Rachel, February 2, 2026
It’s been REALLY cold here lately, at least for Virginia. Thankfully, I am blessed to have a cozy winter coat and a great pair of snow boots, so I can’t help but delight in one of the most exciting and transformative points in the year. As the days slowly begin to lengthen, new energy and possibilities and yearning bubble up within me like the sap rising in the trees, stirred by the irrepressible approach of spring, however much the harsh winter landscape around us may seem to defy it.
This year’s celebration of Tu B’Shvat was more subdued, a week after a “historic” winter storm left our region nearly paralyzed under almost a foot of sheer ice, with temperatures persistently well below freezing. The stillness during and after the storm was eerie, broken only by the calls and fluttering of birds, drawn to the pecan trees outside our door and the last remnants of their precious nuts. Eventually, towards the end of the week, I began to see a few brave souls emerge from their homes to chip away at the ice in their driveways, and a steady trickle of vehicles along the road. I wasn’t terribly surprised, however, when no one showed up for our annual gathering in honor of the trees.
Once I was sure no one else was coming, I decided to take the opportunity to meander through the woods. What had started out as foot-numbing slog, crunching ankle-deep across the ice, had become increasingly slick and treacherous with each passing day. Yet none of this could keep me from returning again and again to marvel at this winter wonderland.
I admit it can become all too easy, as I pass through the woods each day to recite prayers, add to the compost pile, stretch my legs, or head into town, for the trees to become a mere backdrop, a familiar blur of brown and green I hardly notice or acknowledge as I walk past. It’s endlessly ironic that I treasure the woods as a special, sacred place I feel compelled to visit as often as I can, and to burst into song as I enter – if I am not already too absorbed in my own thoughts or a phone call – yet I am rarely truly present with them. Sometimes it takes the alchemy of a winter storm, reawakened by frosty air and how majestically the trees stand out against the blanket of white, to bring them back into focus and allow me to connect with them more deeply again.
I remember my first months at Magnolia, as I began building relationship with this land. I would spend hours in the woods, back snuggled up against stout trunks or a cushion of pine needles, held in the expansive embrace of this community of trees that inspired me to stand tall, sink my roots deep, and open wide. And sometimes, to crumble weeping to the ground as sudden, inexplicable grief crashed over me.
Over time, I came to understand these moments as brushing up against the wounds of these woods, mourning the loss of huge swaths of their kin and the people who had stewarded them. I came to realize that the woods I was beginning to connect with didn’t end at the property lines, or even the county line. This little triangle between the neighbor’s field and the railroad tracks, and all the seemingly fragmented little patches and strips of trees I pass by, were and still are one single tapestry, albeit with huge sections wrenched out in unfathomably, heart-rending loss. All of these trees here at Magnolia are themselves the regrowth from clear-cut some decades back. Yet, they still support a diverse web of life, and offer so much welcome and peace to all who come among them.
The ironic parallels with the current reality in Minnesota, with so many trapped in their homes, knocked to the ground, or ripped from the fabric of their lives, families, and communities, has not been lost on me. Amidst the heartbreak and horror, I have been inspired, humbled, and moved to witness deep support networks stir under the crushing weight of ICE, care and courage flowing through cities and neighborhoods far more interwoven than we realized, irrepressible.
And so, as life and growth stir almost invisibly beneath the frozen surface, roots growing towards spring and towards each other, I recommit to my pledge to these woods: to defend their kin wherever and however I can, in gratitude to the incredible gift they are to me – to us – and all they provide our body and soul each day, along with being absolutely vital for our very survival, the air, water, soil, climate regulation, the web of life… As we continue digging ourselves out from under the heavy load of ice, may we learn from the example of these wise tree elders and brave networks of care in Minnesota to find ways to deepen and interweave our roots, stand firm, offer welcome, and love and defend our human neighbors as well.
***
UPDATE 2/22/26: Three weeks later, as I finally complete this reflection, the last of the ice has melted away, the daffodils and lilies are popping out of the ground, and at least for now, Congress has not approved further funding for ICE. Spring always comes, ice never lasts forever, not even in Minnesota.
In the meanwhile, the need for solidarity and support continues to grow. Stand With Minnesota has compiled an impressive list of organizations and mutual aid initiatives in the Twin Cities area, and there are almost certainly local efforts wherever you are rooted as well.
For lots of beautiful footage of old growth forests, and a thorough exploration of why healthy forests are crucial for the watershed, be sure to check out Old Growth Forests: Nature’s Biotic Water Pump.
And finally, a few songs that I had planned to share at Tu B’Shvat:
Whispers by Ayla Nereo – Repairing relationship with the trees in gratitude and reciprocity
Over Under by Lyndsey Scott – While it doesn’t have to do with trees directly, it reminds me very much of the energy of Tu B’Shvat, the almost invisible stirrings of growth and life beneath the harsh surface, reaching towards spring and each other, the root and mycelial networks still connecting the seemingly fractured forests. I also find the “story behind” very powerful and particularly poignant in this time we are living
Turn It Right Again by Sarina Patridge, a call to action rooted in hope, from an amazing songwriter in Minneapolis.
❤
magnoliacollective.org 