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Dorothy Copus Brush Behold the power of trees This past week has been one to test beliefs
in democracy, politics, integrity, justice, and you probably
have more additions to that list. Just as we were ready to give
a huge sigh of relief that another long, long campaign was about
to end, we are thrown into a more dangerous controversy. When I reach the point of saturation after
listening and reading the plethora of arguments from both sides,
I find relief by fleeing outside to walk under the many trees
that surround my home. This was a practice that began in my childhood. For the first 20 years of my life I lived
in the same home. It was in the country and had the bonus of
a dense forest a short distance behind it. I visited those woods
regularly and found it was a good place to think. Willa Cather wrote in O Pioneers! "I
like trees because they seem more resigned to the way they have
to live than other things do." So many lessons to be learned
from a stand of trees. There are the grandfathers, broad in girth
and steadily growing taller as they stretch to reach the sky.
These giants remained straight as they increased their height.
In their growth to maturity they escaped the wrath of winds and
ice storms and continued upright in their climb to the sun. Not so with other trees. They show the effects
of those times when nature went on a rampage. Some lean only
slightly, others to a much greater degree. Some have taken on
odd shapes that add a touch of humor to the landscape. These
stir our imaginations. Trees, just as humans, respond to their environment.
Outside forces shape their appearance. Some seem to have reached
old age with no set-backs, while others clearly struggled but
never gave up. Nature is a great teacher and as all these
thoughts passed through my mind the charges and counter-charges
of the 2000 election were replaced by a remembrance from the
past. I was about 9 years old the year my Daddy
entered a local bowling tournament. He had survived and was at
the top of the scoreboard on that fall Sunday when the other
finalists would determine if he would be the bowler of the year
in our town. All he could do was wait. To relieve the pressure our family headed
for the woods behind our house. It was a beautiful sunny day
and we had a glorious afternoon exploring the wonders of the
dense forest. The sun was setting as we headed home. By that
time the tournament was over and Daddy had lost. Much as he had
hoped for a different outcome he accepted the defeat without
bitterness. Our afternoon among the trees had worked its magic. Perhaps a walk in the woods would benefit the two major characters in this unfolding election story. |