Nature’s Healing Power

The healing power of trees:

In our little backyard in south Winnipeg we have a maple tree right in the corner. Its branches and leaves take over at least half of our yard and a large part of the neighbour's yard. When I take a chair and sit in the opposite corner of the yard, looking up into the branches and leaves, my whole body relaxes. I feel at one with this amazing tree.

Femme rooting by Jessica May Rita Kohut in fight on, by M. H. Clark

My memories of trees goes back to Paraguay where I lived as a child from ages four to nine. My father was a pastor in our Mennonite village. There were a number of villages without pastors and he would walk there and spend several days counselling and praying with people who were traumatized by their refugee experience during and after WWII.

Our mom knew which day dad would return, and on that day my sister and I were allowed to go beyond the fence that surrounded our property and right to the edge of the forest where we waited for dad. It was often quite a long wait as we didn't know exactly when he would return, but if all went well it would be before dusk. I remember a tree that had large seed pods the size of my hand. When I opened them I could see the small seeds underneath a white, transparent membrane. I imagined that they were little babies under a blanket and I never tired of playing with them until our dad arrived. The first sign of his arrival was the white handkerchief he wore over his head, knotted on all four corners and dampened to keep him cool.

After emigrating to Canada we lived in a small Alberta town. We often visited our widowed grandmother who lived in the country. A grove of trees separated her little house from her brother's farm and I loved to walk through the trees, listening to the wind whispering in the leaves. There was a grove of trees on the other end of grandmother's property, just beyond her large garden. We sometimes had picnics there. We ate apples which she stored in her basement in a wooden box, each apple wrapped in blue tissue paper. We saved that paper to be used for practical purposes in the nearby outhouse.  

Years later, in Africa, we encountered many exotic trees, but I especially remember one majestic tree standing alone in a field. Late in the afternoon my two little girls (preschoolers) and I usually walked down to the main street of the provincial town of Kikwit to meet their dad in his Bible translation office and drive back home with him. It was quite a long walk on a hot and dusty road. When we passed that tree, we knew we were half way to our destination and we were encouraged to continue.

Recently, another tree, planted in memory of my brother John who passed away this past April, reminds me of the beauty, but also the unpredictability and brevity of life. He was the middle child in our family, but the first to go. 

The healing power of flowers and insects:

Just a few weeks ago our family (three daughters and their spouses and children) spent a week in a cottage near Lac du Bonnet. The owners of the cottage have a flower garden that attracts insects such as butterflies and bees. One of our sons-in-law is an environmentalist and I followed him around because he sees things I might miss. One morning, on a brown-eyed Susan, he saw a caterpillar that would soon become a monarch butterfly.

Before long, it did, and since it had just come out of its pupal stage, it moved slowly and did not fly away when we approached it. We were able to photograph it and I was inspired to sketch it and add a page in our cottage notebook that we have kept over the years.

We saw many dragonflies. They hold a special memory for me because when we buried our father on a hot July day in 2005, there were many dragonflies at the cemetery. I felt them bumping into me the whole time we stood at the graveside. At the cottage I was able to observe one very closely because it had a broken wing. One of the grandchildren scooped it out of the water and brought it to me. It too became a page in our cottage notebook.

 

The healing power of birds:

We have seen sandhill cranes in Michigan, but did not know they made their home in Manitoba as well. We observed two of them in a field across the road from our cottage. They are elegant, almost stork-like but with a different coloring. They have quite a harsh cry. I added another page to our notebook:

I have always reminded our grandchildren that when we are outdoors we are in the living room of the insects and birds. This is their space and we are the visitors, so we have to be respectful and act like guests. 

Sometimes it's nice to bring the beauty that is outside into our own living space:

Back home from the cottage, I return to our tree and our small yard. It is so quiet here after having eight boisterous grandchildren for two weeks. I will miss them but now I have time to meditate and savor the memories of the last two weeks.

A thing of beauty is a joy forever.-John Keats