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.
