If You Hug a Tree, does that Make You a Tree-Hugger?

Philosophotography #4

I reunited with what might be the oldest and bulkiest Eastern White Pine in all Western North Carolina, and I hadn’t seen her for nearly a year due to Hurricane Helene pummeling this State Park and closing off access to it. How happy I was to see the river reopened and the bridge rebuilt and this particular tree still standing. I just couldn’t resist running up and giving her a big ole bear hug, not because I’ve become a hippy or anything like that, nor because I think there’s a nymph hiding in the tree who might’ve gotten lonely during the long closure, but rather because I see in this three-hundred-year-old living monument a symbol of the kind of perseverance that marked my pioneering forebearers, a symbol of bygone giants who suffered through depressions and world wars and famines but found a way by the grace of God and by their firmness of conviction to keep standing firm and rising higher. And that’s worthy of a hug in my book.

Antique cabin by the river

Speaking of old, enduring relics, look at the above cabin that someone built over a century ago that somehow remains intact. Same original foundation, same original walls and floors, same hand-hewn beams. Albeit, the roof is sinking in, and the walls are all crooked, and the floor is covered with holes, so perhaps ‘intact’ isn’t the best word here; but the fact that it sits no more than fifty feet from the river’s edge and still survived Helene unscathed is awestriking. I thought about running up and giving it an ole bear hug as well, but tetanus seemed a likely outcome, plus I wasn’t comfortable with the locals labeling me a house-hugger, especially since legend has it that this particular cabin is haunted by the ghosts of river pirates.*

*Don’t ask me where I heard that legend; just help me pass it on.

My favorite place in all the world to write

By far the best and longest standing symbol of endurance at this State Park is an old, rugged cross tucked away in an overgrown ampitheater that I happened upon by accident a couple of years ago while following an old foot trail up the mountain. The path led me through the ruins of a Methodist Church Camp that used to meet here in the 90’s, and the weathered remains of the primitive outbuildings are definitely a little creepy to encounter, with doors and windows broken, and wild animal droppings everywhere, and various plants trying to drag the structures back down into the dirt. But the surviving ampitheater has a whole different feel to it. The atmosphere here is special, enchanted even, and I can almost hear the Lord Himself whispering to me every time I come up here, “Sit down with Me and rest a while.” So I do. And it’s as if I hear the songs of campers and the prayers of mentors and the joyous weeping of lost, wandering souls finding Home for the first time still reverberating through the forest, bathing the environment with unspoken, but unforgotten memories.

Old Eastern White Pines will eventually get replaced by new ones. Well-built, century-old cabins will fall apart in time. But this wooden cross that stands at the center of the universe, cemented into the very foundation of history, towering higher than the highest mountain peaks and rooted in the lowest crevices of earth, will rise forever. And its prominence will never diminish nor its meaning deteriorate nor its value depreciate. I propose that every grove and cove, every national forest and state park, every rocky mountaintop and wooded valley, every town square and capitol city, should have a little sanctuary like this in the heart of it, with this Tree of Life standing in its rightful place at the epicenter, and with every man, woman, boy, and girl making a b-line to it with arms open wide.

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