Lisa notes

My husband Jeff asks if I’d like a turn with the shovel.

“Yes.”

On this smoldering Thursday afternoon at a campground in North Carolina, I shovel a few piles of dirt back into the hole around the newly planted tree.

But there is more than a tree being planted today. The dozen people around me and I have already put something important into the hole, too.

This was our first event on the opening Thursday afternoon of the Wild Goose Festival. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect from this experience we’d chosen to participate in: “Planting Trees and Commitments to Peace.”

The description in the schedule said that while we’d actually plant trees on site, we’d also plant commitments to regenerate life—not only here, but in our own lives.

That was enough information for me.
I am all in.

Remember Your Trees

We had already gathered in a circle underneath a canopy.

Since this was a four-day, completely outdoor festival, the facilitators Pablo and Aaron began by giving thanks to the earth for all it would give us over the weekend. Pablo reminded us, “Dogs may be man’s best friend, but trees are man’s best neighbor.”

Our gratitude was something small we could give back.

We then took turns telling why each of us had chosen to participate in this tree-planting session.

I went back twenty years. On a spring day, I had been inside our home when I began hearing thuds outside. Trees in the lot next to our house were falling. I ran outside to see bulldozers pushing one huge tree after another to the ground.

I knew the land belonged to a cultural center that wanted to expand. They already had a small building there. Now they wanted to move into something larger.

So the trees had to get out of the way.

I was heartbroken watching the giant beauties fall one after the other.

It was in that moment that I realized how much I loved trees. And how I never wanted to take trees for granted again.

The feeling has stayed with me.

After sharing this story with the group, I listened to others share their own stories:

• Jeff talked about the fun we had a week earlier watching our nephews break up fallen hickory nuts.
• Another man told about sitting beneath a favorite tree with his grandfather.
• A woman said walking among trees helped her find peace during a difficult season.

Different memories, but a common thread: trees are living things themselves.
And they give us peace, hope, and life in more ways than we realize.

The Two Questions

After the circle discussion, we were each given a piece of paper and asked to answer two questions:

1. What do you need to release?
2. What do you need to embrace?

I took the questions seriously. For my own peace and for peace in the world, what did I need to let go of, and what did I need to hold together?

After writing down my answers, I folded the paper and put it in my pocket.

We moved to a nearby small hill on the campground where two medium-sized trees waited in pots, each native to North Carolina.

Several people took turns with shovels, digging two good-sized holes. When the holes were deep and wide enough, we each tore our papers in half.

One half went into one hole.
The other half went into the other.

Then we planted the trees.

Dirt.
Mulch.
Water for the willow oak tree.

Dirt.
Mulch.
Water for the bald cypress tree.

Planting for Change

I throw in my last few shovelfuls of dirt and pass the shovel to someone else.

All done, we tighten our circle once more, gathering around the newly planted trees. An Indigenous man in our group sings a blessing in his original language.

The ritual is simple. And meaningful.

As the weekend goes on, Aaron and Pablo lead three more groups with similar ceremony and commitment, planting a total of eight trees with the campground owner’s permission and delight.

Now, two weeks later, I find myself still thinking about all those pieces of paper melting back into the earth alongside the tree roots.

The thing on my paper that I wanted to release hasn’t magically disappeared, of course. The thing I wanted to embrace isn’t something I’ve completely figured out either.

Yet I’ll continue working on both. I owe it to myself. And to the trees.

Change doesn’t always happen quickly. Sometimes it comes one shovelful at a time.

A little dirt.
A little mulch.
A little water.

Every Shift Counts

If I return to North Carolina next year, I hope to walk back to the two trees we planted and note how much they’ve grown.

I realize two new trees in the ground won’t change the planet. It won’t undo the harm we continue to pound upon our home.

But I also planted part of myself on that small hill in North Carolina.

Planting the trees shifted something in me. Maybe I’ll have grown some too in a year’s time. 

And any change in the right direction, however small, makes a difference.

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Is there something you want to release? To embrace? Share your thoughts in the comments.