A Tree in the Road

 

February 08, 2020

 

Our reversal in velocity as we approached the Chain Bridge was sudden and had been a long time coming.  I’d driven past this particular tree almost daily for more than twenty years, vine covered and gnarled like so many witnesses to season upon season of human history, fraught with its unsettling progress.  On this bright and blustery February day that familiar old face came down after all those years, just five car lengths ahead.

Such times yield momentary confusion; we’re all used to fallen trees, but also to warning lights and detours and hardhats erasing the damage done.  And yet yesterday there were none.  We were in it, facing at that moment an immediacy of choices almost always made for us.  A few turned back.  A few simply sat, frozen in place.  A few beats, a few U-turns, and then from my wife came the hale words, “we should help.”  She quickly grabbed the wheel, taking charge of our daughter and piloting our car as I headed down the hill toward that old familiar face by the lane.

I was not the first.  A few were in the road, trudging steadily back and forth, branches in hand.  Much of the smaller debris of my old friend was already removed by the time I arrived, evidenced solely by bits of bark in the wake of the winter wind.  And there he sat now alone, leafless vines hovering just above his trunk, waiting to be returned to his resting place beneath the canopy.  More appeared, but none spoke a word.  We pulled together with almost a hush, and the trunk began to move.  Bespoke silk suits of K Street and walking shoes from Maine found shared need and common purpose, shoulder to shoulder, clearing the way for ourselves and those to follow.  

We are at such a national moment.  

That which lies in our path took many years to fall, and while it is natural to want to turn back, and easy to simply stop, to sit, and to wait for others to come along and clear the road before us, this is not the path of Americans.  Our intrinsically self-reliant yet somehow collaborative spirit compels us to face our challengers together, side by side, understanding we do it not only for ourselves, but for our children and our neighbors and our shared beliefs.

It will be difficult to forget this particular afternoon in the Potomac River gorge; not for its fleeting spectacle, but for its wordless efficacy.  For its unifying purposefulness.  For its reminder that despite prevailing ill winds of malevolent grievance, like those that toppled our tired old gnarled totem, we can still put our arms around the tree, and we are still capable of putting our arms around one another and working together in pursuit of what lies beyond the lane.

No one said anything as we turned to go, but it somehow didn’t seem right.  The words, “thanks everyone” emerged a bit awkwardly from my lips as I brushed off and started back up the hill.  All turned and smiled, to man and woman, and a few cheerful words came back as we headed to our cars.  My family and I don’t know any of those people.  But I am grateful to them, grateful for them, and grateful for you, my friends and fellow countrymen. 

May a tree fall in your path today.