I was fourteenish when I went on a road trip with Mom and Dad in the old VW bus to visit mom’s uncle Collins. He lived on a ranch up in the Coastal Mountains of Northern California. Now, he called it a ranch, but I don’t remember seeing any horses or cows, just a couple of goats to keep the grass down in the orchard and a poodle for Aunt Carol.

I’d never known anyone like Uncle Collins before, he was the oldest little kid I’d ever met. He’d walk up to me, put his arm around my shoulder, pull me in close and ask, “Ward E., do you like shooting”? “Sure”, I replied and with that he led me over to the big barn telling a story about the old days when he and his brother surveyed Death Valley with the CCC back during the Great Depression. I could close my eyes and see him with a compass and staff out in the middle of the desert marking off the paces. When we got to the barn, he picked a 22 riffle off a rack, handed it to me along with a box of shells, pointed me off into the woods and said, “have fun”. The rifle was an old Winchester pump action, I shot the whole box…

Later he came to me again, put his arm around me and asked, “Ward E. Do you like riding motorcycles”? “I don’t know” I replied, “I’ve never ridden before”. “Well, that’s something we’ll have to remedy”, he said as he led me back over to the big barn, that time the story was about how back in ’60s he and his brother would hike up to the cabin in the woods to chase the pot smoking, LSD tripping hippies off the ranch. I could close my eyes and see him chasing those long-haired hippies off, probably with that same rifle he let me use earlier. We stopped at a little red Honda and after a short lesson he pointed me to a trail and said, “have fun”, I burned through the whole tank of gas.

Later he came to me again, put his arm around me and asked, “Ward E, do you like fishing? “I love fishing, but I don’t have a license”. With those words his arm flew off my shoulder and he started into a colorful rampage sounding something like this: “Fishing license… No government is going to tell me what I can and can’t do on my own land! Those no good for nothing so’s and so’s have nothing better to do than run other people’s lives”… This ranting continued as he led me back to the barn. He kept ranting as he picked up a rod from the rack and tied on a fly, but as soon as that fly was on, the rants dissipated like steam from a kettle. He put his hand on my shoulder, handed over the rod, pointed towards the river and said, “go down there and float this in the eddies behind the rocks”. So I did and caught 3 little salmon.

The next morning we all piled into his shiny new Oldsmobile and headed off down the drive to see the Redwood Forest. That’s when I learned why Uncle Collins was so passionate about the government. True to form, he told a story as he went from one place to the next, that time the story was how when the State wanted to create the Redwood State Park he fought against it and fought hard. I could close my eyes and see him making the long drive down to Sacramento to make his stand. He lost that battle. We turned right on the main highway, but before we could get up to a cruising speed he tapped the brakes and turned left into a parking lot. We were there! Turns out when the park was created the state annexed 1/2 of his ranch. One of the largest trees in the world was less than a mile from his house.

We all scrambled out of the car and wandered into that forest, I lost myself in wonder and my heart never was the same. As I walked among the true giants of this earth I couldn’t help but fall in love with them. The more I learned about them, the more I loved.

I like how Redwood seeds are some of the smallest seeds to start yet they grow to be the biggest Tree’s on the planet. I like how they grow. Steady and slow on their endless journey to the sky. They’re conifers so they grow all the time. Oh, they might slow down for a season now and then, but they don’t quit, ever. They can grow as tall as a football field is long. When challenges come and storms rage, they can lose branches and even large sections of trunks can be violently ripped off, yet they keep growing. And when tragedy strikes and fires scorch, they willingly give up their precious needles knowing their thick bark will protect them and hold close to the knowledge that fires clear a place for life to grow. But sometimes the fire will find its way through the bark and burn the precious wood inside, some trees will lose their whole insides leaving nothing but a shell, and still they keep growing. Sometimes people will come along and cut big holes in their trunks, so big in fact, they can drive a car right through them, and they keep growing. It’s just because that’s what they do, and they keep doing it to the day they die.

I find it interesting, that you don’t see Redwoods alone. They are not built to be alone. Their trunks are solid and sturdy; their wood is sought after and valued for its ability to withstand decay. Yet their roots do not run deep, not like other trees that have a tap root drilling down deep into the earth offering support to tree. Instead their roots run shallow and wide, in search of other roots and when they find them, they interlock and pull tight. In truth, their strength does not come from their own singular will. No, their strength comes from reaching outside of themselves, weaving their roots with their neighbors and holding tight to those around them. And as they cling tight to each other they become an invincible stand of giants, each giving more strength than it takes, in turn becoming much stronger together than they could ever hope to be alone. Together they stand tall and strong against the greatest gales the coastal storms can throw at them, yet left on their own, they fall in the softest of afternoon breezes.

It donned on me decades later, Uncle Collins was doing just that when he’d put his arm around me, pull me in and tell his stories. He was stretching his roots and grabbing hold. Those roots that would give him strength, left me far stronger than I would have been without him. Yes, I think I know why I like redwoods so much, it’s because we are so much alike, those trees and me. In fact, I believe, whether we want to admit it or not, we are all like the Redwoods. We’re not built to be alone, so we live in groves.

We are members of many groves at the same time. I’ve got my family grove, my church grove, my work grove, my fishing grove, the list goes on and on.

During this time of isolation, it might feel as though you are a grove of one. Especially as the storms of pandemic rage with no respect of person or position, and as the economic tragedy following in its wake scorches its path. Yes, it may seem we are left with nothing but our thick bark to protect us. But remember, just below the surface are the connections of our groves. Those connections made over a lifetime of reaching outside of ourselves, those are the source of our strength. As we cling together through distance and isolation, we will make it through, no matter the storm, whatever the tragedy. Together we stand strong against them all. Together we stand.

Copyright © 2020 Ward E Wilson