Before heading home from our trip to Minocqua last Sunday, there was one last thing we had to see…I had to see. There is this little spot on the Bearskin State Trail where we stop every year. It's not obviously spectacular, but it dazzles me. The spot is hidden almost exactly in the middle of the 18-mile trail.



The nine miles there were a blur. Fresh legs, declines, and excitement make time pass in a blink. The wind whooshed in my ears and kissed my cheeks…then we were there. Quiet. Peaceful. Still. We heard the distant echo of a bubbling water, the gentle rustle of leaves, and our own thoughts. I sought out my tree.

I don't know when it became my tree, but it fascinates me. I seem to spend a lot of time staring at it, touching it, photographing it…every year.

The tree died a long time ago.

I was having a lot of profound thoughts that morning. Looking at the cascade of crimson across the ground a bit earlier, I wondered at the beauty of fallen leaves. Is it that life is just more beautiful…more precious…at the end, or that our perspective is finally where it should be? I turned my attention back to my tree.

I crouched near the long-dead stump and mused.



It never changes. I thought it was somehow stately the first time I saw it, and it remains so regardless of the time or conditions. The tree endures.

I just finished reading a book about a haunted house. (I don't typically go for ghost stories, but I did not know what the book was about until I was very involved with the plot.) Most of the characters in the book felt the presence of the ghosts. One scientist did not. The scientist desperately wanted to feel and hear what the others felt and heard, but she experienced nothing out of the ordinary. She was so invested in fact and proof that she could not open herself up to experiencing something she could not explain.

I think my days of proof-driven thought died with Mom. I don't ask many questions—I think that "why?" should be removed from our repertoire: a useless question with a dissatisfying answer. I don't know what it is about that elegant, twisted tree. I don't know why I'm drawn to it so, or why I need to swallow to keep from crying as I approach. But there in the calm clearing in the woods where the water kisses the shore, I feel an overwhelming sense of comfort…and it feels like a warm embrace.

It feels like home.