A Tree Told Me


It’s been a busy week moving into Three Dog Farm. Zoë, our half-pint Doberman girl, has stationed herself at all entry points to supervise the comings and goings. This mainly involves getting underfoot at all times-with the attendant admonishments, “Zoë, will you please get out of the way!”

The Man of the Place and I agree that it still feels surreal to own our beautiful plot of land and barn.  We keep looking at each other and saying, “Do we really live here?!” 

In between moving boxes and prepping our former house for sale, I’v been grabbing little bits of time to walk the property and familiarize myself with the trees and gardens. I’ve verbally introduced myself to most of the perennials and a fair bit of the trees on the property. The exchange goes something like this, “Hi butterfly bush, nice to meet ya! Hey maple tree!” Clearly, I have no problem being that “Crazy Gardener Lady” who talks to the plants and trees. I’m all for anything that strengthens my connection to the natural world, and like to choose actions that reinforce my place in the larger Order of Things.

My favorite moment from today’s walk occurred when a grand wind blew through the four-story pines in the woods behind the barn. Unlike deciduous trees that clatter and flap and rattle in the wind, when faced with an ocean wind pine needles produce a glorious whoosh.

 What would happen if there were no pine needles for the wind to blow through? Would the wind still make a sound? How do we know there’s wind if it doesn’t have something to blow against?  Maybe the wind tells us where we are, and we tell the wind where it is. 

Or maybe I’m just the crazy lady at Three Dog Farm who likes to talk to the trees. 

Gita Brown