This elder is generations old, twisted and gnarled by its journey of adaptation. Steadfast in its determination to live and hold place on this precious earth, it reminds me of my own father.
I am just back from my trip to Minnesota to be of support as he fights to recover from a stroke. The hearts of both the old bristlecone and my 86-year-old Dad pulse on. Other bristlecones in the high mountain grove of this old one stand in companionship just as Mom and Dad’s 65-year-community is offering good support.
Life needs other life. We cannot stand alone. My sisters and I have been sustained by the outpouring of love and help. The elder lives on for a while longer.