Last weekend I took myself on a retreat. I rented a little cabin on Lake Huron. The front door just steps from the water. I watched sunrises and sunsets. Drank lots of good coffee. Ate licorice for breakfast. Sat barefoot in the sand. Read. Wrote. Doodled. Visioned and dreamed about what’s next for 10 Camels and Wednesdays at the Well.
Not long before I packed the car and headed north, Hurricane Helene began her path of death and destruction up Florida’s Gulf Coast and into Georgia, North and South Carolina, Tennessee, Alabama, and Virginia. Watching the news, I was vividly reminded of Hurricane Ian that followed a similar path almost 2 years ago to the day. I lived in Florida then and road that storm out alone with my dog Ruby, and a horrible case of COVID. The trauma still rests in my body and spirit and is easily awakened.
The tree at the edge of the Detroit River, not far from where I live now, continues to be a near daily guide and teacher. As I walk to visit, it is usually something different and unexpected that catches my attention. Sometimes it is the tree itself and others it is the surroundings or the squirrels running around. As I pay attention to the tree, I am finding my attention span for all of life expanding. I’m feeling more deeply attentive to myself and the world around me.
On the ride to the cabin, I began listening to the audio book The Hidden Life of Trees by Peter Wohlleben. I first heard of the book years ago. Last week while sitting and reflecting at the tree, it flowed back to my attention. And I decided it would be a good read—or rather listen—for the journey.
My interest in trees has long been from a spiritual place. This book opens me to the reality that trees are both spiritual and physical creatures. They have feelings and families. They communicate with each other and with creation. Are we listening? Are we even aware of their voice?
Just outside the window of my third-floor condo in Florida there was a palm tree. I loved it. It was one the reasons I was so drawn to the home when I bought it. It was also part of my surviving Hurricane Ian. It spoke it to me. It sang and whistled. Offering a message of warning and hope. Mostly just letting me know I wasn’t alone. As long as I could hear the tree, I remained grounded.
My heart is with everyone who has been impacted by Hurricane Helene and all those storms that came before. I grieve the loss of life and land. The emotions of experiencing and surviving such a storm are complex. The recovery is long. Let us listen to the voices of people and trees who all have a story to tell.
When Palm Trees Whistle
©Rebecca Wilson, October, 2022
have you ever heard a palm tree whistle
that’s how it sings in hurricane force winds
I’ve been listening to the whistling song of this palm tree all day
as the strength of the winds increase to more than 100 mph
a tune composed of fear and sadness
deeply rooted grief
reality altering disbelief
and guilt-soaked relief
as nearby sibling trees succumb to the storm
so much destruction and devastation around us already
with so much more to come
the way the trunk and the branches sway
and continue to hang on
I’m not sure if I should be envious
or grateful that I’m not that determined
I’m sure I would have given up by now
Ian has packed quite a punch
and continues to slowly linger as it waits to pounce on its next target
I have no way to communicate
getting no reports or updates
but repeatedly a high-pitched alarm goes off on my phone
piercing my core, sending chills down my spine
alerting me to extreme and catastrophic winds and water in the area
take cover, take cover
and I do
in the little spot I’ve carved out in the hall
where when I lay down on my mountain of pillows and blankets
and clench my jaw and hold my dog
I can see the palm tree dance as it whistles through the slats in the blinds
and as long as I can hear their song
I tell myself I’ll be ok
a few days later and the winds have slowed
and waters in this place are receding and retreating
while just down the road they continue rising and increasing
and people remain stranded and pleading
reconnected to power
I learn of those who lost their homes and their lives
and I struggle to resettle mine
and the palm tree’s song is less a whistle
and more a prayer
groaning and crying
for the dead and for the living
for those who are grieving
those who are searching
whose hands and hearts are still shaking
emotions are still swaying
jaws are unclenching
future is still unfolding
new normal in the making
Water-fully Yours,
Rebecca & 10 Camels
I'm enjoying your words about trees. I read the book, The Hidden Life of Trees, sometime ago...I think I shall revisit it. I know since reading the book I've looked at trees differently. Palm trees whistle...I wonder what other trees say? Your words always provoke deep thoughts for me. Today I especially appreciated that you have challenged us to expand our attention span for life! Thank you.
Doing our best to stay grounded and put ourselves in the hands of our maker is sometimes difficult. We are so torn. Happy to be alive and sad for those afflicted by the storms. As I said before praying is talking to God. Silence is listening to God , and all His/Hers creations. All the earths creatures and things created on our earth, talk to us. It is rather by sound or vibrations we can hear or feel. Listen, be quit and just be! XO Cheryl W