The Wood Wide Web
I heard some great stories last week. Our summertime fairytale participants have begun to tell new stories that are deeply rooted in our time together. First, some backstory. When we came to this 100 acre wood called FoxHaven, we took the first few years to listen to the land. Listen to what she had to teach us and to what she needed. It was a profound time of containment and contemplation. We did renovations and repairs to the inside of the house, but we were careful to tune into the whispers outside. Learn them. We recognized ourselves as stewards of the land. After about three years of listening and waiting, we went on a quest to find our Mother Tree. If you have read the stunning research of Suzanne Simard, you know that The Mother Tree is the navel of the forest and at the forefront of regenerative forestry research.
https://mothertreeproject.org/
Through their deep mycorrhizal network, Mother Trees tend to the rest of the forest. One beautiful fall Sunday afternoon, we gathered up a red cotton sash, and we two legged and our companions four legged, went in search. Man and woman, cats and dogs, stewards all of Foxhaven, we went in search of The Mother Tree of this forest. What a great time we had. The forest was ablaze in fall colour. The crunch of fallen leaves sounded an incredible symphony beneath our feet. The sharp wind hinted at the season to come. In our search, we found impressive maples, towering pines, and dense cedars, and although contenders, they were clearly not The Mother Tree. After we had walked the network of forest trails, tended, but not yet named; down the old logging road, along the old cedar fence boundary, into the Porcupines, and toward the ancient and winding deer path, we found her. We found Her. She found us. A colossal and towering sugar maple holding sentry on the crest of the gorge. She is majestic, commanding, encompassing, reaching her gnarly branches in every direction. Like arms opened wide. To the sky. To the forest. To us. I can only imagine how deep her roots. I impulsively laid my cheek against her rough trunk and tried in vain to encircle her great girth. The red cotton sash was the first offering. I visit her in every season and leave offerings at the base of her trunk. Seeds. Spent pumpkins. Prayers. And over the years, gifts in burlap or gossamer bags swing from her branches. She has become for us, the navel of this land and the Guide and Guardian for all we do.
This summer, at our fairytale intensive, where we explored the ancient Russian fairytale, Vasalisa the Beautiful, our work together included a trek to her lap. In advance of our gathering, I asked each participant to bring a gift to offer The Mother Tree. From as far away as Colombia and Australia, and from as close as Guelph and Listowel, these daughters and granddaughters of Baba Yaga, these wise women intent on knowing their deeper purpose, came bearing gifts. In turn, each spoke to The Mother Tree and made an offering. Our Mother Tree is littered with their love, adorned with their beauty, and forever now holding the treasures that were tucked into her folds and strung from her reachable branches. If trees can smile, she is smiling. Part of the weekend included pancakes slathered in our Mother Tree maple syrup. Last year we were given the message to tap the tree and render her sweetness. We first tapped The Mother Tree. Then, at her bequest, another dozen of her maple children. What a wonderful Springtime it was. Standing in the brisk chill of March, learning sugaring from both the internet and our intuitions, we laboured before the sugaring fire and in the alchemy that has been know for eons, we cooked her spirits to share with our loves. I am sure I have never tasted such sweetness. To share this sweetness over a meal with my fairytale participants, sweeter still.
As my fairytale students left the land for their homes, each was gifted two maple leaf crystals. Although they looked like candy, they were made of resin. The instruction or benediction offered was that in their lives, in their communities, there are two people who need to hear the story of The Mother Tree. They were invited to offer a maple leaf jewel to their listener in exchange for the story. Like russet and golden maple leaves that dance in the wind, these stories are finding their way back to me. Last week I learned of a Grandmother Fig Tree that offered shade for a Spoken Word event at Falls Retreat in Australia. I was told that more than thirty people gathered, drawn by the deep mycorrhizal network that mysteriously connects us all, and read poetry and shared stories. Similar attempts to gather had been much smaller in the past, however, this time, the great tree seemed to be the magnet. And they came. The community of many is so much strong than the community of few.
Another fairytale participant, perhaps the least psychological of us all, neither a clinician nor accustomed to such Jungian retreats and intensives, joined us anyway. With her pragmatic and sensible manner, she brought homemade butter tarts to share. Her Christian service and fellowship sensibilities are as natural to her as her breathing. A long time and significantly contributing member of her local Church, she knows outreach. The experiences of studying fairytales and the subsequent intensive are well outside of her comfort zone, but she was open and willing. Indeed, she was. Indeed, she is. As we gathered again last week, online for another season of our fairytale seminar, she shared the story of her own Mother Tree realization. She told us how when she and her husband moved into their home almost 50 years ago, they planted an evergreen tree in the front garden. The sapling is now a towering pine. Every year, at Christmas, they decorate the tree with coloured lights. The neighbours are invited into the street on December 1 where they share hot chocolate and butter tarts as the lights are turned on. Imagine, a street party during some of the coldest and darkest times of the year. In Canada. Elders and children, families and friends, are all lured by the promise of light and community. This has happened for decades. Only now does the storyteller recognize this tree as a Mother Tree. Only now does the storytell comprehend Her magic.
As the tree grew taller and her stewards grew older, reaching the lights to the top of this Mother Tree had become increasingly difficult. In fact, into their seventies, impossible. The top 1/3 of the tree has remained dark for many years. After our fairytale retreat, maybe even inspired by it, a call was made to a Christmas Decorating company to ask about the possibility of stringing the lights to the top of the tree. Yes. It could be done, the company had both the expertise and the tools. The cost was quoted at $3,000.00. Whew! Too expensive. Beyond the budget of our stewards. Here is where The Mother Tree worked her magic. The neighbours got wind of the inquiry. Too expensive for one household, but… Last week the neighbours surprised the stewards of The Mother Tree with a gift. They struck up a work crew and replaced the older lights with more energy efficient LEDs. They contracted with the Christmas Tree Decorating company to string the lights, to the top. Maybe there will even be a star attached? The industrious neighbours would not let the stewards contribute to the cost. They covered it themselves as their offering. A gift to the stewards of this tree for all those decades of hosting. Spread amongst the neighbourhood, the cost of the lighting was not too expensive. They could carry it together. How rich. Rich in deed and kindness and community. This Mother Tree will gather the neighbours together on December 1, as she has for decades, and the lights will be turned on. Lights that reach to the top! The story of The Mother Tree will be told over and over again. The hot chocolate and butter tarts, and maybe even a potluck meal, will be enjoyed. If this isn’t communion, what is?
It does not take psychological acumen to understand the call. It does not even take a fairytale intensive. It only takes willingness, courage, and the instinct to listen and share. This is the foundation of some small town community churches. This is the longing calling out to us behind the social media distractions of big cities. We long for community, connection, shared stories. A Grandmother Fig Tree in Australia, a towering Christmas Tree in Guelph, and a Mother Tree Maple deep in a West Grey forest, join together as sisters. In the mycorrhizal network of roots and fungi, the wood wide web is vibrating. Vibrating with story. Vibrating with love. Listen. She is calling. She is calling you!