It’s been a hard season

It has been a hard season. In ways we can measure and dimensions unmeasurable. Snow arrived early, putting everything to bed. Nature’s sigh. Imagine each crystal, each flake a geometric art form. Unique irregulars hooking themselves together, a monkey chain clinging precariously from branch to branch. Resisting wind and solar heat, only melting together in an increasingly stubborn mass.

Like we have done against the forces of authoritarian pressure, greed and cruelty that could have broken us, we instead insisted that we meld together. A mass of neighboring. Stronger together. Not all of us, but enough to hook ourselves together like the snowflakes.

In the woods, about half way up my walk to the road, a tall pine tree, slowly bent its slender 15-foot height all the way over until its long green slender spikes of hair were covered with the ever-entangling pile of crystals that mounded up on either side of the road.

It has been a hard season. Back bending. My own spine has been forced to extend and bend so low, that I wondered, in prayer mode, if I might break.

The pine could not right herself by herself. Despite her height and beauty and absolute vigor in the forest, the frozen particles descending from the skies, kept coming, mounting up, faster and faster. She didn’t have time to catch her breath. There were too many of them. She began to bend. They got ahead of her, slowly, nobody noticing, except, except maybe her family in the woods. The neighborly pines, Tamarac, Spruce. The ancient mighty birch, peeling and losing limbs. Tears, I’m sure, were shed. An elegant curve to her slender spine, she lay arms and limbs awkwardly spread on the piles of accumulated snow sculptures, until her deep green needles, one by one, were buried. A dancer splayed out; her youthful style challenged beyond her stamina. It has been a hard season.

The trees have saved me. Over and over. Their kindness natural. Our give and take relationship a symbol of possibilities. My home holds their essence. Red Spruce wall, the slab of white pine mantle, the white pine stair treads, hickory cabinets and clear pine doors. A sacred dwelling.

So, we cut a young poplar tree, its branches providing a crotch to support our exhausted red pine who used to dance with her spine erect reaching for the magic from the sky. Slowly we freed her snow bound feathery branches, reminding her of her beauty, purpose and strength. We propped her up with the gentle poplar, only a few inches at a time. She needed to recover slowly. The next day a little higher. Then the next day a little more. A little higher each day.

It’s only March. The difficult season is not done. More snow laid heavy on her branches again this morning but her support stayed put. She stayed, trusting. We rarely, actually never, do this life alone. Like our neighboring against power and control. Like life, causing us to bend.

It’s been a hard season. I have needed support, but slowly by back is straightening and I am shaking off anything that holds me back, holds me down. Spring will come. This universe is in ever evolving growth and renewal. We are co-creators of what is next. Loving, neighboring, and holding each other up will influence our future. Love, kindness, and supporting one another. It all matters. And it shows.

Janet Elizabeth Hartwick Sterk

March 17, 2026