On Monday and Wednesday evenings I walk Josie around the circumference of the fields and the park while Rowan has soccer practice. This twice-weekly walk is my spring and fall ritual, a welcome break from our normal neighborhood route.
Josie is part beagle, which means she’s sniffy. That girl can snuff out a single Goldfish cracker half buried in the grass from twenty feet away. It used to irritate me that she stopped to smell so much. I considered our walks a chance to burn some calories after sitting at my desk for five or six hours straight. I aimed to break a sweat, or at the very least, elevate my heart rate.
Josie, on the other hand, partakes in our evening constitutional for one reason only: to explore the smorgasbord of smells. Scent is how she sees and experiences the world. It’s her delight. Once I realized smelling was the highlight of Josie’s day, I gave in. I let her nose dictate our path. Now I stop when and where she stops. I walk again when she has had her fill of a particular scent.
Last Thursday, Josie’s nose led us into a grove of Bradford pear trees on the far side of the park, and while she stopped to digest a particularly intriguing scent, I admired the white blossoms above my head. Pear blossoms stink, you should know – to my nose, like an unseemly combination of manure and decaying animal, although others suggest they smell like dead fish. My son Noah guesses that the stink attracts flies, which then buzz off with a generous dollop of pollen on their hairy bodies. It’s the species’ ingenuous though putrid way of ensuring its survival. Though the smell is unpleasant, as long as you don’t breathe through your nose, it doesn’t diminish the beauty of the trees, their lush blossoms so dense that from a distance they look like newly fallen snow clumped on limbs and branches.
As I stood in the cool shade beneath the canopy of blooms, something caught my eye – a tiny, colorful tag twirling and spinning in the breeze. Once I spotted this tag, I immediately began to see others. Dozens of them in primary colors clung to string which draped the pears’ lower boughs like Christmas garland, all the way around the entire circumference of the grove.
I stepped closer, tugging Josie along with me. On each tag, in black Sharpie cursive, were words — Love. Thank You. Life. Love you. And names – Sarah. Jennifer. Ryan. Dave. All around the trees, these simple words of gratitude and celebration, these names of people I didn’t know, clung to the branches, hidden, pirouetting in the dappled sunlight. You would never see them just walking by on the path. You had to step into the dim grove and stop with your face nearly immersed in the petals.
I followed the string like a trail through the grove. It seemed the garland had been there awhile. It broke off here and there, leaving gaps, the end of the string fluttering, then resumed again a few branches later. As I read the tags I wondered about the story. There was a story there for sure, perhaps many stories behind those names and sentiments written in delicate black ink. Hands had written those words, threaded the tags onto the string, strung those words around the lowest boughs of the pear trees. Perhaps the garland had been threaded through blossoms and branches as a celebration, perhaps as a memorial. Perhaps both.
Josie grew bored with my garland marveling, and I finally gave in to her tugging. As we stepped out of the grove and into the bright sunlight, I felt a sense of awe and gratitude wash over me. I had stumbled upon a secret garden, a sacred place, and received a message. I had stood still, recited the names of people I don’t know, and gratefully accepted it all as a mysterious and unexpected gift.
My pets teach me so much about being in the world. Thanks for sharing your gift, Michelle.
And thanks for reading, Kelly – I always appreciate your visits.
Hello Michelle. What an enchanting story to read first thing today. Your photographs are so beautiful and they drew me in to the story. Really makes me want to know who it was that strung the Garland of Gratitude in those low-hanging branches. If I were a ‘betting’ person, I’d say for certain that it was a woman, a wife, a mother, whose heart was full of thanks the day she was there. A woman who knew the value of giving Thanks for all she possessed in life–Family, the most important thing of all on this earth! God bless her, whoever she is!
It would seem that walking Josie has reaped a great blessing for you as well, for this has stirred your heart and made you more aware of the hidden treasures that can be found in such a routine thing as walking the dog! Have a great day, my Friend. Stop to smell those roses. And Carpe Diam!
