Spongey forest earth gave gently under my feet as Sam walked beside me through the tall grasses, hedge parsley, and greenbrier. This was the second time that week that I had attempted to locate a large oak tree that I found last winter while walking in the Texas Hill Country woods surrounding the lake on which we were camped. My app, at that time, told me it was a post oak, Quercus stellata. Tall, straight, with many lacy branches, I was still uncertain; I had only the description and nearby leaf litter to go by. My impression of post oaks has always been to see them as “smaller” oaks. This tree’s size was impressive. I suppose relative to some other white oaks, this was in line with the species description — especially given the lacy, “diffuse” branching.
In the chaos of spring leafing and flowering, however, relocating this tree proved a challenge. The trail I took in winter had since overgrown and the trees with their thick canopies had become much harder to separate visually for this half-baked plant afficionado. My time in the park drew to an end, and I had to abandon my search.
My Friends, The Trees
I have written of trees several times, here, here, and here. I believe most people see trees as inanimate objects; tools or property we exploit. We make paper, build homes, and wipe our bums with the skin and bones of trees. I am no exception to this; I love a smooth page on which to pen rambling thoughts to a friend. I no longer write rough drafts on them, though it is not out of some loyalty to these “creatures” I adore. I am no more protective of trees than I am of the protein-providing animals I allow to grace my plate on a regular basis. I am, in short, a hypocrite. If I could, I would own a small plot of land and raise my own meals (animal and vegetable) and actually feel some peace with that. I know I would not slaughter haphazardly and would do my best to work with my “property” to survive instead of being, well, piggish.
All that said, I can’t fight the sense that trees are in some way “animate.” Science has shown not only how they respond to light, chemicals, and stress, but how they communicate with their surrounding brethren as a community. (This last is not lost on me considering the topic at hand: being alone.)
So, when I come across a particularly beautiful specimen, I find myself thinking of it as a “he” or “she” or “they” and speaking to it accordingly. Such was the case with that large post oak in the late winter of 2023. Such was the case this Spring of 2024 when I strolled under striking, tall cottonwoods at the same general location as their broad, spade-shaped leaves caught the breeze; cottonwoods are loud talkers, their leaves papery and rough. Such has been the case since my childhood, when I wandered loblolly pine woods of East Texas and listened to their hissing and whispering in a wind that warned of a spring storm.
I wanted very much to reconnect, if you will, to that oak while he was in full spring regalia, despite the misery the North Texas oaks were causing me in general. (Gotta love those allergies!)
Losing Trees
I have, on order, another twelve days at my lake before I move on from this part of the country for a while (barring some other major change), and I will attempt again to locate that oak then. I have made an overlay of the known location of the path I followed recently vs. the location of the tree according to my phone. I had GPS turned off when the original photo was taken and that hindered my progress as much as the weeds did so. That next visit is some weeks off. The grass could well be even taller and more challenging, but I will have boots!
I wondered why this mattered to me at all until, in a conversation with a friend, I made a mild observation about emotional and relationship needs and how such needs have changed for me since my divorce.
Bring Needed vs Being Wanted
The tree doesn’t need me. I don’t need it, but I enjoy the moments in its company. The tree doesn’t need me to find it. I don’t need to find it, but I want to. There is just no need here.
Recognizing this lack of need made me question why I want to. I want to because I feel connected to trees as much as I do to animate objects. I want to because the beauty of trees inspires me and brings me joy. I want to because there is peace standing under spreading branches and listening to the voices of trees. When I figured that out, my mind leapt to a parallel scenario.
Some time ago, I had a terse exchange with an online friend. I posited that I do not need a man in my life and I do not want to be needed. He, stirred by his own experiences, countered his desire to need and be needed as this was a significant part of his definition of partnership. I’m paraphrasing and it’s possible he would argue I’ve misstated his position somewhat. Such is the nature of electronic communications. Ultimately though, I believe we were talking about two different things.
He specifically stated at the time that he was “not ashamed of needing” someone. I take no issue with his feelings, they simply are not mine. I do feel such shame — shame in needing anyone, much less a partner — and that is a burden of my upbringing and second marriage that can’t be expressed in these few paragraphs. For certain, I see partnership as meeting each other’s needs* and I believe he would take no issue with that, though I would have to further engage with him to verify that. We don’t really speak much so…
What I don’t see as valuable in partnership is needing someone such that without them, survival (emotional or physical) isn’t conceivable. I believe we should be able to stand alone if necessary. If one partner passes or moves on, the other must be able to continue life. Creating a relationship in which one is completely dependent on each other, is a potential death sentence. Creating a relationship in which one partner enforces such need, is a death sentence to the love. Doing so deliberately, by limiting funds, isolating, creating emotional instability, etc., puts a partner at the mercy of the person who provides. This was the tenor of my 30-year relationship with my former spouse: You need me, therefore I can do as I wish to you emotionally, spiritually, and socially and you will not abandon me.
What my former spouse should have recognized, what I am sure my online acquaintance does recognize but simply has never expressed to me, was that more important than need is the beauty, inspiration, and joy of presence.
Presence
A year after my divorce, I fell in love with someone who, upon simply hearing his voice made my day better. I didn’t need him. Instead, in his absence, I went about my life, doing my little job, even seeing other men. He was only a mist of a presence in my life, but when he was there, he was everything. The beauty and joy of the presence of him was all that I “needed” and that I took as I could get it and no more. I demanded nothing of him; not even that presence. I suspect, at times, he would have preferred I had, so as to prove my attachment, but I fear that kind of attachment will never be something I can give anyone again. I may someday give another love all the devotion I had stored up for him, but I will require nothing from that love beyond love.
I don’t need to find that tree. I would like to.
I don’t need to find a partner. I would like to.
I will be fine, not heartbroken, if I don’t find the tree.
I will be fine, not heartbroken, if I don’t find a partner.
The tree won’t be lost without me if I fail to find it and bow down to it. A man won’t be lost without me if I fail to “find” him and bow down to him.
Were that tree on my property, I would tend to it, give it care and love, but I would not end my life at its base to feed it. If I had a relationship, I would tend to it, give it care and love, but I would not end my life, physically or emotionally, (as I almost did in both senses during my marriage) to feed it.
I believe this is what I was trying to communicate to my online acquaintance; we should most certainly want to love and care for our partner and meet our partner’s needs. However, if our partner’s needs take our identity from us such that we are bowing to them to the exclusion of our own needs, then we are no longer their partners, we are the food they consume to survive.
Keeping the Self
I hope I find that oak in June. If I do not, I’ll be fine. I’ll probably be back in winter, find it again, turn on my GPS, and look again next spring. Likewise, maybe there will be a spring season for me with regard to relationships someday.
Maybe not.
I’m not willing to lose myself again. Losing trees is one thing; losing myself is another.
*Perhaps some clarity is required in this phrase “meeting each other’s needs”: If, in the course of a loving relationship, one of us becomes ill or develops emotional needs that require support from our partner then, by all means, the partner should meet those needs. Fidelity, safety, honesty, trust, respect, etc., are all needs I believe that, once agreed upon as central to a partnership, should be needs met by both partners. Fealty at the expense of autonomy, isolation for the sake of someone’s ego, accepting bruises or verbal cruelty to keep the peace—these are not us meeting our partner’s needs but feeding them the skin and bones of us at our own expense.
Last Updated on June 10, 2024 by Lee Ellis
