Thank you for this beautiful honesty. This piece is the essence of fall, a distillation of its taste, like a liqueur—eau de vie d’automne. Fall in the life of a book after the solstice of publication. Fall in the life of a tree. Fall in the cycle of our moods, like seasons.. It demonstrates that embracing and naming the dark feelings reveals their place in the design of life. It’s very comforting.
Chris, it was great meeting you last week, hearing you talk and answer questions at the event, and as we met with friends after. I'm sorry about your tree friend. But trees have many lives. No longer vertical is a good way to say it, as your friend will pass its 300 years of life to countless other beings.
I visited the oldest local tree where I live. It had died after a storm, but we found raccoons using it for a den, and that made us think that the tree was still alive in a meaningful way:
You told us about meeting Marcus and I loved reading that again. Your book is bringing so many people together! Books are like trees, my friend... they have long lives with many stages, and yours is very much alive. It will spread its branches for a very long time, even if it goes out of print. It will never truly die. I hope that helps with the inevitable deflation felt after a big success like this. All those connections are because of you. Pretty amazing, isn't it?
There's an old stand of trees here in a Swamp that I need to visit, after the rain from Helene subsides. If I find them—the trail is unmarked—maybe we can visit them the next time you're driving down the NJ Turnpike! I visited 4 big trees east of the Mississippi last year, it's always worth the time. They live in our hearts long after, like they do in the understory after they fall.
This is a beautiful post. To read it not knowing how filled with meaning for me it would be is a gift. Thank you for the gift. For those of us who deal with grief of a possibly more sizable set than the norm, the title of your piece, the words from The Understory, "what looks like destruction to my human eyes is still a part of a healthy and whole life," is central to not tipping deep into depression when we are tired, and the adrenaline rush stops, and we look around. Meeting Marcus La Tray at just that moment is staggering. It's also to me the outcome of the way intense energies do move between us. Or maybe not? I do think so. Take good care of yourself, and also accept with love the times you cannot take good care of yourself. The acceptance of the larger beauty of all of it is what I find to be the point of what I read here.
Encounters like the one wherein the gift of connection happened for you and Marcus always leave me silent and awe-filled, like there really are holy and sacred moments that no two humans could orchestrate on their own, gifts from the Universe.
So pleased for you that Council Grove time came to fruition for you. Glad you were able to reconnect and recharge, Chris.
That ponderosa . . . I have no words except to remember the last time I was there. 💔
Some of my best tree friends in the Flathead went down in a huge early snowstorm two years ago. The devastation was widespread and I can still see the scars. What I love now is seeing all the life they're still nurturing. Vertical or not, trees embody the endless cycle of life.
Love this, Chris. The thrill and despair of book tour, the loneliness and wondering about meaning, the serendipity of an answer when you least expect it. This morning I was working on a fox poem when I looked up and a fox was staring at me through the glass door. The world is big indeed.
Thank you💜 Oaks were my first love, now, it’s Ponderosas. I just read The Mother Tree and had my mind blown…repeatedly. I will look for The Understory. Will miss you in the Flathead this fall. Hope NC treated you well😊 I am originally from its southern coastal areas.
Sending condolences for the loss of your friend, Chris. We have a beloved and very large White Pine at the corner of our 1/2 acre lot whom we refer to as Our Friend Pine. He has weathered many serious storms but I always hold my breath when the Nor'easters come.
So good to read you and get to know where you are and how this is unfolding for you. It reminds me of this quote my mom sent me when I was getting sober: For a seed to achieve its greatest expression, it must come completely undone. The shell cracks, its insides come out and everything changes. To someone who doesn't understand growth, it would look like complete destruction. - Cynthia occelli
It is not so much a matter of escaping from one's suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother. Hermann Heese The Wisdom of Trees
I saw Lore Wilbert speak! She was touring The Understory. I showed up because the event description said fans of Braiding Sweetgrass and The Overstory would enjoy it. I was one of the only people there who hadn’t followed her for years. More in the “deconstructing Christianity” space than I realized from the event description, and more talk of God than I anticipated, but it was a good convo and I’ve got her book on my nightstand (now a bit under yours) and I’m proud of my city because she moved here. She’s got a newsletter here. Hey @lorefurgesonwilburt, hello! You will like this post here by Chris! (Substack doesn't seem to let me `@` people here in the comments? So she might not see this.)
