::
the forest was, for both of us,
grounds for reverence
and it was this ground that met my knees
when the news of his passing came a year ago
across the continent to where i was attempting
to slow down future wildfire
two weeks away from beginning a season in suppression
i watched twisting light and flame
turn the branches we had piled
into smoke
it was a far cry from the green mountains we’d traversed together with saws in hand
sometimes with prisms held to our eyes
catching light to count the trees
while the oxen stood patiently with their load of logs
as we charted a slow course toward right relationship with the land
i remember in my first days, being incredulous
at how patiently he led his animals, how steady his voice was
and I was in awe to see a partnership between them built on trust and trust alone
how he told me one misstep of fear or anger or frustration
would cost him the entire relationship
how the investment was in how he chose to respond
to every single moment
how presence itself was the money in the bank.
he was a rock for them, always direct with his needs,
always providing them with the safety they required
a safety that only his response to the situation could provide
and he took that responsibility seriously.
i remember, one day in those woods,
discovering a refuge i’d never known
and the ability it gave me
to be present with my full experience
allowing the tears that started running down my face
when i set down my saw
and everything else i was carrying that day
i will never forget the space he made,
setting down his saw, too.
come see my favorite tree, he’d said
and he took me on a walk up the hillside
to a giant pine, at least four feet in diameter
towering above the rest of canopy
and told me how he could cut it down
and make some short term money off it
but then how he wouldn’t be able to enjoy it as it lived
and see what it might become
and his absence now, feels like as giant of a gap
in the canopy as that pine might leave
but, knowing Carl, that pine
would continue its legacy in the soil
and would not leave
but just change form
it is the intentionality of safe spaces
that we so desperately need
not only in our forests,
but in the fabric of our lives and institutions as well.
the tears that fall now
when i allow myself to fully take stock of the fullness of this experience
are tears of gratitude
for making that space, at all.
::
Carl shared one final poem of his with me in the month before his unexpected passing, and I think it speaks to how hard, valuable and necessary this work is. It is too important not to share:
The Butterfly Effect
The wing-beats of a solitary butterfly,
Will one day become a wind-storm,
Facing unstable climate,
And dying ecosystems,
Disappearing species,
Decaying institutions,
And the loss of human integrity.
Making space for regenerative processes
Is extremely difficult,
Emotionally, intellectually, and economically.
For 15 years we’ve set aside small patches of milkweed plants,
Each year waiting for results,
Which come hard,
And few and far between,
But if you can sit with it,
You can feel the wind rising.
Regenerative practices,
Are not results-oriented,
They must be the lack of practice,
And the holding of space,
For the unseen successes,
The smallest whispers of,
The infant blasting gale,
The magic of Mother Earth.
- Carl B. Russell
February 1st, 1960 — June 9th, 2022