The Traveler

I’ve been out of town, so no new updates on the garden. Instead I thought I’d share this piece of fancy with you. It’s a little long, but I hope you enjoy it.

I had walked to the edge of the field and sat down; just looking at the trees and the abundant undergrowth, trying to catch a few minutes of quiet. Under the mature trees, hundreds of dark green leafy plants covered the ground. They looked so healthy; there were so many, all the same, as far back into the woods as I could see. In my yard, I would consider them weeds and mow them down, but here they had created a community.

Some were taller or shorter, but all seemed to thrive. Are they families with in-laws and grandchildren? Are they neighbors helping each other grow? I felt comfort in this community.

And then I spotted them, the three strangers. At the edge of the woods, at the edge of this community, aliens, immigrants. Their spindly bright green leaves contrasted with the broad dark green growth of their neighbors. Why were there here, I thought, on the edge of the community? Were they not welcomed in? Were they tolerated only here, on the outskirts?

“I’m sorry.” I told them, on behalf of all communities everywhere.

“We are travelers,” the matriarch told me. “We have come from far away and found water and good soil. Here on the edge, away from the established trees, we see the sun throughout the day.”

“Are you lonely?” I asked.

“I have my siblings with me. We have found a place to put down our roots and alter the landscape a little.”

It was then that I noticed all the nibbled-off ends. Some critter had bitten off the flowers, the tops of every stalk that reached for the sun. 

“Oh! Your children! How tragic, to have lost them all!”

“I have not lost them,” the wise woman replied. “I have sent them off to travel. Here at the edge of the woods, I call to those with legs, and they respond. They help my children travel to unknown places, find their own good soil and ample water, put down their own roots. We are travelers, and someday, we will have seen the world and lived everywhere.”

I sat quietly beside these adventurous plants. The breeze lifted my hair and cooled my neck. The smell of the mown grass behind me overwhelmed me. Had we inadvertently mowed some of her sister plants? Had we done it on purpose?

“There is often loss, sweet child.” I heard her say. “Traveling can be dangerous. But I could not imagine my life trapped here like my neighbors, living in the shade under the trees, unable to explore new cultures. I bring the tales of all my traveling ancestors to this place, add my story, and send my children off to add their own.”

I sat and felt the grass under my hands and the sun on my face. What a wise woman this plant was. Could I learn from her?

She has traveled from her home to an unknown world and put down roots. She has sent her children joyfully out into the world to learn from it and teach it, to establish their own roots. I am a native species. Generations ago, my ancestors traveled here, but now we have established ourselves in this spot. I want my children close.

“I have never traveled anywhere,” I admit to her. “I have lived my whole life here, with no desire to live anywhere else. I have surrounded myself with others very similar to myself. I am like the plants under the trees.”

The breeze sways the plants and pushes my hair across my face. A mockingbird is singing other’s songs, joyfully intermixing them as he wishes. In the distance, I can hear shouts of joy from the ballpark. Taking a deep breath, time slows.

“You have traveled here today to speak to me, my child,” my new friend comforts me. “Your parents never even saw me, but your children will hear this story and add their own.”

“Not all travel is physical,” this wise matriarch adds. “Perhaps the hardest travel, the most dangerous travel, is mental, spiritual, and emotional. You have started that journey today.”

I hear my family calling me back and slowly push myself off the ground. Somehow, I am not the same person I was when I sat down. Could I hold on to this expanded world? Could I see the trees and plants, weeds and grasses, as fellow citizens of God’s earth? Could I learn from them? I certainly did today.

Tomorrow, I will go out again. Perhaps I will meet someone new. Maybe I will talk with someone in the community under the trees; maybe not. They may not welcome travelers into their midst or talk with strangers. I understand. Yesterday, I was just like them, but I am learning.