A building block for my relationship with the land.
(Image description: A photo of green oak leaves with sunlight filtering through them.) Credit: Photo by Ira Mint on Unsplash
Hearthcraft is a keystone of my monastic path, and the domestic aspects of that path are absolutely important. However, a home doesn’t exist in a void, and being familiar with the plants that surround it are equally important.
The oak tree in the front yard was probably planted by the previous land owners in the 1990s, specifically to provide shade from the glaring sun that hits the windows in the afternoon. As far as I can tell, it’s a white oak (Quercus alba) and native to the region.
Oak trees have a connection to ogam through the letter dair, d. Ogam is frequently referred to as The Tree Alphabet. That’s one way to connect with the writing system, but it shouldn’t be the only way of understanding the letters; however, that topic won’t be the focus of this post.
Since oaks are sacred to Brighid, that’s an added layer of wanting to know this tree on a more individual basis. It’s genetically similar to other white oaks, but like a fingerprint, it’s not identical. There’s also not any other oaks within a considerable distance. Its neighbors are some assorted plants, an ash tree (another neighbor to get to know in the future), and a plethora of pine trees.
To get to know it, I centered myself and sat quietly with one of the oak’s fallen leaves. I let myself absorb any impressions I picked up from it. In return for its input, I gave the tree a small amount of water.
I noted its textures, outline, and shape. It wasn’t symmetrical and had been grazed on, leaving it with sharp edges. The leaf reminded me of a tiny boat with a curved hull. The image of sunlight reaching its veins gave me the image of golden blood flowing through it as it did its job to carry nutrients into the rest of the tree. Like the veins going throughout the leaf, the feeling of connection was apparent. A single part was like a mirror of the tree itself. There was beauty and strength in this link between the shed leaf and its parent tree.
The meditation didn’t last too long, but it was enough to give me some insight into this arboreal neighbor. I feel like it was a good start, and it’s a practice I want to do throughout the different seasons of the year.
Since childhood, I’ve tended to see the Divine as integrated within nature. Even as my religious beliefs have shifted, this viewpoint didn’t change, and I can feel Brighid’s presence in the sun-dappled branches of an oak tree as much as I can in reading Her stories, praying, and other devotional acts.
By learning more about the environment I live in, I feel like I learn a little more about Brighid. Understanding what the plants and other natural aspects are like helps me to relate to the world I’m intrinsically connected to, just as all life is. That connection adds needed depth to my monastic path, and the life around me influences the well-being of my hermitage, as it isn’t an island unto itself.
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