A conference of the senses, the cedars

The trees have ears

The trees have ears

They blew the cedar branches out of the storm drains and Charlotte said it reminded her of Christmas, the smell. We were on the road last December driving from Galway down the southwest of Ireland, stopping in Cork to meet my mom at the airport, then deep into the country to a farmhouse for a long weekend. Dawn contacted the owner in advance, explained we’re American tourists with two kids and our mom, and would it be possible to put up a fake tree? The tree was out in a sun room off the side of the farmhouse that had baseboard heating and sofas around the edge, a magazine rack and portable heater as it was drafty, but heated up fast.

When you go into Costco this time of year they’ve leapfrogged two holidays ahead to the climax, Christmas. It’s like the holiday’s been removed from its natural habitat and put on exhibition, as natural looking as a polar bear at the zoo. I try not to look, and hurry past to the produce, the fish, the chicken, the sausages: they also feature rare cheeses this time of year, and I scan the pieces for ones with the nearest best buy date so I can age them longer, a trick I learned from my mom.

I bought a load of firewood from a guy who’s been selling it for years as a hobby, since he left Boeing and started building spec homes, bought land and with it the trees, hauled the lumber back to his property to cut, dry and sell.

Brad met me Sunday to go up Cougar Mountain and pointed out the cuts in some of the trees, where they’d set a two-man crosscut saw called the misery whip (not for the misery it exacts on trees but for the guys cutting it down) — and then how they’d dig a hole (the misery pit) and one guy would go down in it and get covered in dust while the others above cut the logs into dimensional lumber.

We walked past the tree I thought had a face in it and Brad pointed out how it looks twisted, like they corkscrew themselves into the ground, they make an anchor. There’s a blackened mark at the base from a past lightning strike the tree recoiled from, like a piece of candle wax it looks like it went one way unexpected and then froze that way forever.

And our bodies are like that too, I think: they hold the memory of our pains and the trauma our minds help us forget, but the body never does. We grow around it, sometimes stronger, sometimes dead looking just like the trees turned gray and sagging, it’s hard to believe they’re still alive.

I take the same braided trails along Cougar Mountain I have since I left work almost two years ago, a place of meditation, of escape and reckoning. The trails splinter off into loops, and I’ll often go there a few hours, for several miles, reminded of stretches that look the same, how the light is different now that the leaves have dropped, the alders and broad leafed maples, the scale of greens from moss to fern, the way the Devil’s Club turns to gold.

And afterwards at the neighborhood brewhouse, the bartender remembers which beer I ordered last time, and I get a bowl of chili and think about my grand-dad, how he did the same thing with his saltines, he’d crumble them in the packet and sprinkle it over his soup, stirring it with the back of his spoon, I remember that too: and I think when I get home I’ll finish stacking the firewood, there’s a Typhoon coming in from Japan this weekend and I should cover the patio table with a tarp, take down the hammock, start making plans for Christmas.

 

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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17 Responses to A conference of the senses, the cedars

  1. byebyebeer says:

    My husband trimmed the pines in our yard last month and the scent was more intoxicating than disconcerting. Nice descriptions here, Bill. Especially liked the image of the tree struck and twisting and frozen and also what you said about the body carrying pain while the mind has the luxury or illusion of moving on.

    Liked by 1 person

    • pinklightsabre says:

      We have to pull some trees out of our place, unfortunately: they planted them right up against the house, including my favorite, the Weeping European Beech, which sounds like a joke. Looks like a Dr. Seuss character. But it’s likely messing with the foundation. That will be hard to pull them out, but needed. Thanks for the comments about the trees in my post, too. Running down the tree theme here, I think.

      Like

  2. I’m considering moving the gas bbq into the garage this weekend. Sounds like storms are rolling in and we could be in for some fun times. I hope I don’t have to put up the tree until after Thanksgiving but who knows, the way the years are moving I should just leave it up all year…at least that’s how it feels.

    Liked by 1 person

    • pinklightsabre says:

      Yeah, I think I’ll be gassing up the generator just in case. Seems earlier this year than most. I thought the same about the bbq, or at least my charcoal one. But it’s seen a lot worse already, it’s lived through six seasons in West Seattle!

      Like

  3. walt walker says:

    One holiday season at a time is the way I prefer it. No leapfrogging. I agree about the image of the trees screwing themselves into the ground. That’s a keeper.

    Liked by 1 person

    • pinklightsabre says:

      Yeah, it’s not fair to the Columbus Days and the Election Days and so on. They have their place, too. On the calendar or off. I’m glad you like the tree corkscrew, thanks. No leapfrogging, no Frogger here.

      Like

      • walt walker says:

        Yeah, where’s the Columbus Day yard decorations, the big inflatable ships and conquistadors with drawn swords? Where’s the Election Day display? The hanging chads, and such?
        Don’t diss Frogger. Or Zaxxon for that matter.

        Liked by 1 person

      • pinklightsabre says:

        No dissing here man. I’m old school, Paperboy and whatnot. Galaga.

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  4. ksbeth says:

    trees are pretty fascinating, the more i learn about them, and i have a large maple i have to deal with.

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    • pinklightsabre says:

      I know, I hear of the odd ways they communicate with one another (no less odd than we humans I suppose). When I went back to the lake today this one from the photo, with the mushroom ears, was chopped to pieces and left out on the shore to be hauled off, so I’m glad I snapped it before someone else did, so to speak.

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  5. Oh, I don’t know about that. I’ll bet the trees are pretty miserable, too. That last paragraph is the money shot.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Yep, trees are definitely my spirit animal. Nice riffing on them, Bill!

    Just occurred to me, “misery whip” could also be some kind of non-dairy topping you put on really lousy pie.

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