Joe (and Holly) enjoying a summer evening in our backyard. Photo: Emily Cook
By Emily Cook
Thanksgiving is a complicated holiday in American history. At its core, however, is the titular message of “giving thanks,” a tradition one must appropriately credit to the Indigenous cultures throughout North America. The process of expressing gratitude has been a daily practice for many tribes for thousands of years, extending far beyond a single day of celebration.
Gratitude can be a tricky thing to hold on to during times of uncertainty. Understandably, finding reasons to be thankful is often difficult when the stress of life seems to encompass nearly all available brain space. I am very much guilty of burying my own gratitude and replacing it with whatever complication has arisen on a particular day.
That said, something switched several weeks ago. My husband Joe and I were eating dinner on our patio on an unseasonably warm evening. (Note: It is mid-October as I write this.) We were talking about something relevant to “the times,” new health insurance premiums, possibly, or perhaps an impending car repair. One of us paused and happened to take in the fact our entire backyard was shady. It was comfortable and cool, while other areas in the sun were more than 80 degrees.
“I am so grateful to whoever planted all these trees 50 years ago,” Joe said.
We have always appreciated the trees around our home, but for some reason taking an intentional moment to consider just how impactful they are changed the entire perspective on our day. In fact, we stopped discussing whatever stressful topic we had been focused on and decided to count all the trees on our three-lot property … 84.
Eighty-four trees, ranging from small redbud and serviceberry saplings we have planted in recent years to towering sugar maples and white pines. Perhaps the most appreciated are the more than 60 cedar trees boarding two entire lot lines, giving the illusion of private forest living within a neighborhood setting. Those are the aforementioned 50-year-old trees which guided our mindsets into more healthy territory.
From there, the gratitude snowballed. Giving thanks for the trees reminded us of all the things they provide beyond shade and privacy. The wildlife we have spotted in our little Arcadia nook are special. Raccoons, bats, an Eastern whip-poor-will, butterflies and moths, toads and frogs (despite our distance from water), screech and barred owls, deer (of course), a family of rabbits (much to the distress of our dogs), and a plethora of insects hidden to us most of the time. The trees share their leaves for compost and sap for maple syrup. They provide a buffer from the worst of winter’s winds.
This is why I cannot remember what Joe and I were discussing over dinner that evening. The momentary expression of gratitude managed to serve as a reminder that among all the difficulties that come with being a human existing in today’s world, good things can still exist too. It may just be something as small as appreciating why you are staying cool on a hot autumn day.
As we approach the season of gathering and thanks, I am choosing to lean into the practices of the Indigenous people who celebrated this mindset years before the American version took over. I am grateful on a daily basis for MI (my) backyard and the safe space it provides for me and the plant and wildlife it supports.
Emily Cook is a resident of Arcadia, where she lives with her husband and two collies. She is a conservationist by training and a writer and artist when time allows. She explores nearby nature trails and the Lake Michigan beach as much as possible.
