Of Pando and Pandemic

Pando Aspen Colony in Fishlake, UT. Photo: USDA Intermountain Forest Service

One of the largest organisms in the world is Pando, a 107-acre colony of Aspen, made of up over 47,000 genetically identical trees. It’s 80,000 years old, and is known as the Trembling Giant. In Latin, pando means "I spread.”

Quaking Aspen have the widest natural range of any tree in North America, and they make up 20% of Colorado’s forests, my home state. Every year, we spend time in the Aspen forests with intention and delight. Oh! The full sensory experience of shimmering leaves, flat stems fluttering, the spill and scent of scattered riches on the ground, musty yellow squish beneath my footfalls.

And though “color trips” are an annual experience dating back to my youngest years, I continually have to remind myself: how does this work? Why are some leaves yellow, others orange, rare ones red? The answer is both simple and deep. Simple: as the days grow shorter, there is less photosynthetic activity, so chlorophyll production drops and the green fades. Deep: The other gorgeous colors are always there, hidden beneath the green. Bonus: The vibrancy of the colors varies based on conditions: moisture, weather, and the overall health of the stand.

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This year, as I was gawking yet again, a metaphor struck me. What is always underneath for us, like those golds, ambers, and fiery reds? I just knew - it’s love. When we strip away the details, distractions, defenses, differences of opinion, deep disagreements…always, love is underneath.

Sometimes it’s easy to see this; other times it feels very buried. Yet when we face abysses of all variety—from despair to death—eventually all else drains away, and what’s left at the essence is love.

The light is waning here now. Let us drop our green sheath too, and reveal our multi-colored hearts to one another. Let us act as a giant living organism, remembering our united root system. Let us spread love.

Forecast

Nobody keeps any of what he has, and life is only a borrowing of bones.
—Pablo Neruda, “October Fullness,” trans. Alistair Reid

And if we can keep nothing of what we have
then let us love more right now. Naked as sunlight
and unapologetic as ripe apples. Let’s invent
new compassions and conjure new kindnesses
out of what seems to be dust.
And if life is only a borrowing of bones,
then let us use them well while we may.
Just today I ran through the corn maze
and marveled at the joy of being lost.
Bless these borrowed femurs and spines.
Bless these borrowed skulls.
And let us love more right now.
Though the forecast is for loss.

— Colorado Poet Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer (who inspirationally pens a poem a day)

Invitation

Bring to mind a relationship where some kind of barrier has been built. Pull your perspective up to canopy level, and see time and connection through a bigger lens. Lay your hand on your heart. Even if it’s deeply buried, can you sense the love beneath the barrier? What is the color of your love? Stay with it, and it will let you know what’s next. Perhaps forgiveness for yourself. Perhaps forgiveness for another. Perhaps outreach. Perhaps allowance of loss.