A few minutes away from me is both the Bow River and a Provincial Park. It has given me hundreds, actually more like thousands, of hours of sunshine, reprieve and inspiration. One particular landmark there often caught my eye, and was often the subject of both my camera and my sense of wonder. A singular large tree standing sentinel at the confluence of the Fish Creek and the Bow River; and while I’ll never know the circumstances of the journey of its silent witness, I was there for its end, from a particular point of view.
Don’t quote me, but I suspect it was a poplar tree, as to its particular variety… I am not sure. If what I read is to be believed, it would have had a natural life-span of about 120 years. Later in its life back in June of 2013, it endured catastrophe when Alberta experienced an awe-inspiring show of nature’s might in the form of devastating floods.
Much of the river’s bank was eroded as both waterways were overwhelmed by the swell. When the water’s final retreated, the tree now almost half of its root system laid bare, was now much closer to the river proper. A weak point that would be an eventual undoing. Battered, but not broken it managed somehow to mend and carry on. But the make-up of the newly exposed soil was simply not designed to resist the constant wear of the river’s abrasive force. And, each year the tree moved closer and closer relative to the edge.
During the third week of May 2020, after 7 years of an unrelenting current, the living monument could literally, hold its ground no longer. During another substantial downpour the tree finally toppled over into the Bow and was dragged down stream.
Week after week, I watched as the tree’s leaves slowly turned from a bright lively green to a pale dull yellow and fall as it struggled… until only a single foliage covered branch remained. The void left was conspicuous in its absence and left an obvious scar on the landscape as well as the psyche, like all loss does. In a final act of insult the time and the river refused to yield, and debris piled debris up around the fallen trunk.
Slowly, after a while a new normal was established and the missed tree became, not forgotten but, less palpable. Not sure if it was a conscious choice or not, but I had stopped visiting the sight for some time. When I did finally return to it, the debris around the old trunk had started to collect and form a small stone island just off bank. Eventually, in a year or two I suspect those stones will collect soil enough to support vegetation, and those roots will help hold onto even more soil, so more life can thrive.
So, why do I write this…?
For a few reasons, I suspect. But the point is, there are some real parallels here for grief, loss, change and life in general in a lot of ways. I thought something had been lost (and it had been) and was genuinely sadden by that… , but perhaps a better explanation of it was my ability to interact with it was what had changed. The tree is still there, it was still a natural oasis, it still acts as a respite for all sorts of wildlife, and yes, maybe it could not produce oxygen for us in its present state, but it would again… given time. Although, I can’t interact with it the same way as I once did, being able to feel the familiar rough worn bark against my skin, it’s still there for me, just in a different way than before.