My parents are moving from my childhood home. That deserves its own post entirely someday… but not now. This summer, I was in town visiting them, knowing it was probably going to be the last time I walked that land in that way. I had just gotten a Fujifilm camera for my 44th birthday, and it was the perfect opportunity to play around with it and also attempt to capture the place that held half my life.
Literally. I got married at 23 and lived there until that day. Sorry, that’s just sinking in a little deeper as I realize it in the moment.
Years ago, my grandparents planted trees along the property's drive to represent their grandchildren. 11 grandchildren, 11 trees. And as I walked the long drive down to the little bridge near the end, I was more aware than I usually am in that space. I noticed some of the trees hadn’t made it all these years; some had been cut down, probably due to disease. Time really changes everything, doesn’t it?
On some of the trees left, I noticed what looked like eyes all along the bark. Not knots in the trees- eyes. It stopped me dead in my tracks. It was the most symbolically beautiful thing I had ever stumbled upon. I’m a softie. I’m a triple water who thinks everything is a sign. But still, this was remarkable.
From what I found, everything seemed to relate more to birch trees, and I believe these are a type of oak. What you would probably assume is correct- according to Native American culture, this would be seen as a protective ancestral eye for the people and land.
I can’t tell you how much peace this “find” brought me. It’s so easy to move past everything you have seen 1,000 times and not slow down to notice anything new. These could have been here for years, or could have shown up yesterday. It doesn’t matter because I got to slow down and notice it now. Now, a time with a somewhat fresh family member’s cancer diagnosis, another member’s recent motorcycle crash, and a move from an idyllic place we as a family have called home for 50 years. It’s a time when we have needed more eyes of protection looking over us than ever before.
The world moves so fast, and so do the years. As our time tucked into that meadow comes to a close, I know we are watched over by something bigger than that land. It’s the same thing watching over the land itself. Call it god, Mother Nature, the universe, spirit. Whatever you call “it,” I believe it’s powerful and meaningful. And I hope you stumble across your own form of that reminder soon.
*When I say “parents,” I am referring to my mother and stepfather. My dad is still alive and well with us, but my mom and stepdad have been married for about 35 years.