When trees show you your roots

This past weekend we were staying in a camp ground in Northern Michigan. Near Traverse City, to be more precise. As I was sitting at the picnic table I looked up at the evergreens growing  there.  At  first thinking nothing much about that fact that they grow in rows.  Then the memories,  and stories of where I come from began to come flooding back.

When  I was little and traveled up north, I believed that pine trees  grew in rows.  I remember driving down the road looking down the rows of trees for miles. It only made sense right? How else would they get there?

As it turns out my family had a hand in that. You see my family on my Mother’s side was originally from Alcona County, Michigan.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alcona_County,_Michigan  I’m not totally sure that they ever were loggers, but I’m kinda guessing they were. For a very long time logging was a means of survival during thin years.  I do know that my mother once told me that when the government offered land and money to replant.  I had family that jumped at it. She told me that my grandmother helped to fill in the dirt around the trees as a child. Rows and rows of them. My grandmother is gone now.  She died while I was pregnant with my daughter. Those trees that so many people toiled to plant to save Michigan from our soil washing away in the horrible and destructive way that only humans can cause are still here though. They are tall. So tall in fact that they block out ground cover, and leave no habitat for the animal below them.  

My mother went to DNR planning meeting a couple of years ago where they discussed this issue. We are much smarter in the way we harvest trees now. Some areas will have to be cut or thinned in order for new growth. That is the cycle of the forest after all. Fire can no longer be allowed to run free and take life as it once did.  It will be sad for some of us though when those planted rows of trees are gone. They are as dear to us as a family homestead. In fact many of us have roots that run here in Michigan that are just as deep as tree roots.  My grandfather wears a pair of moccasins like he was born to wear them.  We all have an uncanny ability to wander in the woods, and never be lost.  My family replanted Michigan. We harvested when society would have us starve, and we breathe in when those rows of trees breathe out.

Even in times when the humans of this state feel like it is a lost cause do to jobs. There is a heart that beats here. It will continue as long as those with old roots care for it. They will always walk our woods. Paddle our streams. Harvest our animals and fish our mighty lakes. Michigan is a gift given to those that are tough enough give back.

Isn’t it interesting how a simple memory brought on by trees can remind us of who we come from? I may no longer live in Northern Michigan, but I still feel like I’m home every time I go there.