THIS HAPPENED TO ME / NATURE

Lessons In Life Seen From Weeping Willows

How we perceive people and circumstances— even trees — change over a lifetime of lessons and experiences

The tree that I am most fascinated with is the weeping willow.

This fascination was not the delightful kind; weeping willows, though seen from afar, made me feel wary.

It could be due to its name itself, weeping willow. Not exactly a happy label.

Or, I could have been influenced, though unwittingly, by myths and folklore surrounding this tree. That it is a tree of enchantment; that witches’ brooms as per witchery practices are bound with a branch of a weeping willow; that it is connected to dark goddesses of the underground.

The weeping willow is also associated with death, grief and cemetery.

This was most likely in relation to the funerary flints, which resembled willow leaves, found in graves dating from the Old Stone Age.

With the above in mind, imagine how I felt when a weeping willow “spoke” to me.

This happened to me many years ago in New Zealand. It was winter, close to midnight when I stepped out into the side balcony, off the kitchen, of the bungalow (my sister’s).

I wanted a breather from focusing on my dilemma, that of wanting to get a divorce but couldn’t find a way out. So deep in thought I was that I forgot there was a huge weeping willow on the property.

So huge that I could almost touch its branches from where I stood.

Then it whispered to me. Yes, the weeping willow whispered to me. Like a very gentle whiff of wind it was.

I suppose I became wide-eyed with fear. It was dark (I didn’t turn on the lights in the balcony), and the willow’s leafless branches — scary in the dark, I assure you — appeared to me to be reaching out, wanting to hug me. Or strangle me?

I should have run.

But no. I couldn’t move.

I just stared at the drooping branches. They were like thin tentacles threatening to snuff the life out of me.

An icy chill crept along my back. It was like being in a black-and-white horror film.

Then I heard the willow whisper again, whispering goodbye soothingly. Goodbye to what?

I couldn’t remember how I managed to escape the whispering weeping willow.

The experience was so unbelievable that I have not shared it with anyone, until now.

How we perceive life, even if viewed via a tree, changes in time

My perception of and attitude to a weeping willow and what it represents stuck with me for the next 20 years.

But all those have changed.

I now see the wonder and beauty of a weeping willow.

Even during winter when its brown, sorry-looking branches bow to the ground, I realize that like most other greeneries the willow is just hibernating, protecting itself from the freezing cold of winter.

In life, I think that how we view family, friends and colleagues, or places we’ve been and even trees and nature in general, changes over time.

We might have raised an eyebrow at an older relative for a decision we thought was wrong, or we might have harshly criticized a colleague for stepping on our toes to snatch from us a promotion.

We might even have joined political protests for principles we held dear.

But after a lifetime of varied experiences, we tend to alter some of our perceptions.

Through the prism of the lessons we learned, we may see that those whom we previously thought had taken a wrong turn in life didn’t actually deserve a lousy judgement from us.

Maybe we later felt thankful after a colleague robbed us of a promotion because, otherwise, we wouldn’t have been offered a much better opportunity.

Or possibly the principle we advocated and marched for in the streets proved to be not worth it after all.

As for my views on the weeping willow, I no longer regard it warily.

I make close contact with the weeping willows I meet during my frequent nature walks.

I see their beauty, and am aware of birds nesting on them and some insects and animals feeding on their leaves and bark.

A not-very-surprising discovery I’ve made pertains to willows having an important role in preventing flooding, soil erosion and the collapse of river banks.

This is because willows, which like to grow near ponds, lakes and streams, can each absorb from 80 to 100 gallons of water a day.

Fascination of a different kind

My fascination with the willows, however, remains but it is the enchanting kind.

It no longer weeps for me, but I feel its witching effect when I see its branches in a graceful arch, its gentle canopy delicately touching the ground.

When a soft whiff of wind blows and the willow branches shake and sway, they swing with a beat, like a slow-motion waltz. I then usually stop on my tracks, look, and pay attention with my ears.

I wait to hear it whisper. To me.

But it no longer does.

It does not whisper nor weep for me anymore.

It occurred to me, by the way, what the whispered goodbye had meant: adieu to my woes.

The magical willow’s cry, for me, was one of joy.

Author’s note: While I sing praises to the beauty and the role of the willows in flood management, I will think twice about planting it in a residential garden. Weeping willows’ roots are invasive. Imagine its aggressive growth towards sources of water and that includes sewers and septic systems.

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Thank you for reading! 😊

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