I resubscribed to your newsletter just before I read this post so my appreciation is doubled. I grew up on the prairies of NE Montana so I’m more accustomed to space and sky than to trees but was moved by your love and grief as well as by your miraculous Columbus encounter. I recently stopped in Columbus on my way home to my beloved prairies.
I was recently in Montana and saw a Town Pump gas station. It struck me because as a kid, the most notorious “indian bar” in my hometown (a WI town with many bars back then) was called the Town Pump. It was close to our house and loomed as a large presence in my childhood.
Where once there was a tree now many cousins. Some insects some mushrooms one human. (I realize the human isn’t directly related to the tree but … maybe?) I loved the story about your human cousin who spoke your language in DC and loving it all the more reading it now, sitting on a friend’s back deck in CT, listening to a nuthatch & a bluejay converse. I hope you get to go back to that cabin or somewhere like it sometime soon.
I wanted to let you know that I'm doing the Poet's Room over at Author's Publish again this October. Usually I do acrostics for the month, but this time I'm going to be writing my one sentences. I don't know that they're as profound or thought-provoking as all the things you write, but I wanted to celebrate you and your journey and my becoming a part of that. So that is my project for October, and hopefully I'll get a chance to share them at the end of the month!
Thank you for all the warmth and love that you bring to this world--not only through your words, but through the time and energy you give to others on your journeys across the country. We are so fortunate to have your voice in this world. So again, miigwech!
Thank you for this beautiful honesty. This piece is the essence of fall, a distillation of its taste, like a liqueur—eau de vie d’automne. Fall in the life of a book after the solstice of publication. Fall in the life of a tree. Fall in the cycle of our moods, like seasons.. It demonstrates that embracing and naming the dark feelings reveals their place in the design of life. It’s very comforting.
Chris, it was great meeting you last week, hearing you talk and answer questions at the event, and as we met with friends after. I'm sorry about your tree friend. But trees have many lives. No longer vertical is a good way to say it, as your friend will pass its 300 years of life to countless other beings.
I visited the oldest local tree where I live. It had died after a storm, but we found raccoons using it for a den, and that made us think that the tree was still alive in a meaningful way:
https://thomaspluck.substack.com/p/the-clement-oak-and-the-first-air
You told us about meeting Marcus and I loved reading that again. Your book is bringing so many people together! Books are like trees, my friend... they have long lives with many stages, and yours is very much alive. It will spread its branches for a very long time, even if it goes out of print. It will never truly die. I hope that helps with the inevitable deflation felt after a big success like this. All those connections are because of you. Pretty amazing, isn't it?
There's an old stand of trees here in a Swamp that I need to visit, after the rain from Helene subsides. If I find them—the trail is unmarked—maybe we can visit them the next time you're driving down the NJ Turnpike! I visited 4 big trees east of the Mississippi last year, it's always worth the time. They live in our hearts long after, like they do in the understory after they fall.
This is a beautiful post. To read it not knowing how filled with meaning for me it would be is a gift. Thank you for the gift. For those of us who deal with grief of a possibly more sizable set than the norm, the title of your piece, the words from The Understory, "what looks like destruction to my human eyes is still a part of a healthy and whole life," is central to not tipping deep into depression when we are tired, and the adrenaline rush stops, and we look around. Meeting Marcus La Tray at just that moment is staggering. It's also to me the outcome of the way intense energies do move between us. Or maybe not? I do think so. Take good care of yourself, and also accept with love the times you cannot take good care of yourself. The acceptance of the larger beauty of all of it is what I find to be the point of what I read here.
