When the Old Woman of the Woods Calls
The morning dawned only slightly humid and a bit cool for Northwest Georgia in August, perfect for a walk in the woods. My paths usually run through cedars and smaller trees on my property. On this particular morning it was clear: The Old Woman of the Woods called out to me.
Her spirit, her strength, demanded more than just a mere visit to this large white oak tree on the southern border of our seven acres. It was as if she commanded me: “Cut a path from the crownbeard and grass meadow, through the privet, locust and walnut trees, thorny vines and brambles, past the muscadine vines, to where I stand. Create space beneath me.”
“Come. Speak. Feel. Listen. Heal.”
The Mighty Oak’s History
She was 20 years old when the Battle of Chickamauga raged in the woods and fields across the West Chickamauga Creek from our property. In the time from the mid-1800’s the oak’s ever growing and spreading crown has seen Cherokee, soldiers from North and South, horsemen, farmers, hunters, children, lovers and dreamers pass under her long, reaching branches. What had they told her? What had they learned from this Old Woman of the Woods during their own walk in the woods? I don’t yet know.
Clearing a Walk-in-the-Woods Path to the Old Oak’s Base
I’m certain I will, eventually, hear tales and learn wisdom from those generations long past. But on this day, she didn’t tell me. She wasn’t being secretive. She was being quiet, because I had a task to do.
The path is narrow, but wide enough for one person to pass freely. It runs southwest and ends up near The Old Woman of the Woods’ northeast side, where I’ve tried — unsuccessfully — to grow blue oyster mushrooms. As I approached her and tried to pull old cut vin
es from her trunk, she told me to leave them. Now that they no longer could harm her, she was glad for their company.
Circumnavigating her large trunk was almost a walk in the woods by itself. On her south side, an old lightning strike or other scar has split her open, but collects moisture for her roots after a rain. It was here I sat, putting my rump near the stump of a slightly-exposed root, leaning my back against her ravined bark, tilting my head up to gaze through her branches and leaves, and feeling her.
Speak, Old Woman of the Woods
What did she say, this old soul, at the end of my walk in the woods? Surprisingly, not a lot. It is clear no house or swing or stand should ever be built in her branches, no nail or shot should ever pierce her thick bark. Having seen and heard and smelled and felt the ravages and carnage of war, the firing of musket and rifle and cannon and pistol, the clanking of knife blade and sword, this Old Woman of the Woods demands to be a place of refuge and peace. I heard her wise, gentle yet stern warning, and will heed it.
But what of the blades which cut through the invasive privets and cut down the vines and the brush? She was glad I’d cut the path to her space, inviting others in to share what I only recently discovered. She was glad I’d heard her call, and turned my walk in the woods into a joyful service project not only for her, but for others who will seek refuge and find solice beneath her mighty limbs.
Others need healing: The Old Woman of the Woods stands, arms outstreach, waiting for them. The path is there, open, for their walk in the woods.
She bids them: “Come.”
Walk in the Woods Haiku
I leaned back against/
her trunk, Old Soul of the Woods,/
listened, heard, wept Joy.
Saturday, August 3, 11:21 a.m.
What Do You Want, Old Woman of the Woods? Haiku
“What do you want to/
tell me, tree?” I asked. “Come here/
oft, feel, listen, heal.”
Clearing A Walk in the Woods Path to the Old Oak Haiku
I cleared a path to/
the old Oak, not knowing why./
I do now. She waits.
