The Land Full of Stories Conference was off to a great start for me last week as I stood at the base of a limestone trail in Wild Basin Wilderness Park with my field session co-host Anne Beckner and seven women interested in experiencing and writing about the 227-acre preserve in the heart of Austin, Texas. I was struck by the irony of the event. Sponsored by Story Circle Network (an organization of women encouraging women to share and preserve their own histories and philosophies), our group was exploring a place protected for posterity through the determined efforts of seven other women three decades earlier.
I had read about the park program called Wild Afternoons—educational tours for scouts or other children’s groups concentrating on subjects like birding, forestry, insects and Indian lore. Though we no longer were eligible for merit badges or class fieldtrips, there we were… A few wild women who had spent much of their daily lives, like Wild Basin, surrounded by the chaos of a city and the spiritual or ecological pollution that accompanies it. Seeking solace, escape or adventure in this wild place on this steamy, wild afternoon.
The temperature soared to 98 degrees as we hiked the trails, swallowing and sweating the humidity, inhaling the scent of juniper. With the help of a sun-bronzed guide, we learned about the survival instincts of cypress, live oak and other indigenous trees as well as their foes. The cynapid wasp, for instance, is particularly fond of oaks. A pregnant female will land on a branch and sting it once, boring a hole in which to lay her egg once the sap begins to rise. As the branch continues to leak sap, a gall develops in response to the infection. The hard shell of the gall protects the egg from harm and preserves the sap for the larva to feed upon from the time it hatches a week later until it matures and bores its way out as a newborn wasp. Gotta love that good old ecological balance!
As the trail begins to climb and my knees and energy wobble, I recognize the heart-shaped leaves of an old friend, a redbud. I am refreshed by memories of cooler days. One of Texas’ most pleasant surprises in late winter is the sight of the first blooms of a redbud tree. Delicate but daring, the bare branches of this fairly small tree will begin unrolling their rosy, ruffled sleeves as early as January in some areas. The clustering blooms in various shades of pink or even purple will become the first flowers of the year. Dogwoods, daffodils and plum blossoms won’t be far behind, but they must wait their turn.
Like a woman, a redbud tree must do more than simply look pretty. Native Americans realized the benefits of the redbud early on. They boiled its inner bark and roots for a tea used to treat fevers, vomiting and whooping cough. During winters, the plants were used for firewood. In the spring, the blooming branches were brought inside a home to drive winter away. Indian children were said to be fond of eating the blossoms.
The redbud is sometimes called the Judas Tree because of the ancient lore that Judas hung himself from such a tree. But that’s another story.
Our leather-skinned guide notices that I’ve stopped walking. Following my gaze, he lifts a small limb of the redbud and asks our group, “Do you have any idea where the redbud finds the energy and strength in winter to produce blooms while other trees are still sleeping?”
“The sap!” I pipe up.
“No, not exactly.” Smiling at my surprise, he explains that the redbud’s massive root system beneath the earth is strong enough to supply and transport this important energy to the branches, jump-starting the blooming process even before one leaf is formed.
His words start me thinking. Across Central and East Texas over the years, I probably have spotted hundreds of redbud trees growing wild at woods’ edges and in shady meadows with no one to cultivate them. I am reminded of a quote by Helen Keller: “Many people know so little about what is beyond their short range of experience. They look within themselves and find nothing. Therefore, they conclude that there is nothing outside themselves either.” What if we looked inside ourselves, I wonder, and found a redbud-like root system? The inner power that transmits strength, beauty and life itself from the tips of the tree’s roots to the highest of its branches. Finding this strength within itself, the redbud is free to bloom and grow and give of itself to the outside world.
I’ve watched at times as women found that inner strength and beauty, discovering the freedom to revel in their own blossoming, gaining and sharing newfound wisdom. I look around me at the women gathered at this spot on this trail in this moment and am happy in the knowledge that they share my insight, each in her own distinctive way.
What wonderful companionship I’ve enjoyed and lessons I’ve learned here in this wild place on this wild afternoon.
As one of the women fortunate enough to have participated that day, in that wild place, I thank you for taking me back for a replay. I found my afternoon at Wild Basin, accompanied by these wild women you speak of, an exceptional way to prepare for the conference. It's time to expand on what I started that day.
Posted by: Debi Bowers | June 18, 2007 at 11:44 AM
Hey, wild woman! What a joy and delight it's been to work with you on this book and this conference. Neither would have been so rich and full and (dare I say?) correctly spelled and punctuated without you, oh Greatest of Editors!--Susan
Posted by: Susan Albert | June 20, 2007 at 03:04 PM