The Old Fir Tree

Guest writing from Jenny Wright

Hello friends, I am on vacation this week. Writer Jenny Wright graciously agreed to write this beautiful essay for this week’s newsletter. Jenny and I “met” in Janisse Ray’s Journey into Place year-long course and have plans to meet in person since we live about three hours apart.

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The Old Fir Tree is a stately tree, with needles so dark green to be almost black in certain lights, on my family’s ranch in north-central Montana. He towers above surrounding firs and aspens on the cusp of a cut bank above a small chortling mountain stream. His trunk is encased in rough, corrugated nutmeg bark. On the side of the cut bank, his massive roots can be seen as they anchor into the rocky black soil.

The Old Fir Tree emerges from the fog…Photo credit: Christy Chambers

~*~

If only my own roots could reach as deep into a rich black humus of life. How can I become as statuesque? Not the statuesque of body, but that of inner strength and presence. The Old Fir Tree oozes presence right along with his rose-gold sap. As soon as the Old Fir Tree comes into view, I can feel his being. Knowing his physical body being there, I can feel him without seeing him. Even now, almost 1000 miles apart from him. I imagine him, and just in this, I can feel my body stretch upwards as my feet anchor. I am long, strong, and staunch.

~*~

The Old Fir Tree is a talisman of connection. He can be seen farther down the valley, from the picture window in the log house we grew up in, built by Mom and Dad. Our kitchen table looked out on this view. This old oak umber-hued table was our central gathering place.

Here we ate our meals and gathered at other times of the day. The Old Fir Tree joined us, too. His bearing filtered into our conversations. “Yesterday, just as I was passing The Old Fir Tree, a golden eagle flapped upwards in slow motion from the creek.” “In the aspen glade on the other side of The Old Fir Tree, I saw a tawny doe and twin sorrel and white-starred fawns.” “Last evening, I walked as far as The Old Fir Tree.” And on and on. An alliance engendered by The Old Fir Tree rooted us in the land and between one another. He fostered our family.

~*~

My inner gathering place is my heart. I imagine her crimson form - thump, thump, thump. My heart pulsates, and orchestrates my life, though my brain thinks she is in charge. Though my heart is not often on my mind as I go about my day, her presence is immediately available when I seek it. When I consciously connect with her presence, together we reach out with invisible tentacles to other presences. I may be walking past our horses, and my mahogany bay partner and friend of many years, Finn, will leave the others and come my way. Inside, I feel a tiny hum, a vibration in all my nerves that centers from my heart. I stop, and Finn and I, though a few feet apart, are connected with a vibrant heart energy. Later, I think of the roots of The Old Fir Tree and the earth they burrow into.

~*~

The Old Fir Tree is embedded in the life of this land. He stands across the creek from one of our oft-traveled routes on the ranch. He knows the harsh whip of brittle, arctic winter gales that are unique to the drainage he lives in. He knows the tickle of the delicate feet of chickadees as they perch, hop, and chick-a-dee-dee amongst his needle-covered branchlets. He knows the shimmer of summer’s heat waves that warm his sap and help it flow in honey rivulets down his massive corrugated trunk. He knows the brace of the air on marigold autumn mornings and readies for the dark season. He knows all of this and exists outwardly the same. I wonder, though, what his inner conversation is with the turn of each season or even day.

Summer finds The Old Fir Tree basking in the sun’s warmth. Photo credit: Jenny Wright

~*~

I have walked, ridden, and driven past The Old Fir Tree countless times. In all the weathers; sun, rain, snow, air so frigid I could barely breathe, and wind that blasted in unpredictable towering twists that threatened to knock me down. In all seasons; the pussy willow just below The Old Fir Tree covered in soft furry silvery-grey buds that seemed to purr, the hot yellow smell of August, crisp ginger autumn mornings, and brittle porcelain winter evenings. In all phases of the moon; bright eggshell silver of the full moon, and the degrees of pewter light shed by the moon’s waning or waxing. In all the times of the day: the dove light before the sunrises, sharp blonde light of high noon, golden apricot light of evening, and the inkwell of the night. In all phases of my life, both physically and emotionally. Because I know The Old Fir Tree never retreats from what he faces, this has helped me to stand up for who I am and what I value. I can think of The Old Fir Tree, unchanged and stoic on the outside yet thrumming with life on the inside, and draw his persona around myself for both protection and emulation. Emulation engenders actuality.

Snow, this time in winter, reminds us that the Old Fir Tree stands through all of us. In gathering photos for this essay, Mom, my sister, and I were surprised at how few pictures we have of him. Even though in our memories there are hundreds of images of The Old Fir Tree, in actuality, we took few. He lives on strongest there, in our minds. This is part of his magic; we can visit him whenever and wherever we are, over and over. Photo credit: Jenny Wright

~*~

The Old Fir Tree is a witness to the land and to my life, especially those growing up years. He holds secrets beyond measure, secrets the land has whispered and shown, and those I have dared to tell him, my forehead pressed to his coarse bark. Secrets are bits of wisdom learned and lived that, over my lifetime, fit together like the pieces of a puzzle. Someday, I hope, the whole picture of my life will lie before me. No missing pieces.

~*~

His old gold-tinted blood flows up and down. My ruby blood flows up and down. I gather closer to him, his bark imprinting on my body. I wonder if our bloods could combine into a new, unnamed shade with all the elements of this land that The Old Fir Tree draws from his roots and breathes from the air and where my own young blood contributes what, I do not know. I can dare that this new shade will be embraced by the earth also.

BIO:

Jenny, a native of Montana, now lives in Central Oregon with her husband, horses, dog, and cat. She is a horsewoman and retired farrier. Jenny writes of the land, her experiences and of horses. As well she is a walker of the land and a student of horses, land (nature), and life. Recently, she had a piece published in The Central Oregon Writer’s Guild 2024 Literary Collection. Previous to that occurrence, one of her pieces garnered third place in the Wyoming Writer’s Inc. writing contest. Her website can be visited at: https://earthwisehorse.com

Jenny and Finn, her longtime partner, best of friends, and guide of immense strength and wisdom. Photo credit: Sue Crawford.

Compassionate Elder Snapshot

On January 20, the US honors the work and achievements of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. A leader committed to nonviolence while pursuing civil rights, he didn’t live long enough to age into elderhood, but he practiced compassion, wisdom and an unrelenting commitment to social and economic justice that earned him the title of an elder.

More about MLK, Jr. from MLK Center

“Five Provocative Thoughts MLK, Jr.” from The Sun Times, January 13, 2025

“I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.” –From his iconic “I Have a Dream” speech, delivered during the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom in 1963.

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” – From his “Letter from Birmingham Jail,” written in 1963.

“The time is always right to do what is right.” – From his address at Oberlin College in 1964.

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” – From his book “Strength to Love,” published in 1963.

“Life’s most persistent and urgent question is, ‘What are you doing for others?’” – From his 1957 speech in Montgomery, Alabama.

As someone who lives close to the threat of wildfires, I am both horrified and terrified about the LA fires. The damage is immense and will be long-lasting. If you can offer financial or volunteer support to any aid organizations listed in Susan Tweit’s newsletter Responding to the LA Fires, please do so. The need will be ongoing for months.

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  Do you have an enduring or memorable relationship with a tree or a landscape? A favorite place that has impacted the way you view the world and feel about yourself?