A year ago, I decided to place solar panels on the roof of my house to reduce my carbon footprint. I agonized over removing seven pine trees that shaded the panels. The largest pine was particularly difficult for me to let go. When the day came to remove the trees, I felt a tremendous lingering void and grief, as if the trees were speaking to me. I questioned whether I had made the right choice.
The next spring, I had an unexpected surprise. Pine seedlings sprung from the soil in my yard from those very trees. I dug them up and potted them. On Earth Day, my grandchildren helped me plant them elsewhere in my yard where they would not block sunlight from reaching my panels in the future.
Not long after completing our task, but just minutes after my grandkids had departed, a hummingbird flew frantically and repeatedly back and forth in front of me for several minutes as if to say thank you.
Each time my grandkids visited, we checked the planted seedlings. They were proud of their efforts and amazed at how fast the trees grew. We counted the tree rings on the stump of the largest pine, concluding that it was 60+ years old, the same age as me.
In May, a large, old rhododendron bloomed spectacularly, wrapping itself around three sides of the remaining large pine stump. I sat on the stump, amidst the rhododendron, with one-year-old Sophie as often as possible, remembering the pine, enjoying my gardens, and watching birds nest nearby. I felt at peace with the pine and at peace with Creation. It was obvious that Sophie, though typically rambunctious, enjoyed the same calming influence.
