A tree lesson on the Murray

I have roots.

Last month, Steve and I purchased a 25-foot trailer-sailer yacht dubbed "The Liberator." I haven't written about it yet, but I will, with photos.

We took the boat out on a three-day weekend on the Murray River from Echuca, and I spent most of the time pondering what I saw and heard: birds with spoonbills, myriad colorful, raucous parrots, large cod-fish splashing with glee because fishermen hadn't caught them yet, fuchsia and lemon-colored sunsets, silver moonlight over narrow, black waterways reflecting the broad white swath of the Milky Way. The wind soughing through narrow, graceful gum tree silouettes in the late evening left me speechless and peaceful and ready for sleep.

In the soft, late-summer March daylight, we put-putted with the outboard motor rather than sails, exploring the riverbank. Australia has suffered from drought for several years. The Murray River is Australia's equivalent to America's Mississippi. Not as long, not nearly as wide, and definitely not as deep. But it is long, and was a primary source of wool and wheat industry making its way from the Snowy Mountains southwest to Adelaide and her coastal area in the 1800s, when Australia was coming into its own identity as a bonifide nation.

As Steve and I traveled, we saw old timber docks and homesteads, decrepit windmills, and flood-cut riverbanks high above where we sat in low, drought-level water. There were several dead tree snags that boats need to be careful of. In fact, there is a Murray River chart book that shows explorers where dangers are. We read its routes diligently.

As a result, we saw a lot of those snags, sneaky rockbanks, and gum trees whose long, tangly roots chased the slope of a riverbank down to water like thirsty cattle's tongues.

The latter reminded me of this: "But blessed is the (person) who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in Him. (He/she) will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes, it's roots are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit." (Jeremiah 17:7-8)

For me, the most poignant sight on this trip was of one young, scraggly tree caught between two, older, robust trees holding it up on each side. The middle tree's exposed roots barely touched the river, but the two stronger, firmly planted trees upheld its middle trunk and roots and called it to live.

I thought, and pondered, that much of the later period of my life has been like that.

In the last 15 years of my existence, I have had older, healthier people around to hold me up when I felt thirsty and dried up, even when they were going through their own trials "reaching for water." They held me stable until the river rose and I was able to gain nourishment on my own. When their own roots struggled to reach past the riverbank, even then they helped me.

I am so grateful.

I hope that I am a healthier tree that someone can lean on for strength until their roots reach water. I am still learning how to gain nourishment on my own and quench my thirst when I sense drought. But I still need healthy trees around me.

I want to give back some of what I was given. Cheri, Lisa, Cindy, Karen, Bill, Katherine, Kelly, Michael H., Sharon, Alice, Marcus, Sue, Sherri, Diane, Anne I and II, Denise, and so many more...you have been oaks to me. In turn, and as a testimony of your own journeys, I want to be a robust sapling that helps others along in the manner of great trees.

I am grateful for the forest around me. My roots are growing.