Of Chestnut Saplings and Wild Geese

Last updated on: August 12, 2013 at 3:53 pm by Eric Smith

3 Comments

Of Chestnut Saplings and Wild Geese 2013-08-12T15:53:17+00:00 Eric Smith

LOGO Patheos Explore the world's faith through different perspectives on religion and spirituality! Patheos has the views of the prevalent religions and spiritualities of the world.

I can remember a particular hiking trip with my family. I was probably seven or eight years old, and my parents and my brother and I had been camping, and we decided to hike a trail through some of the lush forests that cover the southeastern United States. My mother, who is a daughter of the southern Appalachians, has always been an astute observer of the forest, and when we happened upon a particular tree beside the trail, she called my brother and I over to look. It was a stump—perhaps a foot in diameter and a couple of feet tall. It had been there for quite a while, as the stump was decaying—in the way that everything in those mountain woodlands begins to decay the moment it ceases to grow.

In this nondescript example of decay, however, there was something else. Out of the stump rose a thin gray trunk, topped with green leaves. The tiny tree was not much more than an inch in diameter—nothing really to speak of in a forest of towering trees. My mother, though, explained to us that this stump and this sapling were American Chestnuts. The trees, she told us, had blanketed the hills and vales of those mountains in the time of her father, my grandfather, and in her own day they had all been felled by a blight. This disease attacked what had once been the dominant tree in the forest, a tree that made up one in every four trees on every mountain and in every valley. In the space of a generation the American Chestnuts were gone, all lying silent on the forest floor, rotting into humus. The sapling we saw was a sick joke of a natural quirk: the blight let saplings grow, often out of the stumps of old fallen trees, offering hope of recovery and new life. But once those small trees reached a certain size, the blight attacked them too, and they fell back to the forest floor.

I long for those hardwood forests of my youth. I now live out among the prairie grass and Ponderosa pines, on the front range of Colorado. The trees here all seem strange to me, beautiful as they are, and I relish every chance I get to return to the southern Appalachians. This week I receive just such a chance; my wife and I are traveling to Hot Springs, NC, where the Wild Goose Festival has its incarnation for this year. As it happens, the site of the festival is a short drive from where we first met, at a tiny mountain college, and we know the town well, and the forest around it. It is a small place—an unlikely one for a festival—and it is embedded in the sort of riotously green woods that once hosted uncounted American Chestnut trees. Out there in the forests around Hot Springs, I am sure there are old Chestnut trunks, lying on the ground, nearly rotted away but not yet, because nothing that big disappears that quickly. Out there along the banks of the French Broad River, I am sure there are some of the saplings like my mother showed me, shot up for a season but consigned to blight and death like all before them.

The Wild Goose is, I am told, a festival about the Spirit—or, at least, spirit-like things. It is a place where the impish spirit of God roams free, playing at the intersection of people and ideas and communities seeking to be faithful to whatever they seek to be faithful to. This is all very vague. I don’t know, honestly, what the Wild Goose Festival is, because no one gets very specific about it. It is about music, I am told, and prayer, and camping out, and the exchange of ideas and food, and relationships, and the pursuit of peace. It is awesome, they say. People have told me this for a couple of years now, these vague, non-descriptive, “awesome”-punctuated descriptions, and I don’t know what to make of it, but it all sounds very promising to me.

So this year I am going to the Wild Goose Festival, and though it might cause consternation to those who discourage approaching experiences this way, I am going with a purpose. My purpose is this: I want to know what grows out of the trunk. Like those giant dead American Chestnuts I saw in that forest so long ago, there is much that is blighted and dead in the Christianity I know. And like that tiny sapling that stretched up to the light, I think there must be something else that is alive, that is striving towards life. I’m tired of talking about how dead the church is—about how we’re dying and shrinking and dying and becoming irrelevant and dying and declining and dying and dying and dying. I’m sick of it. I’ve seen the trunks littering the forest floor. Let them rot into the soil. I’m interested in the new life. What grows? What shoots upward towards the sun, blight be damned, to see how far it can go? That’s what I want to know about.

The American Chestnut is not dead. Most American Chestnuts are dead, but the American Chestnut is not. There are a few surviving trees that seem to be unaffected by the blight, and there are people breeding those in the hopes of producing a resistant strain. There are those cross-breeding the American Chestnut with its blight-resistant cousin the Chinese Chestnut. And there are those working at the genetic level, isolating and modifying genes controlling the blight and its resistance. Every so often I see a news article full of hopeful scientists and forest-goers, optimistic that some new sapling will be the one that makes it. The American Chestnut is not dead—not so long as it has such people on its team.

