Between Two Pines

"Between every two pines is a doorway to a new world." ---John Muir

There are many pine trees on my property, but two pines that are standing close together. These two pines are on the south side of my property, near the entrance, just past the first hill. They were among the first trees I worked with when I began to remove invasive vines. Thick, ropy invasive vines had climbed into my trees and were in the process of strangling them. I had to do something to save the trees.

Luckily, around that time, I met a friend who just happened to love protecting trees. She introduced me to the mini-chainsaw. I had never heard of such a thing. A mini-chainsaw is lighter than a regular chainsaw, and a lot less dangerous too. Using these mini-chainsaws, my friend and I cut the invasive vines out of the trees. We cut the vines all the way down to the dirt and removed them from neighboring trees.

Now the pines stand tall. They are completely free. You can’t even tell where the invasive vines used to be.

Pine trees symbolize immortality and eternal life, because they stay green all year long. In Japan, the term “matsu”, which means pine, loosely translates as “waiting for the soul of a god to descend from heaven.” It was the Shinto belief that pine trees were ladders used by gods to climb down from heaven. All I can say is—pine trees are magic.

I imagine myself now sitting between these two pine trees. The pines drape down over me, protecting me. I remember how long it took me to free the pines from their enemies. I wonder if the pines can help me now to do the same.

Suddenly, I find myself sitting on the floor of my mother’s kitchen. My mother stands at the kitchen sink. I feel small, small. I want to sink into the linoleum. In fact, I have mastered a way to do this.

The linoleum is black with little sparkles and I’ve decided the floor is really a tar pit with bits of dinosaur bones. I am a famous explorer who has found dinosaur bones and I’m going to take them to a museum and people will clap when I walk in because they’re so excited I found the dinosaurs. I will bow and say thank you. I will be an important person.

OR this black linoleum is actually the universe and these sparkles are stars floating in space. I am an astronaut in my spacesuit. I am not in a kitchen with my mother. I have traveled many light years from another galaxy and now I’ve come to save the world.

Suddenly I’m back with the pines. The pines chuckle softly. I feel them smile. They like my imagination.

“Thank you,” I say, “for that adventure.”

“PRO-tect yourself,” the pines say.

“I’m trying,” I say, “I’m not quite sure how, to be honest.”

I place my hand in the dirt and suddenly I’m on the kitchen floor again. My mother steps back from a steamy sink. I’m convinced she will tumble into outer space and die, so I move to stop her. She turns and glares.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks.

I freeze. I have no answer. How do I explain that I’m actually a spacewoman trying to keep her from exploding. Her blood would boil, then her body would freeze. But she won’t believe me, so I sit back down and look at the floor.

Now, I’m on an archaeological expedition. I’m dressed in khaki pants and shirt. I walk among huge dinosaur bones sticking out from the tar. My mother takes a step back and I move to stop her. She is THAT close to tumbling into a large hole.

“What is the matter with you?” she asks.

She won’t believe me if I tell her, so I look down at the dinosaur bones, then touch the floor.

Suddenly I’m under the pines again. Swaths of green brush my skin. I am safe. I am home. I will be all right.

“PRO-tect yourself,” the pines say again.

“You mean how a mother would?” I ask.

“Yes, yes…” the pines say.

Then I’m in the kitchen again. I have my back turned to my mother this time. I am playing with pots and pans. I have the strongest urge to bang the pots on the floor, but then I remember the floor is the universe—or the floor is a tarpit—and I don’t want to harm either one.

My mother sighs and I cringe. I become an architect who builds with shapes. I design a special spaceship that can travel through the universe. The ship is always safe, never has to worry about actually walking across the floor when my mother is there. The ship flies as fast as can be, as far as it wants, and then back again. I sigh. I only wish I could do the same.

“PRO-tect yourself,” the pines say again. Now I’m getting irritated.

“If I knew how to do that, I wouldn’t be here with you.” I say.

The pines sigh. Maybe they’re trying to teach me something.

“NEVER let anyone affect you that much. Your life is your own.”

“Easy for you to say,” I counter, “You’re out here twenty-four hours a day, no one around to bother you, no memories of a screwed-up childhood.”

“We have MILLIONS of years of memories, child, each year more difficult than the last, but each year more glorious too. We can easily teach you if you’ll let us. You have to stop fighting.”

I lean my head against the pine and close my eyes. I dream I’m in the kitchen, and suddenly a pine tree bursts out of the linoleum right in front of me. My mother jumps. But this time I don’t feel the need to save her. The pine reaches its boughs to my mother and gently lifts her into the air, then carries her out the window.

I laugh and the pine laughs too. I stand up and walk across the kitchen floor without anyone making fun of me. I laugh again, then walk back to the other side of the kitchen. I sit down at the table, play with the saltshaker, scrape my chair on the floor. I am free.