The Nursery Stump

Nursery log with salal and huckleberry
The Nursery Stump
Life gone,
Still giving to living
Suckling the new
Rebirth and reborn
Quite often in the woods I come across an old stump of a fallen monarch that straddles the ground. Weathering has caused its bark to crumble and soften. New life takes root from the nutrients that it provides. Sometimes it’s a replacement of itself, another cedar or fir. Other times, ferns take hold and grace the edges. One old round has salal and a wild rose atop and along side of it. Together they flourish in the richness of the old cedar dust, moistened by dew and rains. Of course, now they experience an extra bit of sunshine and warmth, but they are still protected, still rooted with the old stump that will not give up its hold on the earth or life. No longer towering, its very body gives nurture to new lives.
In Ketchikan, Alaska the nursery logs are vital to the forests. The peninsula is mainly rock and so the trees have little soil in which to set out their roots. Rather many find their life on the backs of fallen others that have lived before them. This creates a continuing cycle of nurture and life. The old logs protect them in infancy and give a gentle nesting spot for tender roots that eventually grow to tall, wondrous, green forms that reach to touch the sky. Some are more splendid than the nursery log from which they started. The rock outcroppings show grey among the shallow roots, but close to shore they have not discouraged the native trees. Old lives and new conspire together to live in the damp, mild, and sometimes wild, maritime air where they thrive.
A tree is known by its fruit; a man by his deeds. A good deed is never lost; he who sows courtesy reaps friendship, and he who plants kindness gathers love.
Saint Basil
Life gone,
Still giving to living
Suckling the new
Rebirth and reborn
Quite often in the woods I come across an old stump of a fallen monarch that straddles the ground. Weathering has caused its bark to crumble and soften. New life takes root from the nutrients that it provides. Sometimes it’s a replacement of itself, another cedar or fir. Other times, ferns take hold and grace the edges. One old round has salal and a wild rose atop and along side of it. Together they flourish in the richness of the old cedar dust, moistened by dew and rains. Of course, now they experience an extra bit of sunshine and warmth, but they are still protected, still rooted with the old stump that will not give up its hold on the earth or life. No longer towering, its very body gives nurture to new lives.
In Ketchikan, Alaska the nursery logs are vital to the forests. The peninsula is mainly rock and so the trees have little soil in which to set out their roots. Rather many find their life on the backs of fallen others that have lived before them. This creates a continuing cycle of nurture and life. The old logs protect them in infancy and give a gentle nesting spot for tender roots that eventually grow to tall, wondrous, green forms that reach to touch the sky. Some are more splendid than the nursery log from which they started. The rock outcroppings show grey among the shallow roots, but close to shore they have not discouraged the native trees. Old lives and new conspire together to live in the damp, mild, and sometimes wild, maritime air where they thrive.
A tree is known by its fruit; a man by his deeds. A good deed is never lost; he who sows courtesy reaps friendship, and he who plants kindness gathers love.
Saint Basil