children. Children make mistakes. Hopefully we will learn from our childish mistakes.
(Article changed on Nov 13, 2023 at 9:09 AM EST)
(Article changed on Nov 13, 2023 at 10:43 AM EST)
