When Trees Attack 🌳 | Perforated Lines
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⚡ June 14, 2014

When Trees Attack 🌳

The tree that hit our house.

The tree that hit our house.

There’s nothing like the feeling of your house shaking you out of sleep at 5 am. Anyone who lives in earthquake country knows what I mean. Earthquakes come when they feel like it. Trees usually fall during a storm, right?

There was but a gentle rain, one of the sounds of nature outside your bedroom window that is so prized as a relaxing soothing sound that it is sold for hard cold cash in many an app. That was the sound and the moment when a tree beside Primrose Creek just up and decided to pound its one and only punch right onto our roof.

It’s been raining off and on for the last few days and now we have an inside problem involving mops, but for this moment it is sunny and I’m huddling in my safe spot beside the fireplace in case another tree gets any ideas and tries to make a move.

I’m only partially joking. Recently I’ve found Stephen Harrod Buhner via YouTube. He’s a herbalist with a poetic way of speaking. The most poetic speaker I’ve ever heard is, of course, Terence McKenna, and the link takes you to one of the excellent McKenna archives, thanks to Lorenzo and his Psychedelic Salon. Vital listening.

I’ve stopped jumping to conclusions. We assumed the roots of the tree just gave away and it swayed over, upended and wriggling in the unfamiliar air, but in fact, it’s actually still firmly rooted but snapped over at a higher point, broken like a pencil by an unknown force. I don’t see beaver gnaws nor fungal rot. Just Fate and Karma and Beshert. Not comforting for a control freak.

The base of the fallen tree.

The base of the fallen tree.

Since we don’t really have any control, any energy spent trying to plan is wasted, pretty much. Rather than tentative and wary, I think the better mental climate might be reactive and appreciative, tending toward awe at the everyday miracle. Yeah.

And learning new things, a little bit by a little bit, increases the possibility for awe and wonder at the very turf under our feet. The more I learn about the mushrooms I’m dicing with the mower blades, the more I appreciate their pungency when pierced.

Speaking of mushrooms, this photo was on one of the sites I was visiting. The jpeg is titled “jenniemushrooms” and she is clearly a closely related doppleganger. It’s both synchronistic as well as weird to see your own face staring back at your from a stranger’s mushroom blog.

A lady on the internet named Jennie who looks like me.

A lady on the internet named Jennie who looks like me.

I will eventually make contact with the lady, above, but you really have to work hard retracing your steps on the web. Bookmarking everything doesn’t work and the breadcrumbs disappear into the history queue and are replaced with so many interesting new outcroppings, opened as tabs behind this one quiet window.

Instead, I’ll leave it to the internet and the meme spores that spread like dustified beams from the web itself into the wider consciousnesss that just might be realizing that it exists. It’s as real as the gently falling rain in the night air outside my breathing bedroom window.

Does a tree have to fall on me before I can rationalize it away?

🐔 … and once again: thank you Holly. You were oh so right. Just thought I’d keep that here for a while. 🐔