Wisdom in the Pecan Orchard

 HARVESTING PECANS by Sara Etgen-Baker

While harvesting pecans in her family’s pecan orchard, the narrator encounters the old man who tells her about the secret lives of trees.

“Come, Eileen!”   The old man yelled from the other side of the pecan orchard.  “Come, warm your hands by the fire and bring those pecans you’ve harvested.” 

“Is it that time already?”  Eileen lifted her flour sack over her right shoulder.  “Are you sure?  It can’t be!”  Not wanting the day to end, she meandered her way through her family’s pecan orchard and watched the trees as they swayed to and fro in autumn’s music; their dry, brittle leaves kissed Eileen’s face as they danced their way to the ground in front of her. 

“Stay, please stay.”  The old trees beckoned her.  “The fall air is crisp and delicious on our limbs.  Play with us a little longer.  Listen to our magic whisperings, for we have secrets to tell you.”

“What secrets?”  Eileen closed her eyes and listened, but she heard nothing.  Hmm.  She tugged on her earlobe and listened again.  Must be the trees rustling in the wind.  Eileen dropped her flour sack and looked around; the trees that once wore their bright green sundresses now wore their jackets of brown, gold, and crimson.  Spills of afternoon sunlight filtered their way through the trees; so Eileen lifted her face toward the sky and let the sun’s warm rays warm her cheeks and nose.  Above her a gaggle of geese honked goodbye as they journeyed south for the winter. 

She inhaled the earthy smell of the moist earth and continued on, delighting in the sound of twigs snapping and leaves crunching under her feet.  Squirrels chattered amongst themselves, for they were also hard at work harvesting their own pecans for the winter months ahead.  Eileen caught a whiff of the rich aroma of wood smoke and followed its wispy grey, silver clouds until she came upon the old man sitting on a tree stump warming his hands by the campfire.   

Eileen put her flour sack on the ground, inched her way toward him, and eased down onto the stump next to the old man.  She sat still and breathed in the intoxicating smell of the smoldering wood as it snapped and crackled.  The fire’s orange and red flames twisted and twirled casting a light onto the old man’s wrinkled face.  Just like the trees in the orchard, he, too, was in the autumn of his life; and Eileen knew she didn’t have many more seasons with him.

“Have you ever listened to the trees as they sway in the wind?”  The old man’s raspy voice broke the silence.  “They have secrets to tell.”

“What secrets?” Eileen turned toward the old man and looked him straight in the eyes. 

“Do you remember when I chopped down the tree that I’m sitting on?”  The old man stirred the fire with a stick.

“Yes, I do.  You told me that, although a tree doesn’t speak, I could understand its life by reading its rings.”

 The old man got up and leaned over the stump he’d been sitting on.  “What does this tree tell you?”  

Eileen stood next to the old man and pointed to the scar on the tree’s bark.  “This scar appeared on the bark the year there was a fire in the orchard.  These four narrow rings after the scar meant there was a four-year drought.  The narrower, uneven rings show slow growth because the neighboring trees crowded this tree and took more than their share of water and sunshine.”  Eileen moved her fingers toward the stump’s five outer rings.  “And these wider and evenly spaced out rings tell me that during those five years the tree was happy because it got lots of sunshine and rain.”

“Ah, I see you did remember the wisdom I shared with you.”  The old man’s face lit up.  “Come.  Let’s take our hearts for a walk through the orchard and listen to the musings of the old trees.” 

The old man placed Eileen’s hand in his and led her down a winding path through a canopy of trees and stopped at an area where the crowns of the old trees met the sky.  “Ah, this spot will do.”  He leaned over, brushed the leaves off to one side, and squatted on the ground facing one of the old trees.  “Sit here next to me.”  The old man patted the ground.    

  “Now close your eyes, Eileen; take several deep breaths; and focus on the wind stirring through the treetops.”  Eileen’s breaths deepened, and she sat motionless—suddenly aware of the autumn breeze caressing her body and stirring the leaves around her. 

The old man leaned toward Eileen, softened his voice, and said, “The trees are silent teachers; but if you listen with your heart, they will change your life.  Here is what the trees will tell you.   

   You don’t choose your parents, your family, your genes, your birthplace, or even your century.  So, like the trees, you must learn to grow where you’re planted; accept the things you can’t change; and thrive when and where you are.”

The old man reached over and picked up Eileen’s right hand and placed it on the ground by the tree’s trunk.  Have you ever looked closely just below the ground under the tree’s trunk?”

“Well, no, I haven’t.”  Eileen opened her eyes and glanced around as if looking for answers.  “Why should I?”

