Meditating With Trees

Written October 5

Meditation is something that I have never been able to fully grasp as much as I want to. I get it in theory but as much as I try I have never been able to completely let go and meditate. The closest I come is a sort of walking meditation;hiking along a trail amongst the trees and woodland creatures.

Currently we are living on 133 acres in the woods of Quebec. Those 133 acres are surrounded on one side with crown land and Gatineau Park on another. My husband has commented that when we sell our place back home we should try to buy this place. I don't disagree. This has made me wonder, how long would it take for me to get to know all 133 acres? On the surface it's just trees, thousands of trees but each day as I walk my dogs, help my husband chop wood, or go to the lake and take the canoe out we make new discoveries. Each little area has it's own character, own personality.

As I look out the window beside my computer just beyond the porch is a little wooded area that I have seen but not yet explored. It is covered with mostly maples, leaves golden and amber. The October sun breaks through the forest canopy making patterns on the ground. I walk out there with a warm mug of spiced cider. I stroll for about 50 feet then reach a somewhat gradual slope down to a stream. Halfway down the hill there is a big old tree lying sideways in some stage of decomposition. It is covered in moss and mushrooms. When my children were little we knew all the wonderful things in the forest covered in moss were where the fairy folk lived. This old tree is most certainly a fairy castle with it's moss towers reaching for the sky. There are several large rocks on the way down some with moss, some without. About three of them are the perfect size and shape for one to have a seat. As I sit, I really take in my surroundings. The air is crisp today. There is a breeze that whispers winter won't be long. The ground is carpeted with fallen leaves. I notice pieces of white birch bark on the forest floor yet see no birch tree in sight. There are several chipmunks scampering here and there chattering while they work.

I'm wondering if I should go down and cross the stream to investigate the other side when my husband comes out with one of the dogs. Not one to sit and watch trees he is clearing the stream of old leaves, sticks and other waste within a few minutes of his arrival. Immediately there is a difference. The stream goes from a trickle to a flow. You can hear the water cascading over the rocks more clearly with each handful of debris he removes. I go down to have a look. The water is clear. I wait expectantly hoping to see minnows or a frog but not today. There is a pine tree at the edge of the stream;perhaps I will decorate it for Christmas with popcorn and cranberries for the chipmunks and birds. Although the area seems strangely absent of birds. As I walk back to my rock part of me wishes my children were still young so we could race acorn boats down the stream. Maybe I will ask them anyway, they may be up for it.

Every day here is fresh and new. Just as each person has a story each place has its story. There are trees that have stood on this land for a few hundred years. They have stood while the people who have passed through have known love, anger, happiness and despair. They will continue to stand long after I am gone. But for now they give me the greatest sense of peace. Is this a kind of meditation? I don't know and maybe it doesn't matter. What I do know is that no matter what else is going on in the world while I am in the woods, whether it is this little piece or the one I will discover tomorrow, my body, mind and soul are in complete harmony.