Encounters like the one wherein the gift of connection happened for you and Marcus always leave me silent and awe-filled, like there really are holy and sacred moments that no two humans could orchestrate on their own, gifts from the Universe.
So pleased for you that Council Grove time came to fruition for you. Glad you were able to reconnect and recharge, Chris.
🩵
That ponderosa . . . I have no words except to remember the last time I was there. 💔
Some of my best tree friends in the Flathead went down in a huge early snowstorm two years ago. The devastation was widespread and I can still see the scars. What I love now is seeing all the life they're still nurturing. Vertical or not, trees embody the endless cycle of life.
Love this, Chris. The thrill and despair of book tour, the loneliness and wondering about meaning, the serendipity of an answer when you least expect it. This morning I was working on a fox poem when I looked up and a fox was staring at me through the glass door. The world is big indeed.
Thank you💜 Oaks were my first love, now, it’s Ponderosas. I just read The Mother Tree and had my mind blown…repeatedly. I will look for The Understory. Will miss you in the Flathead this fall. Hope NC treated you well😊 I am originally from its southern coastal areas.
Sending condolences for the loss of your friend, Chris. We have a beloved and very large White Pine at the corner of our 1/2 acre lot whom we refer to as Our Friend Pine. He has weathered many serious storms but I always hold my breath when the Nor'easters come.
So good to read you and get to know where you are and how this is unfolding for you. It reminds me of this quote my mom sent me when I was getting sober: For a seed to achieve its greatest expression, it must come completely undone. The shell cracks, its insides come out and everything changes. To someone who doesn't understand growth, it would look like complete destruction. - Cynthia occelli
Thank you for the stories. So many of your chords resonate with my inner journeys and add rich dimensions to them.
It is not so much a matter of escaping from one's suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother. Hermann Heese The Wisdom of Trees
I saw Lore Wilbert speak! She was touring The Understory. I showed up because the event description said fans of Braiding Sweetgrass and The Overstory would enjoy it. I was one of the only people there who hadn’t followed her for years. More in the “deconstructing Christianity” space than I realized from the event description, and more talk of God than I anticipated, but it was a good convo and I’ve got her book on my nightstand (now a bit under yours) and I’m proud of my city because she moved here. She’s got a newsletter here. Hey @lorefurgesonwilburt, hello! You will like this post here by Chris! (Substack doesn't seem to let me `@` people here in the comments? So she might not see this.)
I resubscribed to your newsletter just before I read this post so my appreciation is doubled. I grew up on the prairies of NE Montana so I’m more accustomed to space and sky than to trees but was moved by your love and grief as well as by your miraculous Columbus encounter. I recently stopped in Columbus on my way home to my beloved prairies.
What a divine encounter.
I was recently in Montana and saw a Town Pump gas station. It struck me because as a kid, the most notorious “indian bar” in my hometown (a WI town with many bars back then) was called the Town Pump. It was close to our house and loomed as a large presence in my childhood.
I’m excited to see you in Minneapolis.
Where once there was a tree now many cousins. Some insects some mushrooms one human. (I realize the human isn’t directly related to the tree but … maybe?) I loved the story about your human cousin who spoke your language in DC and loving it all the more reading it now, sitting on a friend’s back deck in CT, listening to a nuthatch & a bluejay converse. I hope you get to go back to that cabin or somewhere like it sometime soon.
I wanted to let you know that I'm doing the Poet's Room over at Author's Publish again this October. Usually I do acrostics for the month, but this time I'm going to be writing my one sentences. I don't know that they're as profound or thought-provoking as all the things you write, but I wanted to celebrate you and your journey and my becoming a part of that. So that is my project for October, and hopefully I'll get a chance to share them at the end of the month!
Thank you for all the warmth and love that you bring to this world--not only through your words, but through the time and energy you give to others on your journeys across the country. We are so fortunate to have your voice in this world. So again, miigwech!