Relative Something

Even though we walk our woods every day, I still find myself surprised by how the view can change from time to time. We often find ourselves asking whether something catching our attention is new or different from the last time we passed that way.

I suppose that reveals how tenuous our memory for such detail is. That doesn’t bode well for measuring how much our aging mental capacity is fading. Somewhere in my future, I hope there is a way to tell the difference between my current memory lapses and whatever diagnosable level of degradation there is that earns a medical term.

It seems to me that any of our declining capacities that fail to meet a doctor’s minimum level for diagnosis can all be lumped into the general category of simply getting old.

So, the thing that caught my eye yesterday in our woods is that a large number of our tallest trees in a section of mostly ash and poplar are looking rather old. And the ash trees that aren’t old are showing signs of failure from the dreaded emerald ash borer insect.

I fear that the fate that has befallen one particular poplar is likely to happen again to quite a few others in the general vicinity.

At least I haven’t forgotten that this hazardous situation has been looming for almost three years. I don’t always remember the exact location, but knowing it’s out there somewhere, a brief search usually is all it takes to find it.

It’s a heck of a lot easier right now with the tree trunks clearly exposed.

Which is precisely why I noticed how many look as if they are approaching the end of their natural lifespan.

The break in that tree is so high up, and the top so thoroughly tangled in the tree it fell into, that I am not planning to interfere with what nature has in store for it. I’m guessing that the next big wind incident that impacts that portion of our woods will create several more snapped trunks just like that one.

It will be a great day when we find that something has knocked that widow-maker to the ground, especially if it happens when we are nowhere near it.

Until it falls, I will continue to use it as a check on my memory. If I come upon this busted tree trunk and don’t remember having seen it before, it will be time to have that talk with my doc.

Unfortunately, the less obvious situations –or should I say, less unique– like a tree completely down on the ground, tend to confuse either Cyndie or me on a regular basis. I blame it on the changing angle of daylight during our walks. We frequently find ourselves asking one another whether a certain tree down is new or one that’s been there for a while.

One of the blessings of the forest becoming filled with the green growth of summer is that it becomes hard to see what’s going on with the trees that aren’t right on the edges of the trails. Out of sight, out of mind.

It gives us less to worry about in the woods for a few months each year.

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