Golden Gate Park Eucalyptus Forest

When I rode my bike across the campus of the University of California at Santa Barbara forty-five years ago I was always careful to miss the hard ripened fruits of the eucalyptus trees covering the bike paths. A front tire hitting one of those things at the wrong angle was dangerous. But, I loved the smell of the trees and the colors of the peeling bark. The smell has always reminded me of my home state, California. This past June, on a walk through Golden Gate Park in San Francisco, we happened upon a forest of these fragrant and graceful trees. I was transported back into my youth where my spry body navigated my bike to avoid all disasters.

Walking through this forest on this day, though, I was struck by all the trees leaning to the East. The winds of the Pacific had worked on them for a very long time. Like elegant ballerinas they held their poses in unison all bending the same direction. Even though the park was very full of people, the eucalyptus forest was quiet. It was lovely, but as with all things lovely there was another side. Nothing grows beneath these trees because their oils destroy the ground’s fertility. When fires rage in California, these trees explode spewing fire and oil into the wind to ignite other areas. These lovely trees of my youth are actually invasive species from Australia and are no longer legal to plant. The beautiful forest that sheltered us in June, as well as the trees that graced the UCSB campus in 1975, have a shadow side.

Truthfully, there are different aspects to every forest. And, the metaphorical forest we’re all dwelling in right now is like this, too. It’s beautiful, it’s elegant, it bends with the wind, it smells fantastic, old growth is peeling off to reveal beautiful new skin and, at the same time, it can prohibit other growth, it can explode, and its fire can rage uncontrollably. It is wise to befriend all aspects of this forest. It is good to trust the journey to unfold as it should because God has also created this part of the forest, even with its invasive nature and its penchant for spreading fire.  Elegantly peeling away all that needs to go and knowing that, at any moment, a flame might erupt bringing new avenues for purifying this journey, for clearing the forest floor, and for making changes my 18-year-old self could never have imagined.

Walking betwixt and between the elegant forest in June, my older body again feasted on the smells and the colorful, peeling bark. As I drank it all in, my older soul sought stability from these tall companions while murmurs of change, actually promises of change, wafted through the branches continuing the cycle of hard, ripened fruit falling to the ground. No paths or bikes amongst these trees. Only older people wandering about peering, listening, looking, touching, remembering, wondering, and hoping for kindness in the changes to come, but also knowing a little fire might be needed to unleash all the gifts this forest has to offer. Amen.