Daily Journal #119 - Pecan Trees in Texas

The first dog we called family was Ruff, a Lassie look-a-like who was an inch too short for shows.  His dog breeder, a friend of my father's, gifted him to us instead of sending him to the pound.  He was a sweet dog and I remember him fondly.  

He was in the backyard the night I realized I was going to die.  

Despite being just five years old, I had chores and one of them was feeding Ruff.  So that evening, I went outside to the backyard and dutifully delivered the bowl of food like I was supposed to.  Before heading back inside, however, I made the choice to sit on the back steps.  I don't know what compelled me to stop and sit - maybe a God wink or maybe just being a little kid?  But the stillness beckoned me.  The concrete felt smooth on the backs of my legs as I enjoyed the crickets chirping and the wind whistling.  The blazing Texas heat was finally gone and it actually felt good to be outside.  And even though I wasn't doing anything wrong, it somehow felt scandalous to be in the dark all alone.  It excited me.  

My gaze travelled to Mr. and Mrs. Martin's backyard.  (It backed up to ours.)  The common chain link fence had our small yard on one side and their more expansive one on the other.  And in between the length of the common fence sat a beautiful pecan tree. 

The night was so quiet that when a pecan fell to the ground, I heard it.  Its landing caught my attention and as I stared at the tree, it struck me that the tree itself was living.  It was alive.  It had energy.  It bore something.  It was like me in this suddenly obvious way.  

I was only in kindergarten but I knew about tree rings and my mind flitted to how many this old tree must have.  I realized it was way more than five.  

I realized it was older than me.  

Then, like a light getting switched on in a dark room, I understood that this pecan tree would outlive me.  It had existed before me, and it would exist long after me too.

The epiphany startled me enough that I stopped breathing for a second.  But instead of feeling scared, I felt relief.

Oh I thought I'm going to die.  

And my peculiar acceptance of that fact is what freaked me out.

Oh I thought  I shouldn't be thinking like this.  This is weird, right?

Upon reflection, it was weird.  But that's who I was and am.  This trippy observer who notices the little things and sometimes gets overwhelmed by all the things she sees.  I don't think there's anything wrong with that, though.  I mean, not compared to the mindless observer who sees nothing.  I'm almost grateful that I see things the way I do because even though it weighs me down sometimes, it also fills up my whole life.