Notes to Make Connections…

What to put out into this world of ours? What to create? What to say? Is it enough to paint another Vermont barn? I wonder. The want to put something good out into this despairing world occupies my many thoughts daily. Creativity feels darkened. Hopefulness undermined. Time at the easel has been challenging as I battle a bad back and oppressive thoughts…

A physical therapy appointment for a lifetime of back issues was scheduled for yesterday. Genetics, a near fatal car accident in my mid-teens and years of playing athletically hard has left my aging back very cranky. Steroid injections and physical therapy are the current course of treatment. My PT has become a friend as I see him more often than family these days.

I drove through snow squalls early Tuesday morning allowing enough time for travel. I was preoccupied with the simplicity of the natural beauty that surrounds my house on the hill as I made my way down the rural road. The gray light hit the hills in a most extraordinary way. The snow by inches rested on pine trees creating the most spectacular image of dark and light. Travel was fine as I made my way to the twin state and medical center.

In the treatment room the PT and I immediately discussed my current condition, and S decided we were going to try a new approach. If there is the possibility of easing my physical discomfort and keeping me at my easel, I was all in. Neuro plasticity and hip discomfort dominated the direction. Aging is not for the faint of heart I mused…

As he worked on my spine we settled into easy conversation. S had finished a major home improvement project. Reward was momentarily acknowledged before the next DIY proposed. A familiar laughter ensued as we talked about taking on more than we can chew sometimes…

He asked me if I was painting a lot? With a heavy sigh I said I was not as humbling issues of life had taken their toll and my time. My back somedays was prohibitive as were my spiraling thoughts…

Do you ever paint trees? S asked. I do! I love to paint trees. We proceeded to talk about the magic of trees and how they communicate. Fungi and tree roots. Fascinating we agreed. I discussed hikes in the woods. Trail running with light streaming through the trees is where I found religion…

Hmmm I thought. Trees are a daily influence living in Vermont. My mind left the treatment room for a moment of self-preservation as a stiff hamstring complained about the new PT approach and wandered right onto Max Yasgur’s farm (The 1969 Woodstock Music and Art Fair, held on Max Yasgur’s dairy farm in Bethel, New York, from August 15-18). The “Message Tree.” The Message Tree at the Woodstock Music and Art Fair popped into my thoughts. The mind is a funny thing.

A 60-foot-tall red maple at the corner of Hurd Road and West Shore Road, just uphill from the Woodstock Monument, is the Message Tree.During Woodstock, it functioned as a bulletin board with improvised notes on paper plates and signs on scraps of paper and cardboard. The tree’s height and unique profile were a useful landmark on the Woodstock site. Located at the festival’s crossroads, the Message Tree helped people navigate and find their friends. ((https://www.bethelwoodscenter.org/support-us/message-tree)

Notes to make connections:

“SUSAN, MEET YOU HERE SATURDAY 11 A.M., 3 P.M. or 7 P.M.,” read one note left on what later became known as the Message Tree. In another, Candi Cohen was told to meet the girls back at the hotel. Dan wrote on a paper plate to Cindy (with the black hair & sister) that he was sorry he was “too untogether” to ask for her address but left his number. (https://apnews.com/article/woodstock-concert-bethel-tree-7ee15bc6c81ffc4abf028a607ff2fc62)

Attendees ignored the rain and mud while focusing on caring for one another. Remembering we can live peacefully. While the tree is no longer (felled in 2024) due to structural issues cuttings and saplings have been planted to preserve the significance of Message Tree…connection.

Protests over the weekend were impressive. Not really covered by the timid media as they ought to have been. I attended a local protest. People turned out by the many. Impressive. Being part of a community of concerned citizens felt good. A local politician stopped by and chatted. Conversations with strangers felt easy. Normal. We fundamentally had more in common than not. Maybe not six degrees of separation but there was a commonality with each person I spoke with. That is the ticket! We were connected. We are connected…

Then can I walk beside you?
I have come here to lose the smog
And I feel to be a cog
In something turning

“Woodstock” –Joni Mitchell