Ruthless heat in the forest

As fall starts, I feel like the cold air is like someone’s hand on my shoulder, telling me it will be okay. 

Like many people, I have a summer birthday and felt kinship with that special time of year where blue skies banish the clouds.  But the summer no longer delights me. 

In grad school I made a mental health gamble, though I didn't know it. I didn't know that to observe Oregon's weather and mounting heat would be a problem I would not get away from. At first it was novel. It’s beautiful to see a Portland rainstorm in zeros and ones scrolling across the screen. Like that scene in the matrix where Neo learns to tap into his power to see behind the digital world. Out of all the weather information I studied, one signal sounded clearly and consistently.  Heat. Increasing heat.

Over time, I’ve learned that I love trees. So this fall I delight that the punishing heat is over for them. My friend is the 100 foot Douglas fir outside my patio. I want it to thrive, because I rely on its beauty.  It elegantly wears emerald green draperies accessorized with strands of beads. Fir cones that are red and brown. I admire its commitment to building community. A place for the grey squirrel that lounges. A place for the Stellar Jay that prunes its navy coat.

In summer, as temperatures climbed, I watched with fear the tree would die. The long green feather boas hung dryly. Some turned a vibrant orange. But now as summer ends, I know the tree outside my patio will survive. We lick our wounds. 

My less intimate friend outside the bedroom is not so lucky. Seemingly Overnight, the crown of the tree turned a uniform fire red. Like the gasp of an orgasm, a red blush signals the tree is finished.

Now When I wake up I ask myself, if I can continue to live beneath this dead tree? This symbol of climate change greeting me with the dawn. 

The Douglas fir is my favorite Oregon tree. But this tree is moving away. I worked on a forest thinning project in the Applegate valley of Southern Oregon. In this narrow valley, the biologists have declared the Douglas Fir species is no longer viable . It is experiencing massive die off. The location is just too hot and dry. 

Will this tree die off come to Eugene? Everytime I see a dying fir, I descend into this rumination. Questions pound into my mind like the incessant heat. 

I contemplate how to apply the mental health technique of thought replacement to my rumination. What can I think of instead of climate change? All the housing we can build with this dead wood? Perhaps think about rocks?.. About everything just decaying into rocks?

A more calloused vision would serve me well. A more leather version of my heart would walk through life with more ease. 

One way to get distance from sadness is to celebrate the season of fall. Fall. The beautiful slowing of the inevitable heat.  the chill of the air. the cool nights. The delightful bounty of apples and pears. A reminder that something greater than us is out there, and taking care of at least some of our needs.  In the magic of cool air, I welcome fall and exhale.