Willows
Long ago I was told a story that has become an integral part of my outlook on life. I don’t know if it had its origins in the Native American side of our family or in the Scottish clan that migrated over in the 1860s. Its lessons, however, I have found to be so important that I share it now with all those that might need or want to hear it. I share it now, here, so that maybe there will be a few more that can benefit from the wisdom of generations past, and the lessons Mother Nature can teach us all.
I came rushing into the house in tears after another confrontation with my cousins, all older and all male and very full of their teenage egos and lacking any time or spare thought at that given moment for a very small very female being that was more of an aggravation than anything. As I sat in the library of my great grandparents home with tears flowing down my face my Granda shuffled into the room as was his way and settled close by in the old leather chair and it wasn’t long before the smell of cherry apple pipe tobacco mingled with the scent of old books and the hickory and oak burning in the fireplace.
He sat for a few minutes more drawing on his pipe and looking out the window, my tears soon stopped as I tried with my very young eyes to see what he was seeing out that window, no matter how I tried all I could see was the woods around the family home, and albeit they were beautiful and a wonderland for me regularly I was lost in consternation at his focus and silence. Before too much longer I heard the tap on the pipe tray and heard the distinct sound of Granda clearing his throat, I turned around still sitting on my knees in the window seat and saw the smile on Grandas face as he held out what seemed like a gigantic and weather worn hand to his only great grandbaby, and the only girl of what he called his Lot. I remember crossing the room and climbing onto his knee and then I remember the story, every word committed to memory of my small self, for future reference and inspiration when I needed it most.
“lass what do you see out yonder window pane?” Granda with the rolling brogue in his voice asked.
“trees granda, and the woods where we play”
“Yes lass but there’s a lesson in those trees, one I think you’re old enough to appreciate now”
He shifted and I smiled, we all loved Grandas stories. I settled in to listen as my Grandas eyes, always shifting in color between blue and green, looked off in the distance again.
Granda pointed up “what tree is that little girl?”
I laughed, Granda and Grainia taught us all the trees and plants from very early “oak Granda, the protector of the woodland”
“good girl and that one?” he raised his cane to point to a much smaller tree growing near the base of the mighty oak at the edge of the tree line
“a willow o wisp house Granda” I smiled~ it was my Grainias name for the willow.
“That it is lass, now listen close. That little willow tree is actually the strong one girl.”
At this he laughed I can only imagine the look on my face was one of disbelieve.
“Its true, the willow is an amazing tree. Mother Nature whispered her secrets to the little willow on the edges of time. You see lass, in nature there are hundreds of types of willows, each a little different from the other, all beautiful, all seeming so frail as they dance and sway on the winds from day to day. They seek shelter from the harsh sun in the shade of the mighty oak, the protection from the elements in the oak rings of the forest. And they grow slowly and not very large in comparison to their woodland brothers and sisters. When we look at the willow we see only the beauty and outward appearance, but when we look at the oak, growing tall and straight and strong, towering over the rest of the green neighbors, we see only strength.
Here is the truth though lass, Mother Nature she whispered to her little willow to send her roots deep and wrap them in the arms of the soil and around the roots of the other willows and the mighty oak, entwine and build on the roots, not on the height and breadth like her other trees would do. The willow followed her instructions and never grew very large, content to sink her roots deep and dance her thin arms on the wind and play in the shadows of the bigger trees. Then the storms came, Mother Natures fury rang through the woodlands and the might oaks creaked and groaned, the little willow simply bent lower to the ground dancing in the angry winds and shivering at the sounds of breaking wood. The wind was so fierce and the stoic oaks in their stubborn pride as protectors of the forest refused to give way to the force, some broke in half, some pulled up by the roots.”
Granda relit the pipe and motioned out the window at the willow swaying in the late afternoon breeze.
“the little willow wiggled her roots so deep in the soil and danced. In the end, when the rains had ceased and the winds had calmed, the little willow slowly and gently stood back up, straightening herself amongst her sister willows in the first rays of bright sun and reaching her limbs toward the warmth. The oaks around her stood, battered, some missing limbs, some bent or broken, but they stood; while the others, those without the willows at their base, lay toppled about the ground like sticks.”
I must have frowned up at him because he gave a big laugh, the kind I’ve not heard since he left this world and patted me on my shoulder with that giant paw.
“Its simple lass, the willow with her deep roots, combined with all the roots of her sisters growing in the circle of the oaks, anchored the larger oaks. Sometimes little girl it is better to bend than to break. Strength is not always large or imposing. Remember the willow tree lass, try to be like her and you will always see the sunlight after the storm. Bending is strength in itself.”
From that point on, my nickname in our family was willow.
I heard this story many times throughout my childhood and it never failed to make me smile. I hope you all enjoyed it and can see the lesson and how it might apply to our daily lives.
Bending is not a weakness, it takes strength and wisdom to submit to another’s will.
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