Trees in Oregon
There was a grin on my face like white on rice as I weaved through the mountains of Southern Oregon. Leading up to the trip I knew nothing about the Rogue Valley, just the names of strangers I had to meet and convince to work with my company. A task I wouldn’t usually agree to, but given my recent circumstances being out of my comfort zone felt like the perfect place to be. The sudden lure of embarking into the unknown after making a major life decision has got to be the 8th world wonder. I knew of Portland and Northern Oregon, but the south never crossed my mind. Nevertheless, I willingly obliged. I felt in the most literal of ways that I had nothing to lose.
The temperate forest that greeted me felt like a warm cup of coffee on cool hands. Akin to a natural antidepressant. Words cannot grasp all it was to me. The transition from cool to warm tones on the leaves had my jaw well aquatinted with the floor. Just as the sun rises and sets, the leaves also follow a schedule. They do as their told by the routines sent in motion by the creator of the universe and I for one have never seen God more at work than on this trip.
Have you ever felt overstimulated in a place meant to bring comfort? For me it’s during worship at church or walking into a book store. Southern Oregon came close. I don’t know what that feeling is but I thinks where hope, assurance, novelty, and anticipation intersect. It doesn’t quite make sense and I know it’s not supposed to.
They say when you travel you gain perspective, this is true. On this trip I gained more. I now understand the saying don’t miss the forest for the trees. A single spruce tree is magic, but a mountain of perfectly lined spruce trees is spiritual. A thicket of maple trees changing into their fall wardrobe is cause for pause, even if it means stopping on the side of a trafficked highway to take it in.
You would think I’d be itching to move to Oregon. I’m not. For as much as I love it, and I really do, I don’t know that it’s effect on me would be the same if saturated in it. It’s like drinking coffee everyday, do you even notice it’s benefit or do you only notice that you need it when you don’t have it? I want to feel mesmerized, not feel the void. The jarring contrast of the Florida flat swampland to an Autumnal oasis alters my brain chemistry. I can’t imagine a scenario where I would take the trees for granted, and albeit a small risk, it’s not a risk I’m willing to take. The trees are not in a hurry and they have no plans other than to be revered. They will wait for me.
Seven days in Oregon was just enough to move me and thankfully, far too brief to become immune. As soon as I arrived, I began to miss it. And as soon as I left, I looked forward to my return. The imprints of this trip left subtle indents on my heart through flashbacks - I relive moments of awe daily as I finally acknowledge the trees around me everywhere I go.
