Pining for Christmas

The Christmas tree, a young white pine, is (cut) down. The tree is up (in its stand). We’re several steps closer to Christmas decorations being in place, accompanied by the traditional cursing and griping from the senior male in the household, who once again has discovered that tools were not where he left them, even the ones he used last. New this year: the entire process of of adjusting the tree in the stand was accompanied by blood-curdling, heart-rending howls from Harry the beagle, the Better Half’s most recent rescue, who thoroughly disapproved of being left out of all the fun, especially if food might be involved.

one of our own white pines, decorated for Christmas

Photo by J. Harrington

Young white pines have very flexible, springy, branches. They won’t hold heavy light strings nor as many decorations as balsam and fir trees. But they’re home grown and attractive in an etherial way. (Plus, the Iroquois consider the White Pine the Tree of Peace.) Today we’ll just water the tree. Lights will go on tomorrow. After that, the decorations can be hung with care. The need for sparser decorations fits nicely with the fact that the Daughter Person [DP] and Son-In-Law [S-I-L] “inherited” many of the ornaments we’ve collected over the years. Passing such things on is a tradition some families follow to honor continuity, right? 

Based on photos shared via cell phone, DP and S-I-L have their tree up and decorated, but I don’t think they’ve enjoyed the satisfaction of gowing it on their own property. On the other hand, they have a one year old with whom they can share all the wonders and joys of Christmas time. Childhood, for us lucky ones, may be the best Christmas present of all. Wouldn’t it be great if we all lived in a world in which all children were healthy and happy? Shall we put that on our lists for next year and start working for it now?

Gidiskinaadaa Mitigwaakiing/Woodland Liberty

Margaret Noodin

Apii dibikong gaashkendamyaan miinawaa goshkoziyaan
When in the night I am weary and awake wondering
endigwenh waa ezhichigewag bagoji Anishinaabensag odenang,
what the wild young Anishinaabeg of the cities will do,
mitigwaakiing izhaayaan miinawaa anweshinyaan.
into the woods I go and rest.
Nimawadishaag zhingwaakwag miinawaa okikaandagoog
I visit with the white pines and the jack pines.
Nibizindaawaag zhashagiwag miinawaa ajiijaakwag.
I listen to the herons and the cranes.
Nimaatookinaag zaagaa’igan ogaawag miinawaa apakweshkwayag.
I share the lake waters with the walleye and the cattails.
Niwaabaandaanan wesiinhyag-miikanan miinawaa nakwejinaanig
I marvel at the complexity of wild paths and webs woven.
Miidash apii bidaaban niswi giosewag miinawaa
Then when the dawn hides the three hunters
niizhwaaswi nimisenhyag dibiki-giizhigong gaazhad
and seven sisters of the night sky
baabimoseyaan nikeye naawakweg zoongide’eyaan.
I walk bravely toward the noonday.
 

This poem was written in response to "The Peace of Wild Things" by Wendell Berry.

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