The Hollowness of the Season

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The way the trees empty themselves of leaves,
let drop their ponderous fruit,
the way the turtle abandons the sun-warmed log,
the way even the late-blooming aster
succumbs to the power of frost—

this is not a new story.
Still, on this morning, the hollowness
of the season startles, filling
the rooms of your house, filling the world
with impossible light, improbable hope.

And so, what else can you do
but let yourself be broken
and emptied? What else is there
but waiting in the autumn sun?
~Carolyn Locke from The Place We Become

 

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November is the month of windstorms: a few years ago one took down a ninety plus year old orchard tree on our farm.

The old Spitzenberg tree, the favorite variety of Thomas Jefferson, had been failing over the previous ten years. It was rotting centrally with holes that housed squirrels and their treasure trove of filbert nuts, and bearing fruit that was startling red and sweet but diminishingly small and scabbed, dropping to the ground beneath like so many drops of blood. Blue jays loved the branches and quarreled relentlessly with the squirrels over prime real estate and mountain view property in the crown of the tree.

No more. As it was eased on to its side in the night storm, swept up in the torrent of air and rain, it went quite peacefully, gracefully with nary a broken branch as they reached out to touch the ground, almost gratefully, breaking neatly at the base of its trunk, not even disturbing the sod. The roots remain covered underground, still clinging to rocky soil, with no where to pump to any longer. The old tree had simply bled out.

Somehow we needed to dispose of the remains. As my husband made several chain saw cuts through the trunk to make pieces easily movable, the extent of the astonishing hole in this old tree became visible. It was suffering from an extreme equivalent of human osteoporosis with a brittle skeleton that somehow had lasted through innumerable windstorms until this week, even while still bearing apples, still trying its best to be fruitful.

When it fell, the trunk oriented itself so it provided a view right through to the barnyard down the hill, telescoping what the tree had surveyed for so many years of its life. Clearly this had been a holey trunk for some years; within the cavity at the base were piles of different size rocks stashed there by the Lawrence children two generations ago and more recently our Gibson children. There was also a large tarnished spoon, lost decades ago into the dark center of the apple tree and now retrieved at its death. At some point in the last quarter century, a Gibson child playing a farm version of frisbee golf must have flung a bucket lid at the hole in the tree, and it disappeared into the gap and settled at the bottom.

All this, like a treasure trove of history, was just waiting for the time when the tree would give up its secrets at its death. There were no gold or silver coins, no notes to the future like a glass bottle put out to sea. This well hidden time capsule held simply rocks and spoon and lid.

I realized as I stared into the gulf of that empty trunk that I’m hollow too, more hollow than I care to admit. Like so many of us, stuff is hidden deep inside that we’d just as soon not have discovered. Our outside scaffolding braces against the buffeting by the winds and storms of life, as we cling to this mortal soil. It is clear we’d be much stronger if we were wholly solid throughout, filled with something stronger even than our outsides.

But we tend to get filled up with a lot of nothing, or even worse than nothing, a lot of garbage. This is stuff that weakens us, furthers the rot, shortens our fruitful life, doing nothing to make us more whole and holy.

I’m looking more critically now at what fills my empty spots since staring down the barrel of that old apple tree trunk. May the hollow be hallowed.

 

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One thought on “The Hollowness of the Season

  1. This is riveting, Emily. Any examination, admission, or deep look into our minds and souls — where everything that we truly are or have ever been as a human being, child of our Creator- God, can be fraught with deep concern, perhaps even guilt and fear. (What we cannot see or feel, we do not have to face, to deal with?) We can find ‘treasures’ and unused graces that we never realized we had that have never lost their value, still waiting to be used as God intended when He freely gave them to us.. Or — we may find other things that have held us back from what God meant for us to be — perhaps by our actions or attitudes that have scandalized or discouraged others from seeking God’s presence and His intercession on their journey; unwarranted critical, deeply wounding judgments against others; failures to take the time to see – to REALLY see and to feel the discouragement of our brothers and sisters weighed down by the pain and suffering not of their making but caused by our indifference, excessive materialism, lack of compassion, and unwillingness to help in whatever way that we are empowered to do. When we get the courage (and grace) to look within and see what should not be there we desperately need to call upon Him — our omniscient, compassionate God, the Healer, the only one who can help us to clean, remove, any and all impediments that keep us from spiritual wholeness and restore us to what we were when we first began our journey….
    (In today’s age of computer technology and other electronic marvels, we might say that God is the loving, blessed ‘techie’ who cleans and re-formats our hard drive!)

    Thank you, dear Emily. You always seem to know, to perceive, just what we need to ponder amid the cacophony of useless distractions that assault our minds and our souls each day.

    Like

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