Birch Bark

Outside our main door (which happens to be the "back" door) are three Paper Birches (also called American White Birch or Canoe Birch). These white trees peel back from the trunks in thin sheets. Some of them roll up into a tight roll, like a thin cigarette. Though it is native in Washington State, it isn't in Oregon. When I was a wee lad I remember my great grandfather's brother, Bob, used to harvest the bark and sell it. It was a way for him to supplement social security. In my memory of nearly fifty years ago is a comment that he said it was sold for making paper. This would have been the mid-sixties. Did they still make paper out of paper birch then?

Uncle Bob, that is what I called him, was a character that still fills my heart with joy. After my great grandfather Ben died, I went to visit Uncle Bob during spring break. I thought it was so cool that we went and dug nightcrawlers from a large and old pile of horse manure in the auction yards of Arlington, Washington. Machias was the name of the little hamlet that he lived near and this place had two stores (one with a post office), a tavern, and a worm farm. Doc's worm farm used to buy Uncle Bob's worms from him. He read Zane Grey novels, showed me my first "girlie magazines", ate Safeway pastries filled with sugar, and he told me stories of his life in the artillery in WWI. He also told me a bit about his life as a hobo riding the trains.

It's amazing what a little thing like peeling birch will elicit from one's memory. Everytime I go out the door I see those white trunks and think of him.

The other day I hauled these 15 foot 6x6s to the "tree house". This was put up by the previous owner and was more like a well-built platform. The platform is 8-10 feet up the Ash trees. So I hauled this beam over and it is long enough that I can walk up it and sit on this platform. I did yoga on it the other day too. It looks down on the creek and into this lush forest. I spent one day painting an ash tree and leaves.

This is a place that is conducive to retreat. Even though we have neighbors and horses right next door and people across the gravel road, it is very private. We can spend days in retreat and not have people intrude upon the space. We are far enough out from Corvallis that it takes a commitment to come out here. It is an easy place to slow down and be with the rhythm of the growing plants, the wind, the call of the crickets and tree frogs, and the movement of the moon and stars. When the moon is full it is so bright that one can walk through the meadow by its light.

The other day I was doing my morning meditation on the deck, listening to the call of the Mourning Doves, when suddenly they exploded off the ground and took flight. In a matter of moments they were attacked by a Cooper's Hawk. First one dove evaded the hawk, but then there was a sudden release of feathers and one of the dove's was fast in the talons. The hawk landed then took off into the willows. There were few birds that showed up for an hour or so.

Sitting there, watching this scene of life and death, it became an important insight into the impermanence of life. We never know when we will exhale and not inhale. It is a challenge to know how to experience joy in each moment of our lives. Opening our hearts and minds to each and every moment is simple but complex. There is no operating manual or rule book. We must each find our own way amidst the hawks, crickets, and peeling birch.

A talisman is an object that averts evil and brings good fortune. In ancient Greek it meant to initiate into the mysteries. This land is a talisman for me. It is a blend of the realities of life in the moment and the mysteries as they unfold. It also brings good fortune because it brings to me good memories of important people. Uncle Bob brought much joy into my life and Grandpa Ben brought a love for the outdoors into my soul. It's amazing what a piece of paper birch can bring into one's life.

May your life be filled with mysteries to contemplate.