The Pine

Standing tall and narrow for its size, almost a third of this tree was well above the surrounding black poplars, white poplars, sometimes better known as aspen, and the few birches interspersed.

It stretched from its lowest hanging boughs that touched the earth straight upwards into the more often than not clear blue prairie sky. The boughs above the deciduous tree line could not be more perfect, as only nature would make, ending in the most elegant tip. It was visible from the top of the hill to the south, where the line of saskatoon berry trees contended with the winds and bore the fruit that we were always sent to pick every summer. It was easily noticed from the hill to the north, where the church with its five metal domes proudly stood. It was seen from the wheat fields and farms near the river to the west. And it was seen from the east where cows pastured and more grain fields were sown.

Every day, we could see this tree topping all others in the not-to-far distance, over the garden, the pig yard, and the creek, all in between. As we gazed through our kitchen window to check on the weather, to search for our parents or a sib out in the yard, or to spy the school bus through a clearing up the road so that we could all scurry out in time to meet it, this tree was a constant. It seemed to offer a calming presence.

It grew on our land, the land of my parents really, the land that they chose to purchase in the 40s to create a home, a life for themselves and the family they had started. But this tree had deeper roots.

This tree was our Baba’s compass. As a young woman, our Baba gained the skills of midwifery and helped many a woman with pregnancies and birthing of many a child. Often exhausted, full of concern for her own children who she had had to sometimes leave alone, she set her sights on seeking out this tree to focus her mind, to ease her worries and to guide her safely to her home.

It had the tenacity to rise above for so long, the will to survive the elements, and the beauty to inspire.

Its physical stature has been diminished over the years at the hand of nature, first by a bolt of lightning that downed its elegant tip and then by the passing of years, its trunk wearily bent.

As in the way of boreal forests, other pine trees have sprouted, maybe from its seeds, and have risen up and above, now displacing the poplars and birches. They have redrawn the tree line and this prairie landscape, and they offer a different kind of calm.

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