Xylem and Phloem

Monday, 6/12/2017

Grandfather Fir

I walk through the meadow at Massie Gap and proceed up the Rhododendron Trail. I stop about a quarter-mile up at Granfather Fir who lives right at the edge of the trail on the east side. I gently pat him with my hands and run my palms across his bark. I greet him with spoken words, "Hey Grandfather. I've come to see you about my xylem and phloem."

I take a seat on his big, above-ground roots which are elevated the perfect height for me to plop and have my feet supported comfortably by the ground. I lay down my trekking poles and take off my light weight day pack.

Sitting quietly, I think about the communication network within the soil beneath my feet. I've read that trees communicate with each other through their roots, providing the trees around them with support and sustenance, especially when the other trees have been traumatized. There's life in these roots. 

I notice the small, young adult firs a few feet away on the other side of the trail. An image comes to mind of the underground root system connecting these trees beneath the trail. I wonder how much assistance Grandfather has given to those young firs? I wonder if they will grow into full adults?

I breathe deeply and close my eyes. I sit in the quiet. There are some insects flying, but I barely notice their wings and chatter.

I envision my body-electric being energized by Grandfather's roots. The gentle life-force flows up my spine and into my torso and arms and legs and hands and feet and neck and head.  I envision my spine and nerve roots being nourished reducing any inflammation. I envision my adrenal glands becoming normalized. I breathe deeply. I sit, fully allowing the imagery to take its course, feeling the life-force flow through me.

Probably four minutes move by. I open my eyes. I sit quietly hoping my image becomes reality. Even if it's not "real," in the sense of measurable, scientific fact, it's real to me. My reality. 

Grandfather Fir roots

I stand and take a couple steps toward Grandfather Fir. I turn and lean my back against his sturdy trunk. I straighten my spine so that, as much as can be, it is in contact with Grandfather's strong torso. I close my eyes and envision Grandfather's xylem and phloem moving nutrients up and down his body distributing nourishment and allowing his body to work like its designed to work - giving life, cleaning the air, providing oxygen. As I envision his physiology touching my own physiology, I whisper, "Heal my xylem and phloem."

Probably two minutes move by. I open my eyes and breathe deeply. I retrace my couple steps and again sit down on Grandfather's root-perch.

Probably one minute moves by. I hear human chatter coming down the trail. A moment later, two young men and two young women in their early twenties come around the bend. They have traveled to Grayson from Georgia and Florida, making some other Blue Ridge mountain stops along their way. It's their first visit to these Highlands. They have caught the Grayson magic.

They had hiked to Mt. Rogers, the highest point in Virginia, and were on their way back down to their vehicles. It's about a nine-mile round trip which includes rugged terrain and boulders. I've hiked to Mt. Rogers once. There are lots of above-ground roots along the last half-mile of the journey. I've hiked the eight-mile route within a mile of Mt. Rogers multiple times.

The five of us hiker-chat for five to ten minutes. It's energizing. This is my clan, among these souls that love this land and know that no words suffice to describe its enchantment. We say our good-byes and good lucks.

I smile, breathe deeply, stand upright, don my light weight day pack, and pick up my trekking poles. I continue up the trail. My goal? Another three-fourths-of-a-mile to the bench that borders Jefferson National Forest.