And So We Talk About Trees

Luskentyre Beach, Isle of Harris, Scotland

And So We Talk About Trees

When I began this blog back in 2008, my father had not been dead a year.  The world economy had taken a nosedive and halted my busy interior design practice in its tracks.  I took up writing again, a habit I had always enjoyed in the past, for something creative to do.   Funnily enough, the more I wrote the more I had to write about.  The House of Edward became a place for me to work out how I felt about things.  I found it enormously satisfying to capture and share the quiet little moments of beauty that I found in my everyday life.  And as is the case with Beauty, the more you notice and appreciate, the more is given to you. As my blog was a reflection of my life, there have been issues I’ve addressed here that sometimes deviated into darker waters, but these issues were, I felt, too vital to ignore while remaining true to the values I hold dear.  I have treasured my interactions with wonderful, interesting, funny, creative, precious people all across the globe and wouldn’t change these eight years for anything.

Last Wednesday, I awoke to a different world, in a country I no longer recognized.  I had heard for a long time that it would be impossible for the United States of America to elect the man we elected last week.  His campaign was considered laughable to most intelligent people of my acquaintance.  But I feared the worst.  For months I watched as he lifted the lid off vitriolic ugliness and hate, watched as those who harbored such dark feelings finally felt the validation they craved, watched as ignorance, racism and bigotry slithered from their dank hiding places to revel in the light of day.  I feared there were more of these people than our society realized and last week we saw that there were.  

America has now elected a man without even a rudimentary knowledge of our constitution or the way our government works.  We have elected a man devoid of empathy, respect and the most basic common decency.  How can we tell our children that these are the golden qualities necessary for humanity when the person who stands for our country devalues and disrespects them so utterly?  I am ashamed beyond measure; ashamed to be American, ashamed to be white, ashamed to call myself a Christian person when so many who profess that in kind supported this vile man whose every word and deed is utterly antithetical to those of Christ.  As it was in the civil rights battles of the 50’s and 60’s, the white evangelical church finds itself once again not only on the wrong side of history, but the wrong side of scripture as well.  A Christian person never stands on the same side as the Ku Klux Klan.  Never.  I can only pray that in their slavish devotion to the republican party those supporters of our now president-elect who also profess the Christian faith have not damaged the integrity of that faith forever.  Make no mistake, the face of Donald Trump is not the face of God.  God is love, not hate.  God is compassion, not ridicule.  God is mercy, not malevolence. God values wisdom, not ignorance.  Humility, not arrogance.  Kindness, not hostility.

I will be frank with you,  there were moments last week when it seemed to me impossible to continue with my little essays here when we stare into such a chasm as this.  The House of Edward appeared to my eyes almost unbearably trivial.  But then on Friday morning, I was sitting alone in a beautiful room high up in the mountains, awaiting the arrival of a group of fierce, intelligent women who were there for me to teach them Brioche knitting.  I felt depleted and fragile so I reached for my phone to call one of my good friends for a bit of encouragement and support.  This lady is a former client, we first met when I redecorated her house from top to bottom thirteen years ago. We became fast friends and she is a bright light in my life.  A merry, gracious, elderly lady who radiates God’s love and wisdom through every pore of her being, and whose life is spent doing good for other people - joyfully, gleefully, with great humor and mischievous spunk.  I always leave her side bolstered and completely certain of the goodness in the world.  I listened as the phone rang and a strange voice answered.  I asked to speak to my friend and was told she had died on election day.  My knees buckled and I began to weep.

My first inclination was to grab my bags and flee.  I paced the empty room like a caged animal for several long minutes.  Then I saw her face in front of me and I knew I couldn’t run.  She would have been furious if I’d even tried.  The only thing I could do was share my knowledge with these women.  That’s what I was there for - that’s what I’m here for - to give what I can of myself to make someone else’s world a little bit more beautiful.  And I suppose that’s when I decided to continue on with this blog.  It may not seem like much in the face of a world so ugly and mean, but it’s all I have.  And it seems somehow necessary, now more than ever.

Who knows what we will face in the coming four years.  I confess I am daily working to stem the flow of dread and keep my head above water as events continue to unfold.  But now more than ever it seem to me important to hold up our little wild bouquets of Goodness, Beauty and Light.   It remains my hope that this blog, trivial though it may be, will continue to be a soft place to land for the weary, a place to laugh - and occasionally cry - and a place to stand up for the values so essential to the human spirit.  A place where, as the poet says below, we can always talk about trees.

Much love, 

Pamela, and Edward too

***

What Kind of Times Are These

by Adrienne Rich

There's a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill

and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows

near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted

who disappeared into those shadows.

I've walked there picking mushrooms at the edge of dread, but don't be fooled

this isn't a Russian poem, this is not somewhere else but here,

our country moving closer to its own truth and dread,

its own ways of making people disappear.

I won't tell you where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods

meeting the unmarked strip of light—

ghost-ridden crossroads, leafmold paradise:

I know already who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear.

And I won't tell you where it is, so why do I tell you

anything? Because you still listen, because in times like these

to have you listen at all, it's necessary

to talk about trees.