Life, Death and the Divine:  Finding God in Nature 

My photography is centered around my affinity for the natural world, uncluttered and unharmed  by the hand of man.  I find beauty, peace and strength there.  There is the expression “the devil is in the details.”  I think God, too, is in the details.  It is with this in mind that I have created a series of diptychs.  Below are six from this series.  Each contains an image of a tree or a representative part of a tree and another image of a more intimate detail relating to the tree.  I invite the viewer to “look closer,” to search for the hidden spirituality that can be found in nature.  I think most people, regardless of the doctrines of their specific faiths, all are ultimately seeking the same thing:  to recognize, acknowledge, and worship a supreme being, to promote love and peace, and promote the wellbeing of all those around them.  I find that I am closest to God in the natural world.  I find God in nature:  the oceans, woods, mountains, and streams.  I believe in the sanctity of life for all living things.

The tall palm tree in the larger image is the Sabal palmetto. It is the state tree of South Carolina. The palmetto tree is well adapted to its habitat, the coastal area from North Carolina to Florida, the typical path of Atlantic hurricanes. Its strong root system and soft trunk allow it to withstand the winds common to the area. The spongy logs of the palmetto were used to build Fort Moultrie on Sullivan’s Island near Charleston. When attached by the British on June 28, 1776, the logs absorbed the cannonballs of the British navy. South Carolina won the battle, and the victory is memorialized on the state flag. Believing that all good things are gifts of God, I am grateful for the gift of this tree which was at least partially responsible for our successful revolution against the British. Perhaps there would be no South Carolina flag or any other state flag today and we would be living under the Union Jack. The smaller image in this diptych shows a fallen palmetto with the spongy trunk visible.

The Angel Oak on Johns Island, thought to be in excess of 1500 years old and the oldest living live oak tree in North America and possibly the world, stands 65 feet high with a circumference of nearly 26 feet and provides an area of shade of 17,000 square feet. Its huge branches and massive spreading canopy appear to some to have the aura of an angel. While that is not the reason for its name, which comes from the Angel family that originally owned the land where the tree stands, it is a fitting epitaph. (www.angeloaktree.org) For me, the tree appears stronger and more powerful than an angel. It represents the strong protective arms of a loving God who provides shelter and protection for His children. The knot on the trunk of the tree, shown in the smaller image, appears to be the “eye of God,” watching over His children.

Just minutes before midnight on September 22, 1989, Hurricane Hugo hit the South Carolina coast. It was, according to NOAA, the strongest storm to hit the United States in twenty years. It destroyed virtually everything in its path. It uprooted ancient hardwood trees, leaving many on the tops of homes close by. Softwood trees were snapped in half like pencils. While nature has a way of healing itself, it cannot rejuvenate all that was destroyed that night in the course of one human lifetime.

On the left is a bald cypress broken off near the ground during the storm. The rest of the tree lies close by. Cypresses are hardwoods, but the knees of the cypress trees in the swamps are thought to provide stability for the trees.  Regardless, the tree broke off instead of being uprooted. What remains of the cypress is a huge empty crevasse. The vast emptiness of the space inside the hull of what used to be a strong powerful tree both shows the death of that particular tree but also serves as a metaphor for the empty nothingness we often perceive death to be. Resurrection ferns on the right. are air plants that attach to branches of large trees like cypresses and live oaks. They take nothing from the trees, getting all their nutrition from the air. In times of drought, they dry up and appear dead. It only takes a rain shower to rejuvenate the ferns.

Nature is filled with life and death, both real and perceived. The cycle of life and death repeats itself over and over, sometimes in as little time as a few minutes, sometimes over decades. But the cycle continues. Even with something as simple as a small air plant, there is the promise of life after death. By pairing a dead tree with a plant that lives on that tree, particularly one with the name “resurrection,” the theological concept of death and resurrection is visually portrayed. Examining the possibilities of life in and on the remains of the cypress tree can lead to further musings on the circle of life.

