Note: The following piece was published on my We Are The Forest Substack on Jul 20, 2023.
I walk the trails that loop around my hometown, each step crunching down on the dry dirt that houses the roots of a delicate ecosystem. Delicate, in that the foliage that arises does not do so in great masses, nor with much force. Nor, in any form that it was before the early days of my childhood.
But I don’t know those early days. What I do know – what exists in memory and my own present reality – holds its own story.
I grew up in this small mountain town tucked away in the mountains of Northern New Mexico.
On first glance, one might believe that this small mountain town once established in a spectacular ponderosa forest is a town built on a love of nature. It would make sense that those who make their homes here desire to be nestled in with with all the spectacular creatures who, too, have made their homes here.
On second thought, it might be obvious that a love for nature is not what draws the masses of people here to build their homes on this forest landscape. The obvious giveaway, being that this spectacular ponderosa forest in the mountains where we made our homes has all but left us entirely.
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On one level, it’s easy to say what happened to our dear forest that once covered the rolling mountains and made its way into the series of canyons that mark the town. A match was lit on the wrong day, the winds kicked up, and our forces to fight it were too meager. Repeat.
From another perspective, the story that marks the destiny of the forest goes much deeper.
The truth is, there is a much deeper reality for the workings of this little town so high up on one spectacular hill.
It began several decades ago – a town intentionally created to house a top secret project – one that would come into powerful form and change everything about this world we live in. The atomic bomb, and its legacy as a lab focused on energy and weapons, is what draws most everybody here. It includes my own family’s legacy: one that imprinted a similar destiny on my being.
Until it all blew up, and I was left alone to question it all.
In fact, that’s the real reason I walk these trails – the ones that meander up and down and around and through a once was spectacular ponderosa forest.
A forest that we left to burn. Then burn again. And again.
Then we left it alone.
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I left this town when I was 18 years old, a thirst for knowledge and desire to contribute to society’s progress deeply programmed within my whole being. In the years that would follow, I did all I could to keep myself away. After all, I had important work to do! There was an important person I was supposed to become.
The forest would call. The mountains would beckon.
It took all that I had to stay away – to keep my head down, focused on the path laid down before me. Too long.
In the early days after I returned home from far-too-long-away in a faraway city, it was this land that welcomed me home. At first, I couldn’t notice – for my steps had a specific purpose of my own! Each day, I would come out here for a run as a way of training my body for the races that gave me purpose in life. Here, I had found a spectacular arena where I could work hard, improve, and test myself. It filled me up in a way that nothing else in life could.
I’m not quite sure why the land reached out to me. I certainly wasn’t asking it to – at least, not at first.
Although, on second thought, perhaps it does to all individuals who venture out into such spaces. Perhaps, even as we make the smallest of gestures towards the land, it, too, reaches out back towards us.
Reaching… Always reaching.
Patiently waiting for one to hear.
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I walk the trails that loop around the town on most days. If it were entirely up to the best parts of me, I’d ensure my feet touch this bare Earth each and every day. The problem is it’s too easy to make excuses about how my utility in the world serves a greater purpose than the time spent visiting the young ponderosas, smiling back at the delicate wildflowers, or simply caressing the dirt.
Dirt. And rock. Combined with the sharp spines of locusts and a wide display of shrub oak – this is what marks this landscape through which I wind my way.
This time last year, I walked these trails in a deep state of grief. The world around me – it was burning down.
Burning, as hundreds of thousands of acres of ponderosa forest went up in magnificent plumes of smoke rising up from the Sangre de Cristo Mountains across the way.
Burning, as the human beings that make up this world continued to battle on about trifle things while deep, deep problems perpetuate unneedlessly.
Burning, as my own being did her best to continue to move forward through it all.
My own self, disheartened.
My own self, bleak.
What on Earth was there to do?
The forest answered.
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This year, I walk the trails surrounding this town, and I am offered a glimpse into a different sort of world. This one, no longer burning, and instead holding such immense potential. Yes, this year, everything is different, for we have been given a gift: Water!
Water, as it falls from the sky to wash over the Earth, bringing forth an energy bursting with a vibrancy that is difficult to hold.
What do we do with this precious gift? Do we hold space for it, with tender love and care? Do we act upon it, riding this wave as we surge forward with grand solutions to get ourselves out of this great mess we have made??
As I walk these trails, I am reminded of the last scene in The Giver, a story of a dystopian society where the need for order has taken over all, and one young boy is chosen to receive the truths of the world. After many days spent learning deep truths, the young boy finally leaves this world for another. And, upon his first steps, experiences a strange, albeit beautiful phenomenon.
At first, words to describe this experience are difficult. When someone doesn’t know that something is missing, the arising of it in full force can be confusing. A powerful moment for the boy, although it is worth mentioning: if one wasn’t used to the contrast, then he may even gloss over it.
Here on these trails as I walk the world we’ve crafted, I know the contrast. I know what it’s like to walk a colorless world, one where all feels bleak, all hope seems lost.
Until a moment, as subtle or as powerful as it may be, that a glimpse of color rises up through the soil, sprouts into the world, and shines its light with whatever power it is given.
Here, in this subtle space, the forest echoes out her power. And our world is transformed.
