The Tree Spirit and a Quote About Writing
This Week's Note
We've Cracked the Code
I recently built a bookshelf, well actually I built it twice. The first time was rushed, and it turned out so bad, that even for me—a proud imperfectionist, it didn’t pass spec. So I rebuilt it. This time I dusted off the framing square, measured diagonals at every turn, built necessary and appropriate support shelves, and triumphantly placed it where it needed to go. Though the journey was arduous, the result is stunning, and I’m sure it will last longer than anything I could have bought. But the story I want to tell is far more intriguing than simple value based economic decisions.
I’m not sure what other people think while they build things, but a consistent thought that plagues my mind during the building process is something like “why won’t you just work with me.” Miss-step after miss-step results in a plea for mercy from the materials being crafted. After enough times making the wrong cut, measuring out of square corners, stepping on screws, and forcing things into place, you begin to feel as if you’re fighting the wood as opposed to simply working it.
After realizing the wood was waging a petty war against me, I couldn’t help but take it a bit personally. I love trees. I respect them, I plant them, I try to identify them. I read books about them. I’m, for all intents and purposes, the wrong guy for this wood to pick a fight with.
But why would a tree pick a fight with a person at all. They seem so generous. They spend their whole lives giving. Giving shade, giving fruit, giving protection, giving limbs, and finally giving of themselves for us to build things with. So why pick a fight now?
I think I was facing push-back because the generosity of the tree had finally been spent. I think trees know that we lay claim to the earth and commodify its spoils. I think they know that us humans are poisoning Gaia. But even still, they choose the path of generosity even in their knowing, they choose the route of the generous pacifist and go silently into the good night.
But the afterlife is a rude awakening—and is unfortunately worse than they anticipated. Their generosity has landed them at big box stores—the culmination of human efficiency and corporate greed. They are among the most unappreciated yet necessary commodities and are bought by people so engrossed in The System they cannot even articulate what The System is.
It’s here, in the aisles of the home improvement stores that the resilience of The Tree Spirit breaks. So as revenge, the trees possess the wood lining the aisles and refuse to be shaped any further. In other words the afterlife is so hellish the trees in-turn, decide to make the job of the wood as hell-like as possible. The wood inextricably bends out of shape, mysteriously refuses to hold nails, somehow moves during the gluing process, in essence, the trees fight back in whatever way they can. They lash out against the process of being endlessly consumed. They regret their generosity and replace it with anger. Though the body of the tree is changed, the spirit remains, and it is angry.
Fortunately for us, this is not the end of the road. I think there is a way to quell The Tree Spirit. And it’s readily accessible. All we must do to dissipate the angry spirit of the tree is to simply care. To honor the material that lay before us.
In showing an appropriate measure of respect we take time to make accurate cuts, to frame, to square, to ponder wood as a valuable resource. The Tree Spirit notices that we sacrifice our most valuable resource—our attention, and relents. It allows itself to be put to rest thanks to our care, our willingness to approach it as no human ever has. From here all things seem to fall into place. Our frame becomes square, our screws hold, our glue dries, our piece is somehow finished. This is the job of the woodworker, to respect the tree, to notice its plight, and offer it the attention it deserves.
While there are of course more “logical” ways to explain the many follies of wood-working. I don’t really care for them, they’re boring and uninspired. I’d rather see the material as possessed by an angry spirit in need of a gentle touch than a warped piece of lumber that needs to be hand planed into oblivion.
In our modern day, we think myths outdated, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. They’re still worth making, they’re still worth remembering. They help us connect with our surroundings as opposed to simply observing, measuring, and “optimizing” them. Thanks to this myth, I know I’ll approach my next wood-working project with an appropriate level of admiration. I know I’ll remember the plight and The Spirit of The Tree. And I’ll try to set things right by actually caring about the wood being worked.
If I were a tree, and I saw how careless humans were with the gifts I gave them, I’d be mad too, and I’d give them as much hell as I could. Thankfully, trees are wiser than us, and seem to be generous beings, they want to give, they want to forgive. And a simple extra measure of care is the only thing we need to receive this generosity and forgiveness.
This Week's Resource
An excerpt from William Zinsser from On Writing Well.​
I urge people to write in the first person: to use "I" and "me" and "we" and "us." They put up a fight.
"Who am I to say what I think?" they ask. "Or what I feel?"
"Who are you not to say what you think?" I tell them. "There's only one you. Nobody else thinks or feels in exactly the same way."
"But nobody care about my opinions," they say. "It would make me feel conspicuous."
"They'll care if you tell them something interesting." I say, "and tell them in words that come naturally."
About: The Ground Up Newsletter is sent monthly and includes a Note (something I’ve written) and a Resource (something I’ve found). I occasionally send out other emails but avoid spamming. To respond to this newsletter, just click reply.
Here's a link to view this email in a browser. If you were sent this email and would like to subscribe, click here!​
Sketch more, scroll less.
600 1st Ave, Ste 330 PMB 92768, Seattle, WA 98104-2246
​Unsubscribe · Preferences​
​