The words below are from the tree.
The most recent first.
Memoirs from a tree August 2006
As I watch the last glimmer of sun fading in the trees, I sing songs to the beings who live here and are watching or feeling this moment too. It's darkness now. By the sound of snapping, fallen branches I hear a large creature moving far below on the forest floor. I hope that it's a bear or mountain lion. Suddenly I'm filled with an overwhelming sadness and guilt. I sit here surrounded by buckets of food, enough to last for weeks, and the animals have to scavenge and search endlessly for enough food to survive and feed their young.
So little habitat left and yet the greedy hands of humans still grabbing for more, more! When will this madness end? I let out a howl and cry and scream from this safe place where no one will judge me for being "over emotional". "I hate being human!" I yell to anything listening. "Why can't I be a bird or a fairy?" I sob until I can't anymore. I cry outů"Nature spirits, please teach me how to work with you!"
Suddenly two or three flying squirrels are scrambling to my platform and climbing all over me and everything around! I start giggling and then laughing uproariously at their incessant antics. I can barely make out their sprite-like forms in the darkness.
"What are they trying to tell me?" I think of all the delicious food that I have tightly sealed in 5 gallon buckets. "I should feed them." Then I think of what I've always been told about feeding wild animals: "You'll make them dependent on you. You'll invite jays and crows who will push other birds from their nests." I let go of my fears and say out loud to them; "I will provide for you my friends, on two conditions. No pooping all over my stuff and no getting into other food I've not offered to you!" I remember my leftover cup of cooked rice and I pour it into a neat pile on the edge of the platform. I turn my headlamp on the red setting so I can watch them eat without disturbing them too much. Their large, round, black eyes glow red in my filter. I'm fascinated as I watch them roll the rice into neat 2" long balls, then ferry them away or nibble on them, turning them gingerly round and round in their tiny hands. I'm reminded of ants transporting their larvae. I continue watching until I grow sleepy and turn in for the night.
During the night I awake to the sound of a squirrel messing with the garbage bag. "Remember our deal?" All is quiet again.
The next morning I arise to see the pile of rice completely gone, and only a few poops to sweep off the platform. The garbage has a small scrape but no tears whatsoever. I smile to myself and welcome the sun.
Its springtime in Nanning Creek and the forest is working very hard to recuperate after such a destructive winter. However, everything is blooming, and there are birds all around. Small grey sparrows love to hang around and forrage for crumbs. Osprey and the occasional Red-Tailed Hawk dart across the deep blue sky in search of their next meal. Almost every night, we are visited by a Spotted Owl, who if asked nicely may stay for a short conversation. There was even a Marbled Murrelet sighted, described as black, brown, and white and resembling a small flying potato. Not to mention the frequent sounds of prowling cats and hungry bears acquiring their dinner. All in all, the trees are strong, the forest is full of life, and we are waiting for a miracle. The summer is a very special time; many birds are nesting, attempting to propagate their species. The lumber company must respect this by federal law, and cannot resume logging until September 15th, 2006. The countdown has begun for this ancient ecosystem. Please help us save Nanning Creek!
Until next time,
Please call Spooner Direct at 707 845-4021 to help
Save Nanning Creek!
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