Mosts of my posts in these entries focus largely on affect. This post, however, focuses more on what was in front of my eyes that I didn’t take time to notice. While some of the future posts will hit (me at least) in a much more emotional way, this posts deals with an awakened seeing which is important, even if less interesting. The poet Gerard Manley Hopkins coined the term “inscape,” and I can’t help but think about that term as I read this entry from a year ago. Eugene Peterson explains the term:
“Inscape is formed on an analogy with but in contrast to landscape.”1
Perhaps we could say it is the difference between seeing and actually noticing. Reading Peterson’s thoughts regarding the work of the artist reminds me of what I was sensing when I stopped merely looking at the tree (I had always looked at the tree) and rather noticed the tree. Peterson again:
Often an element of surprise accompanies this experience of inscape: "I never saw that before" ... "I've never heard anything like that" ... "I've never been so moved." … But in fact nothing that the artist brings to our attention was unheard, unseen, untouched previously. It was all there before us in the tree we walked past every morning on our way to work, in the face that we thought we knew through and through, in the whispers of wind in the willows and the lapping of waves on the beach.
The artist helps us see what we have always seen but never seen, hear what we hear daily but don't hear, feel what we have touched a hundred times but never been touched by, recognize that we are living a story and not just drifting through fragments of journal jottings or disconnected bits of gossip.2
And so, here is another day on my journey towards to noticing.
October 5th, 2022
Our tree has probably lost 5% of its leaves over the past week. As I recall, it keeps its leaves for quite a while longer than other trees (we shall see!). The color change in some leaves is more noticeable this week, however. The reds are more brilliant.
One of the things that I’ve paid greater attention to this week is the cherries. I asked my neighbor on my right (Scott) if he had many cherries. He said he had a few, but not many, and mentioned that they are probably poison. Why do we all assume this? We’ve actually had a fair amount this year. I hadn’t even noticed them in years past, but they’re quite something.
My understanding is that these trees can grow 10-15 feet tall and grow best in full sun. I notice that they didn’t plant these trees across the street. I imagine the reason is because their front yards are shaded for most of the day. These trees are “susceptible to aphids, caterpillars, leaf-mining moths, bullfinches, silver leaf, bacterial canker, and blossom wilt.”3 I’m curious about the bugs that infected it a few years back – I’m keeping my eyes out for them.
Affect
This week I’m taken both by the brilliant color of the cherries (which I haven’t been bold enough to try yet…just in case) and the brilliant red leaves. I’m also amazed by how the leaves move with the wind. I’ve always hated the wind and complained about it frequently. It’s ones of the things I hate most about living here (Alberta). But I’ve come to appreciate the wildness of it. Currently I’m noticing the movement it produces in “Cherry,” our tree, and it is quite something. Both the leaves and the branches seem to dance to the wind, swaying in rhythm.
I wonder why I’m so obsessed with keeping the grass green and have paid scant attention to the tree. “Keeping up with the Jones’,” I suppose. I’ve even complained about the placement of the tree, but I’ve come to like the placement as I often gaze over at Cherry while I work from my desk.
Eugene H. Peterson, Practice Resurrection: A Conversation on Growing Up in Christ (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans, 2010), Kindle loc. 1573.
ibid. Kindle loc. 1585.
Technical information from “Prunus cerasifera ‘Thundercloud’ (Cherry Plum), accessed October 5th, 2022, https://www.gardenia.net/plant/prunus-cerasifera-thundercloud.