Ask any number of trees that reside deep within old-growth forests, along the capes of the coast, or anywhere, for that matter and they’ll tell you. Sometimes you grow the way you have to grow. Ideally, that would be straight up. With strong, deep roots, ample nourishment, water, sunshine, and the stability and protection afforded by those around you.
But occasionally impediments, trauma, or complete breaks cause trunks to bifurcate or limbs to divert, split, and hopefully repair to some degree before reaching toward the sun once more. At the same time, some seedlings happen to take root in an environment not conducive to long-term survival at all. Their progress repeatedly hampered or stunted. Roots and limbs regularly forced to contort or travel great distances in an attempt to access the resources needed to continue any semblance of growth.
While downed nurse logs provide “ecological facilitation” for future flora and fauna, they eventually decay and erode. You typically hope for a sturdy base, but sometimes the very things that allowed you to initially flourish fade away. Leaving you with roots that may not be traditionally ideal, but have become agile and strong. Adaptable and capable of providing continued growth, and perhaps someday a crown in the sun.
After all of this time spent in the wilderness, and all this time walking in the woods, if there’s one thing that I can tell you - if there’s one thing that I know. It’s that circumstances and hurdles be damned. Come hell or high water, you grow the way you have to grow.
Adam, this is such a beautiful sentiment—and a helpful reminder. Really, really loved this piece!
Can't help but feel there's a metaphor here.