I wanted to see something new, so I followed a hunch and found a sweet little park in Cincinnati—Johnson Nature Preserve—and went out for a hike. Only later did I learn it was in the direct path of the F4 tornado in 1999, just after I moved to the Cincinnati area.
What a scene to stumble upon.
Because your eyes won’t quite accept what you’re seeing (mine didn’t), I’ll describe the photos:
A tree bent to the ground and split from force now forms an arch-shaped base…and from the top of that splintered arch, a full-sized tree rises straight up.
Another tree is bent at 90 degrees, and from that bend—twenty feet in the air—trees of another species emerge and climb vertical like it’s the most obvious thing to do.
What looks like a dead, partially rotting log is still alive, and growing as what appears to be two separate, full-sized trees, but they’re clearly one plant.
I couldn’t help reflecting on how this is, truly, each and every one of us.
Life happens, sometimes with tornadic force, and we figure out how to carry on. Where one person might see “mangled,” I see insane, unique beauty and what I call the “will to life.” In each case, there was just enough rooting and grounding to sustain until another path could be conceived and forge, and then they (we) carry on like it was the only life they were ever meant to live, because what else is there to do?
Those are full trees.
They are inconceivable.
They’re absolute miracles.
So are you.
Pause right now. Feel your feet rooting toward the ground. Soften your jaw. One hand on your heart, one on your belly. Notice where your system has been arching, bending, and improvising a “way through.” Name one place you’re still growing anyway. Name your miracle.
I love that about you.
(Also, if you’re local, go wander Johnson Nature Preserve when you can! Let the living evidence teach your nervous system what’s possible.)
Love,
Renee