Deep Roots: Thoughts about the Things the Matter

 

A word from Curt

During July our oldest son Clay and his wife Robin are visiting.

Best of all, they’re bringing their four children.

Our wonderful grandchildren: Maggie, Luke, Jude, and Noah.

We’ve not hugged them since January 2013.

DeDe and I plan to make up for that during their visit.

I plan on being a full-time grandpa while they’re here.

We’ll be posting stories from my favorite Creekbank book,  Deep Roots.

We hope you’ll enjoy these short stories posted on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.

Thank you for the privilege of sharing with you.

Gratefully,

Curt

Learn more about Deep Roots at http://www.creekbank.net/books/deep-roots/

 

Deep Roots

 

Stories about the things that really matter.

 

 

Come to the woods, for here is rest.

-John Muir

 

The things that matter aren’t really things.

It’s because the things that matter in life are often unseen. They cannot be measured or placed in a bank account. Sometimes, they’re even difficult to describe.

Like the deep roots of the tall trees of my beloved Louisiana woods, the things that matter are often deep and unseen. Yet, they give a lasting silent strength.

I recall a long ago trip to one of my favorite trees while hunting with my youngest son Terry. Leaving our deer stand in Crooked Bayou swamp, we made a detour to this special spot.

We arrived at a huge beech tree, surrounded by fallen dead limbs. This old tree was dying, as evidenced by its bare trunk and remaining leafless limbs. This was my first visit this hunting season, and I was shocked at how the tree deteriorated. I wondered if this was the mighty tree’s final year.

I pointed out to Terry what made this beech tree so special. Carved about four feet high was:

F.I.

L.I.

10/9/21

 

“F.I.” was my great-grandfather, Frank Iles, and “L.I.” was my grandfather, Lloyd Iles. On a hunting trip of their own over seventy-six years ago, they had carved their initials on this tree. On that Friday in 1921, my great-grandfather was thirty-six, his son was ten, and the tree was already old. It was the queen of the swamp.

However, soon it will be gone.

On this day, my son and I were close to the respective ages of my beloved ancestors. A sense of deep roots overwhelmed me. It was a special moment with my son as we stood on land that had been in our family since the nineteenth century.

Another emotion also overwhelmed me—the feeling of how quickly life comes and goes. Each time I’ve stood at this tree, I’m reminded of the certainty of life passing right before our eyes.

Yes, time passes by so quickly—and life’s limbs fall to the ground as sure as the cold November wind blows. What precious gifts we have been given—this gift of life, the wonderful gift of family—both past and present, and for me, the gift of an old beech tree deep in Crooked Bayou swamp. A family tree with deep roots.

A reminder of the things that really matter.

So come into the woods with me for these stories.

Stories of family, faith, and friends.

Stories from the woods, as well as stories of the woods.

Stories of the deep-rooted things that really matter.