I'm gonna be a tree!

Well, part of me will be part of a tree

Summer Solstice 2024

I sit at my final resting place and take some deep breaths.

1, 2, 3, in. 1, 2, 3, hold. 1, 2, 3, out. Repeat.

It’s quiet. I look up the trail one way, down the trail the other way, then at the bits of sun filtering through the quietly moving leaves of the trees that protect the way. This is where I would become part of a tree.

A man is walking down the trail, coming from further into the forest. He looks loaded down, folding chair strapped to his back and multiple plastic bags in either hand. I say something in greeting, and he stops to chat.

His name is Lenny

He comes to the forest every equinox and solstice to visit the tree he and his wife picked out. She's there now, or at least part of her is. Some of her ashes went to New Orleans, where she was born and raised. Some of her ashes have been held back to be mixed with his when it's his time to join her at the tree. The rest of her ashes are there now, climbing toward the canopy of the redwood they chose together.

Sometimes, like today, he makes the hour-plus drive from Santa Rosa alone. Sometimes, family members—children and grandchildren—join him. They picnic at the tree and, sitting in the center of the folding table holding the food, there is always a picture of her.

He says, “People ask me what I remember most about her.”

Looking back up the trail from where he has come, he adds, “Her gaze. I remember her gaze when we'd kiss each other hello, and especially when we'd say goodbye. Such a beautiful, clear gaze.”

We are silent for a moment, then return to the present. Yes, he's walked many of the trails around the forest. Oh, the staff are wonderful and so helpful, and they care about this place so much. Then we both know when it’s time to wind things up. We wish each other well, hope we'll see each other again some solstice or equinox. Then he continues on, folding chair on his back and a collection of bags gripped in his hands.

Lenny reminded me that people can be so nice and that there really is love of long-standing in the world. I choked up thinking about this nice man's pilgrimage north four times a year to visit a special tree where he would one day make his own way to the canopy to join his wife. I'll be in good company here, I thought, as I pulled out my phone and entered “visit tree” into my calendar on each equinox and solstice.

Someday, I’ll be part of this tree

In a forest dominated by coastal redwoods near Point Arena, California, I chose a Pacific myrtle tree—the iconoclast I continue to be. It is a boon for pollinators and a food source for birds come fall. It's thin and has an interesting bend to it. Facing the tree is a redwood stump with a little backrest-like thing. I can sit there when I visit and face my tree, thinking deep and shallow thoughts. I’m sure that when we all visit our trees, we will look up and think about the days when our ashy nutrients feed the leaves that face the sun. What a satisfying prospect for the last of me on Earth.

NOTE: Better Place Forests, located in places across the US, are full of trees people have chosen for their final rest. Family members can have the same tree, and even pets can be included. Their ashes will be laid at the base to be absorbed over time, 18 months to reach the canopy.