Trees know what they need

Margie is tired from her son’s visit. I had a chance to speak with him this morning and learned he was here on business but had little time to spare. He took her out for dinner last night and made breakfast for her this morning, and then he had to leave. He said it's sad that her memory is all gone. I told him her memory for the first ten years of her life is rich, vivid, wonderfully detailed and specific. It hadn't occurred to him to try to draw her out on her early memories. I encouraged him to try it.

I think the excitement of his visit was a bit much for her. Today she had brain fog (“What is my son’s name? was he really here? does he have children?”). Her uncertainty didn’t clear up till we got out among the trees in a nearby park. Trees are always grounding for Margie. She gazed up into the leaves and marveled,

“The trees know what they need, and they know how to get it. Just look at them! How do they do that? I love to be with trees. They’re so free and independent.” Margie sees independence in trees, but that may say more about Margie than about trees. The studies of Suzanne Simard suggest that trees are deeply interconnected with other trees, and that fungi provide some of the connective tissue.

Back at her place, I noticed a new painting. Margie's elder son is a talented watercolorist, and he brought Margie one of his gorgeous paintings: one of sunset on the Pacific. I admired it, and she said, as she does so often, “I love the water. I think I was born to be in water.”

I asked her where she learned to swim, and she smiled with pleasure as she began to talk about Camp Mikan. She was well and truly back in her element.