Barrier islands along the Atlantic Coast often also have what is known as “boneyard beaches” because of the dead trees and/or roots on the beach. As the tides and currents wash away at the barrier islands, the islands shift and change over time. Often one side of the island will erode while another is being built up by the same forces of nature. The side that loses ground may find that the maritime forests near the eroding shore become covered with salt water twice each day as the high tides come in and wash up on what was once higher ground. The salt water and lack of ground results in the death of the trees. Their remains leave picturesque marks on the beachscape. Here is pictured an example of one of the boneyard beaches on the Southern shore  Next to it is the rejuvenation of another beach being rebuilt by the same forces that washed away the land in the first image.  Only a few years ago, none of the land seen in the smaller image existed. That entire beach area was under water.  There is a circle of life for the land just as there is one for the creatures that live upon it  There is something spiritual about the shifting sands, moved from place to place by a Power greater than man.

Most of the other diptychs refer to a positive Power in nature. This one is different. What is seen here is kudzu. Kudzu is an invasive vine brought to the United States from Japan in 1876. During the Great Depression it was planted as a means of erosion control by the Soil Conservation Service. It actually has some positive qualities. It can be eaten, used for medicinal purposes, fed to livestock, used for making baskets and paper. It is an attractive vine in summer. (It loses its leaves and turns brown in winter.) The problem with kudzu is just how much it loves the southern United States. The environment here is much more conducive to the growth of kudzu than in Japan and China. Here it grows up to a foot a day and can grow as much as sixty feet a year. It covers over seven million acres in the South. It covers anything standing still: trees, telephone poles, houses, old cars…. It is far beyond being out of control. When it covers trees, it is likely to kill them, because the kudzu vines completely block the sun.

I remember my mother teaching me that Satan or the devil was not the frightening creature he is depicted to be.  She said that if he really had horns, a tail, and a vicious weapon in his hand, we would be afraid and stay away from him.  Instead, he takes the form of an alluring man (or woman) that we easily find ourselves attracted to.  So it is with kudzu.  I really like the way it looks.  Regardless, it is taking over the land that I love.  It is choking the vegetation all around it.  A poem  by James Dickey begins:

Japan invades.

Far Eastern vines

Run from the clay banks they are

Supposed to keep from eroding.

Up telephone poles,

Which rear, half out of leafage

As though they would shriek,

Like things smothered by their own

Green, mindless, unkillable ghosts.

In Georgia, the legend says

That you must close your windows

At night to keep it out of the house.

The glass is tinged with green….

So it is, that most attractive and alluring devil.  It wraps its way around our hearts –and chokes us.

In connection with this project, I decided to do a bit of research on the Druids. Druids do not have strict dogmas as other religions do. In fact, for some, Druidry is a religion and for others it is just a spiritual path. They acknowledge that individuals find god in different ways, and often in other religions, including Christianity. A quote on the website for The Order of Bards, Ovates & Druids (http://www.druidry.org) expresses where I’m trying to go with this: ‘Druidry is a spirituality of simple things -of place and time, existence and imagination. It teaches the appreciation of sunrises and the sound of water. We are free to express divinity as we experience it. To those who are willing to learn, it teaches love and compassion, to listen to the song of our hearts and the music of the earth. And sometimes, hugging trees is in order!’

This diptych shows a magnolia grandiflora, or Southern magnolia. It is a large hardwood with large green, waxy leaves and huge, sweet smelling blossoms. Most people are familiar with the leaves, the blossoms, and even the fruit and seeds if they have ever lived around magnolias. The buds are much less recognized. I have lived with magnolias all my life. have noticed the buds when they first come out, but I had never even paid attention to them as they got larger. Like everything else about the tree, they are large, but they are very soft and delicate in appearance. In seeing the solidity of the tree next to the delicate, almost feathery bud, I feel a strength and gentleness in the magnolia, a place of comfort and security, in much the same way that I envision God. I think of God mostly as a loving, protective parent. The size and strength of this tree, coupled with the softness of its bud is an allegory of God as a loving, protective parent with His arms outstretched to His children.