Such a beautiful mystery – I think that’s part of what makes that Gratitude Garland so special. And yeah, Josie girl is so good for me. I’m not typically a stop-and-smell-the-roses kind of person, but she and her sniffy nose force me to slow down, and it’s good. Thanks for stopping by, Jillie – Carpe Diem and Love to you too!
Michelle, what a lovely story, and *not* what I expected to read! And isn’t that the point . . . that when we slow down and sometimes venture off into places that we wouldn’t choose (that have offputting scents), sweet surprises await us. Ah . . . and a little dog shall lead them . . . or perhaps a little child (I don’t often go where they go or want to, but when I have, I’ve been blessed), or a little old lady . . . or just a little old walk through the pear trees. I’m glad you went where you didn’t want to, and that you received a sweet and secret surprise. I think you’ve unearthed another life metaphor with your steps and your pen.
Love
Lynn
It was such a profoundly moving experience, Lynn – so grateful for my Josie girl, leading me where I wouldn’t ordinarily go. And God…He is so good…so full of mystery and surprises and gifts.
Hi Michelle,
Thank you for these beautiful images and your discovery on your walk with Josie!
We had a beagle once whose name was Blossom:) I SO get the “sniffy” part – usually anyone we encountered while walking her would say – “Now, who’s walking who?”
I haven’t commented for a while, but have been reading and soaking up your wise and wonderful words. The comments from other readers are always a blessing. I think you inspire us all.
Gratefully,
Katie
Blossom! That is the cutest dog name ever. My friend Deidra has a spaniel named Blossom – so sweet. Thansk for your kind words today, friend – I appreciate them – and you — so much!
That’s a suspicially poetic title, Michelle. 🙂
Michelle:
Thanks for sharing your wonderful photos and story. It sounds like an extra special way to retain memories of someone. My nephew who died tragically at age 8 has a tree in his honour at his school and my neice had a tree in front of her apartment building placed in honour of her first baby – a girl – who was the first born to residents of the apartment. While you are comparing the pear blossoms to snow – we just had a much delayed winter weather – with snow this week in Toronto….I know spring will come – but this last few weeks of winter are always hard to take.
Pets and children both take us places we don’t expect to go.
I wrote this poem about trees.
Trees in Need of Love
Words are needed about our trees, capturing their beauty,
constancy, let’s show them our love, value their contributions, their changes and adapting
they add variety of scenery, enhance our well-being, providing shade on a hot day, lowering temperatures in buildings and streets,
a place to climb, a provider of fruit, nuts, flowers and leaves,
wood for furniture, buildings and carvings,
a home for insects, birds and animals, a place for lovers to pose,
a wedding photo shoot scenic provider followed by family pictures,
a way to memorialize a loved one,
give strength to hilly landscapes and ravines,
holding up our soil and roads.
Trees need our love
expressed in real ways,
proper choice
and placement,
a spread of roots
not covered in cement,
faithful watering, and trimming.
The will to do and not just talk,
and join in declaring our love requires
a commitment which no tax break will bring.
Hey Christine! My fellow Canadian!!! I’m from a little dot on the map in the Woodstock area of Ontario. Yeah, this weather of ours is certainly nothing to write home about, is it? It would seem we’re having the Winter we never had. Having to pull out my dress-boots on Monday for a supper date did not thrill my heart in the least!
Ah well, perhaps soon we’ll see the end of it. I really enjoyed your poem! I’ve never thought of trees in quite this way before. Hope you don’t mind if I copy your poem into a journal??? It’s so lovely.
Carpe Diam to you as well! jillie
Jillie:
I don’t mind you copying my poem in a journal – just have the credit of my name beneath. It’s nice to find ever expanding sence of community – on both sides of the border.
Christine:
Not to worry. With any quote or story or poem I enter in my journals, I always include the author’s name. Very occasionally it might even be my own! 🙂
jillie
What a wonderful find. amazing gift to leave for others. at first I wondered who Josie was so glad you clarified. LOL