By Rev. Dr. Mary Gelfand,
When I moved to Maine from the deep south 15 years ago, I was delighted to discover how many birch trees were on the property where I lived. Previously I had had little contact with these beautiful white trees, other than in pictures and stories. Face to face, they were every bit as marvelous as I had imagined. I loved their shape against the sky, their beautiful white bark, the graceful way they swayed in the wind, the delicate tracery of their branches in mid-winter.
My first winter here, I was amazed at the bendiness of the branches and trunk of my birch trees. How the weight of heavy wet snow temporarily changed their outline as branches bent to earth, and how gracefully they rebounded once the snow melted. To me all of this was a miracle.
Thus you can imagine my horror when, during the fourth winter of my residence in Maine, the central trunk of the birch tree I communed with most often cracked a couple feet above the ground and fell to earth. I was devastated. But I took comfort in the presence of two remaining trunks, and that summer, when we got married, the cut off trunk lent a new joy to the celebration, thanks to an unexpected gift from dear friends.
These two remaining trunks did well—growing bigger and putting out new branches and suckers. I learned that the gifts of the birch was not limited to beauty and grace—she also taught the lessons of resilience. All was right with the world.
Fast forward to the winter of 2017—multiple heavy wet snows over a brief period of time drowned my poor tree. Both trunks cracked and fell, pulling the root crown half-way out of the ground. I was sure the tree was dead. Kind friends came by to remove the broken branches. I did my best to shove the root crown back into the earth, and prayed, without much hope.
The following summer, I noticed multiple suckers emerging from the roots. So many I lost count. I waited another year and then chose 3 strong and tall suckers to keep and pruned the rest. Although she has a long way to go to regain her original height, she is still thriving—reborn from a tree I thought dead.
This winter has been relatively mild. Nevertheless, a few wet snowfalls caused many tree branches to come down. Two of our other birch trees have lost upper branches, as have other trees in our yard. But I no longer despair when I see these normal manifestations of winter. I have faith that spring will come—that life will renew itself—that all manner of things shall be well.
Rev. Dr. Mary Gelfand is an ordained Interfaith Minister, a gifted teacher, and Wiccan High Priestess. She teaches and writes on the topics of feminist spirituality, Tarot, and Earth-centered spiritual paths. She resides in Wells with her husband Mark, two cats, and a forest full of birds, chipmunks, and other mysteries of life. You can see more of her writings at weavingthestars.blogspot.com.
Birch tree image by Michael Eric Berube.
