It is a perfect spring morning. Birds are singing. Honeysuckle and wisteria are creeping. The sky is cornflower blue, my favorite color for the sky. The early morning air was icy, but it is warming up now. The view out the window behind the sofa is beautiful and daunting as I take stock of yard work that needs to be done.
I tried to do a little yard work last Saturday, beginning with removing some leaves which had piled up on part of my roof during the winter. With my trusty leaf rake in hand I climbed the ladder and mounted the roof and quickly got to work. The leaves were water soaked and heavy, stubbornly clinging together and holding their shingles. I pounded the tines of the leaf rake into the brown mass, pulling harder and harder on the wooden handle as it strained and bent against the task.
As it turns out the wooden handle was not meant to bend like that. It suddenly snapped. The Herculean force I had been exerting on the handle had to go somewhere. Amazingly it was transferred to my right fist which was still gripping the short piece of the upper handle.
As a result of the laws of physics I slugged myself with a stunning right cross to my jaw which sent me reeling as I stood on the roof. It was an impressive lick, the kind that makes you check to see if your jaw joints are in place and your teeth are still there. It was a TKO. After lying on the roof for a few minutes I slinked down the ladder, went back into the house and decided to put off yard work for awhile.
There is a difference between the hardwoods and the pines. Several of the young pine trees are bent over and twisted, some with almost ninety degree bends in the slender trunks. These bends are permanent. These trees were very young a year ago, and when the February snows came and stayed, the needles of the pine trees collected the heavy snow. The trees were helpless to dump the snow themselves, and as the days went on they bowed down under the weight. By the time that long February ended and all the snows finally melted, the young pines were bent and twisted permanently, unable to straighten up even though the heavy weight of the snow had melted away. I remember during those days looking out my window to the frigid white hillside and the crystalline needles of the young pines. I remember thinking that I needed to go out and shake the snow from their branches so they would stand back up, but I never did. I assumed that when the snow melted they would be okay, that they would straighten up. They never did.
The hardwood saplings, on the other hand, stand straight. In the winter they have no leaves to catch the heavy snow, and never have to suffer from the crushing, cold weight.
The next generation of these trees may not look the same. The seeds of the bent and twisted pine trees will not create bent and twisted trees. They will spring from the earth pointed straight to the heavens. There will be nothing within them that causes them to twist or bend except the innate need to survive if the snow comes. Their fate will depend on the chance of snow, and if anyone will be there to clear the snow if it comes so early in their youth.
The laws of physics are relentless. Excessive force can have two results. The object of the force can be damaged, sometimes beyond repair, sometimes beyond recognition. And sometimes the object of the force will snap, or explode, transferring the energy of the force indiscriminately, with no regard to who or what is damaged nearby.
Either way, I have learned it is wise to heed the warning, the bending that comes with the weight, that comes with the pressure.
Because ignoring that bending in the world around us, or even within ourselves, can result in some strange and painful things.
It's like slugging yourself in the face.
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