I Owe My Life to the Forest

I got lost somewhere between dropping out of high school and living on the streets of Vancouver. I mean I was lost in life: a compass with no directions. I was addicted to the soft stuff (cigarettes and weed). The real problem, though, was my aimlessness. I was letting go of all my power, and why was I this way? There is no one answer except that, for whatever the reasons, I didn’t believe I was worthy of a prosperous life, a stable life, a life of abundance. I was creative and talented, but without a purpose—what good are those?

Let’s cut through the bullshit and just say I remained like that for a few years: vulnerable and ashamed to be vulnerable. So, finally broken down by a long series of toxic and codependent relationships, I landed back at my parents' house depressed and as lost as I could possibly be. My confidence was hammered down so much that I literally lost my voice most of the time. I hid from people.

My parents lived in the countryside in rural Nova Scotia on Canada’s east coast. Looking back, I realize how lucky I was to have such an auspicious place to work through the bullshit that had clogged up my life. There are great beaches, clean lakes, and lots and lots of forests. The seasons give the place its real magic and power cloaking the land in one astonishing miracle after another. From winters' deep quiet to springs' riot of colour and growth to summers' peaceful green land blue sky white clouds and yellow sun to autumns' great symphony of majesty and winters' requiem come again.

I started to walk a lot in those days. I would leave my parents’ house and follow any animal trail through the woods, and I would walk for hours trying to get lost, daring to get lost. I would follow the vaguest path to see where it might take me; hopefully away from that feeling of unworthiness.

I loved the trees: their aroma, their quiet strength, their silent determination to live as best as they could, their generosity. I climbed them, I named them, I ate from them, I made fires with their dead branches, I drew them, I collected their seeds and cultivated them, I harvested them, and I salvaged their dead bodies from forestry sites. They were always giving me something. In fact, they still are.

For a while, I couldn’t talk to people, but I could say everything to the trees. I would walk for hours no matter the weather with only spruce gum and wild apples to sustain me. I learned who they are. White spruce, red spruce, balsam fir, black spruce, white pine, sugar maple, white birch, yellow birch, eastern hemlock, tamarack, white ash, red oak, beech, elm, poplar, mountain ash, apple, pear, black cherry, pin cherry—I found myself through them.

I have been a drummer since about age 11. I love sound, rhythm, melody, and harmony. Even at my most lost, I played an African drum. I always think that the drums kept me from wanting harder drugs. With the drums, I could play for hours to the point of some really transcendental experiences. My longest play was for 36 hours on the streets of Vancouver. It was something great that came out of my wandering. I used to drum until I urinated blood. It was my defence against the demonic forces trying to pull me to the underworld. I didn’t know it then, but drumming was teaching me meditation, discipline, mathematics, and the arc of the creative process. Drumming was my warriors’ art that kept me from falling into madness. I didn’t need heroin because I could drum for 12 hours. During that time I dreamed of making, a drum but I didn’t know how.

Fast forward to being back at my parents' wandering the woods: I had dragged a few hollow logs home from my wanderings, and I proceeded to carve them at first with a hatchet then later I invested my meager cash savings in a machete. I worked those logs into crude drum shapes. And thanks to my uncle who is a hunter, he gave me the deer hide from his kill.

I had arrived at a new rite of passage. I faced death in a quiet yet vigorous way while wrestling with that animal hide. To anyone who has not cleaned an animal hide, it is a task that taxes strength and ingenuity and patience—not to mention the smell of rotten flesh. But I was ready to love it. I thanked the animal for its generosity as well as the tree. I realized that, symbolically, I was facilitating a new life for both and, through music, giving a voice to both animal and tree. I managed to create a functional drum with a certain amount of aesthetic qualities. I carved the drum shell but left the shape of the tree rather than cutting it round. I felt I owed it to the trees that they be noticed.

So after I had completed my first drum (actually I made three at once), my body and mind were starting to really transform. Through the process, I started to try different things like quit smoking cigarettes, and I had a lot of success, but it would take a couple more years to completely conquer that demon. I was more exercised than I had been in my life, and I was learning all about working wood. Shit was starting to happen for me. I was feeling real love for life and, even though the real battles lay ahead, I was becoming prepared to fight them. Body and mind as one whole.

I took a job as a tree planter. It was a brutal, gruelling labour. The biting insects, the blazing sun, or even the cold rain all day, whatever the weather, we planted. I had won my first battle against my own limits. I grew stronger yet again and learned more. The clear-cut sites where we replanted were full of good drum logs to be salvaged. And so I did. I learned to carry 100-pound logs on my shoulders while walking across a kilometre of extremely rough terrain. The trees made me grow. I rescued the dead and gave them a purpose in our human life. They taught me to care all the time. They always gave me chances to learn who was I and what I loved.

It takes a long time to grow. I realize as I write this 25 years later, I am just like the trees. All growth, be it human or arboreal, is incremental. Sure we have better seasons that others, but it is gradual micro increases with each passing year, that slowly add up to big change. Since I struggled to make my first drum with the wrong tools, I have built entire houses, renovated and remodelled others. I have built about 35 more drums, elaborate and sonorous. I make furniture and art from beautiful wood. I carve, I construct, I build, I fix, I create. I am a master in the wood shop. I teach and spread my love and respect for the trees. The trees have given me gift after gift and they keep on giving.

Go the the forest. Walk slowly for on hour. Breathe the aromatic air deep into your lungs. Walk off the beaten path. Remember your way by taking notice of individual trees. Find your way back. Do this several times a week. The forest will strengthen your body, deepen your patience, clarify your thoughts and calm your anxious heart. The forest will open you to a higher version of your self. Ask all your deepest most worrisome questions and you shall be answered. The trees guard over this silent sphere. The forest will embrace you because it generously embraces all without prejudice.

Peace.