I don’t know what the Wild Goose Festival is all about. I’ll find out soon enough; my flight leaves in about 24 hours. But I know this: I’ll be glad to return to my native range among the hardwoods of the southern Appalachians, and I’ll be on the lookout for thin saplings straining towards the light. Somewhere in all that music and spirit and food and community, I hope someone has the cure for what ails the church. I’ll be on the watch for it. If you see it let me know. Because nothing that is well-loved goes easily into oblivion, and the American Chestnut and the church alike are too beloved by too many to pass out of memory just yet. The day is coming, and soon, when we can talk about what’s living, instead of what’s dying.

See you at the Wild Goose.

Read all of Eric’s posts from his Wild Goose journey here.

The Reverend Doctor Eric C. Smith is the Minister of Community Life at First Plymouth Congregational Church in Englewood, CO. He joined the First Plymouth staff in July 2007, after serving a church in Asheville, North Carolina, for 5 years. He holds a Ph.D. in Biblical Interpretation from the Joint PhD Program of Iliff School of Theology and the University of Denver, a Master of Theological Studies from Vanderbilt Divinity School, and a Bachelor’s degree in English from Mars Hill College. He was ordained in the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) in 2007.

Previous Post

August 1, 2013

A Search for the Historically Angry Jesus: A Review of Reza Aslan's "Zealot"

Next Post

August 7, 2013 Wonderbolts of Thunderment

Recent Comments

3 Comments | Leave a Comment

Browse Our Archives

Select a Category Advent Author Interviews Battle Over the Body and Blood of Christ Bearing Beauty Book Reviews Christian Education christian spirituallity christianity Christmas Church Church Leadership Contemplation Creation Care Death and Dying Death Penalty Disruptive Change Disruptors Series Easter Education Evolution and Faith Future of Progressive Christianity Gun Violence Health & Wellness Holy Week Interfaith Israel-Palestine Leading Differently Lent LGBTQ Living with Cancer Meditations on the Cross Mental Illness millennials Mimetic Mondays Monday Meditations Movie Reviews New Monasticism Pando Populus Parenting Patheos 10+1 Q&A Series PC(USA) Politics Pop Culture Practical Theology Series Prayer progressive christian Race Relations Reformation religion Religion and Politics Religion in America Rethink Church Social Justice Spirituality Spirituality of the Body Stump a Scholar Technology and Faith Thanksgiving Theodicy Trust Me Church Uncategorized Why I'm Still Christian Youth Ministry

Select a Month December 2025 April 2025 January 2025 September 2023 September 2022 May 2022 February 2022 January 2022 November 2021 October 2021 May 2021 February 2021 November 2020 October 2020 September 2020 June 2020 May 2020 March 2020 June 2019 March 2019 January 2019 June 2018 May 2018 April 2018 February 2018 January 2018 December 2017 November 2017 October 2017 September 2017 August 2017 July 2017 June 2017 May 2017 April 2017 March 2017 February 2017 January 2017 December 2016 November 2016 October 2016 September 2016 August 2016 July 2016 June 2016 May 2016 April 2016 March 2016 February 2016 January 2016 December 2015 November 2015 October 2015 September 2015 August 2015 July 2015 June 2015 May 2015 April 2015 March 2015 February 2015 January 2015 December 2014 November 2014 October 2014 September 2014 August 2014 July 2014 June 2014 May 2014 April 2014 March 2014 February 2014 January 2014 December 2013 November 2013 October 2013 September 2013 August 2013 July 2013 June 2013 May 2013 April 2013 March 2013 February 2013 January 2013 December 2012 November 2012 October 2012 September 2012 August 2012 July 2012 June 2012 May 2012 April 2012 March 2012 February 2012 January 2012 December 2011 November 2011 October 2011 September 2011 August 2011 July 2011 June 2011 May 2011 April 2011 March 2011 February 2011 January 2011 December 2010 November 2010 October 2010 September 2010 August 2010 July 2010 June 2010 May 2010 April 2010 March 2010

TAKE THE

Religious Wisdom Quiz

How many years from creation to Abraham?

Select your answer to see how you score.

2500 years 1000 years 1500 years Approximately 2000 years