Spring is in full bloom in Northern California.  In fact, the early blossoms have already dusted the lawns with white and pink petals, and daffodils have risen and crested in their splendor.  But now, what I notice most as I make my way up our hill is the blackened trees sprouting new growth in the first April after the wildfires. Their split presence catches my breath as I see the duality of trauma and recovery.

So many of the trees look like fused halves of a once mighty whole.  One side is the budding green hues of life returning, moist and supple.  The other half is the lifeless brown, dull, shriveled leaves, which cling to their branches as if to remind us all of what the tree still endures.  They speak to me, these survivors, as I witness their efforts to go on. There is no hiding the pain, the damage, the broken hallowed out limbs that split off and hang down.  The scarring is as permanent as the new growth is fresh. Their efforts inspire me, yet there is no guarantee. I hope there was enough rain this winter, I hope the roots have enough of a system within the trunks to spread the needed nutrients.  Each tree has its own struggle to survive and its own path to recovery. Many of our trees have already been severely trimmed or even dissected, returning to earth that will one day host a seed.

In Japan, Kintsukoroi is the art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer dusted or mixes with powdered gold, silver, or platinum.  The pottery, with its metallic striping, is considered to be stronger and more beautiful than it was before. Kintsukuroi is a way of living that embraces our flaws and imperfections. Every crack, every scar, every blemish is a part of the history that makes something even more valuable.

Our community is as cracked and split as the trees that scatter our hillsides or as a broken piece of pottery.  We share our stories, we shed tears, and we support one another in the process of regaining our strength and wholeness.  Like the trees, we have our deadened limbs, the memories of the life we will never have again as we once lived it. But we also have our regrowth; the green buds that seek to reach out to the sun and the air for survival.  In time, I do believe that we will come to see the split whole of each of us as stronger and more beautiful than we were before. Though imperfect, the cracks within us are our unique story of revival.