“Sometime you should take a peek, for just below the ground you’d see that which is invisible is the source of visible.  Although the tree’s roots are invisible, they are there.  These roots grow deep and give the tree stability to stand tall and reach for the light.  Trees instinctively know this, so in the early stages of their lives they put far more effort into their root growth.  You, too, should first attend to your inner growth before you get top-heavy with non-essentials and ornamentation.”

Just then the wind shifted direction, grabbed the trees’ limbs, and tossed them wildly from side to side.   Both Eileen and the old man glanced up and looked at the startled birds as they shot from the trees’ branches.   

“Have you ever noticed,” the old man crossed his legs, “trees stand firm against strong winds, driving rains, and the changing of seasons?  Now that I think about it,” he rubbed his chin, “their strength comes from their struggles.  Because of their struggles, trees develop something called stress wood.  Stress wood strengthens a tree and improves the quality of its life.”  The old man cleared his throat and finished his thought.  “Likewise, you’ll most certainly encounter resistance and change.  “But don’t let these hardships and struggles stunt your growth.  Instead, use them to strengthen you and improve the quality of your life.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, I think so.”  Eileen nodded her head.

The old man heaved a sigh of relief then became silent; while waiting for him to speak, Eileen watched the sun drop below the tree tops—its rays shining through the last few hanging leaves, illuminating the auburn, yellow, and orange veins that ran through them. 

“My, my,” the old man shattered the silence.  “Where was I?”  He turned away and gathered his thoughts.  “Oh, now I remember….Pecan trees don’t come from apple seeds.  Seems obvious, doesn’t it?”  He chuckled. 

“Yes, I guess so. But,” Eileen shrugged her shoulders, “what does that have to do with me?  I’m neither a pecan nor an apple tree.” 

The old man snickered again.  “Ah, you’re right, Eileen.  But what the trees tell me is that they don’t waste time trying to be something they’re not. And neither should you.  Be only who you are.  The other thing is that, well, uh….trees don’t apologize for growing new leaves and branches.  Nor do they intentionally stay small in an effort to appear humble.  So, like the trees, don’t be afraid to grow.  You don’t do yourself any favors by shrinking, holding back, or hiding your gifts.  Does that make sense to you?”

“Sure it does.  Thanks.”  Eileen pulled her jacket’s hood over her head and wrapped her arms around her body.   

“Looks like you’re feeling a wee bit chilled.”  The old man shivered and pulled his jacket closer to his body.  “Indeed, the air has turned crisp, and it’ll be dark soon.  We probably should head back.”   The old man stood up and pulled Eileen up.  “There’s no need to hurry, though.”  As they ambled their way back through the orchard, the old man paused and looked around.  “Do you realize that a tree never hurries?  It’s as if every movement is in keeping with its strengths and abilities.  So, never hurry.  Instead, come to know your own strengths and abilities.  Then you’ll feel confident and won’t need to hurry or strain.”

Eileen and the old man made their way back to the campfire where they sat down next to each other and soaked in the warmth and comfort of the open campfire.   The old man closed his eyes savoring the moment.  “Walking through the orchard sometimes exhausts me,” he opened his eyes.  “But I need to come here from time to time.  Just being here gives me such peace.”

“Me, too.”  Eileen placed her arm around the old man’s shoulders and hugged him.  “I cherish you old man and relish moments like these that we spend together here in the orchard.” 

The old man opened his eyes and focused on the distant tree line.  “Throughout the many seasons, I’ve observed the trees in this orchard transform themselves.  By December these trees will be naked; they’ll huddle together like football players on the sidelines of a frozen field; their arms and hands will shudder and cry in the strong, dry, cold air.  In April, donning their fragile new umbrellas, they will welcome the water as it drips off their tender leaves onto the ground below.  But by June, they will stand strong and full proudly reaching their limbs up toward the clouds.”  He turned and faced Eileen.  “I’ve come to understand that the trees readily accept the passing of their seasons and don’t resist the inevitable, for they understand that the passing of each season is part of a grander plan.”  

“Why are you telling me this, old man?”  Eileen wrinkled her forehead and bit the inside of her cheek.    

The old man kissed her softly on the cheek.  “Because, Eileen, I don’t have many seasons left.”

“I know.”  Eileen sniffed back the tears.  “But who will share the wisdom of the orchard with me when you’re gone?”

“That’s why I walked you through the orchard today and shared the secrets I’ve learned from listening to the trees.  Take comfort in the fact that my spirit will remain here with you amongst the trees.  And whenever you need guidance, take a walk alone through the shafts of light and the fragrant breezes.  Be still and open your heart.  Listen to the trees and learn from the secrets they whisper on the rustling wind.”

The old man snuffed out the fire; the afternoon melted into dusk; and the whispering leaves all but hushed.  Eileen and the old man embraced one another and watched as the sky above them turned to a light, dusky purple littered with tiny silver stars.  And all about them was still, shadowy, and sweet.