If you would know strength and patience, welcome the company of

Hear the words of Hal Borland, a poet of the earth, who declared: “If you would know strength and patience, welcome the company of trees.” This is no idle saying, but a commandment written in the silent language of forests. For the trees, though they do not speak with tongues, utter wisdom older than empires. They stand against storm and sun, against drought and frost, rooted deeply in the soil yet rising toward heaven. Their lives are lessons written in bark and leaf, in rings of endurance that circle their hidden hearts.

The strength of the tree is not the fury of the lion or the swiftness of the hawk, but the quiet strength that endures. It does not resist the wind with violence, but bends and sways, only to return upright when the storm has passed. Its roots stretch unseen, gripping the earth, drawing life from hidden waters. And so we learn: strength is not brute force, but steadfastness, the power to remain, to endure, to grow even in the face of trial.

The patience of the tree is in its seasons. It does not hurry the coming of spring, nor does it grieve the falling of its leaves in autumn. It accepts the cycles of death and rebirth, of fruit and barrenness, of sunlight and shadow. Year after year it waits, adding ring upon ring, growing not in haste but in quiet certainty. In its patience is peace, and in its stillness is wisdom.

Consider the tale of the great redwoods of California, which have stood for thousands of years. Empires have risen and fallen, wars have raged, men have come and gone, yet they remain. Their strength is beyond reckoning, their patience beyond measure. They are living witnesses to time itself. To walk among them is to feel one’s soul expand, as though the trees whisper: “Be steadfast, endure, grow slowly but surely, and you too shall outlast the storms.”

Even in history, men have learned from the trees. George Washington, in the dark days of Valley Forge, saw his army ragged and near despair. Yet he drew courage from the steadfast woods around him, their trunks unbroken by winter’s fury. Just as the trees stood firm in snow and wind, so too he resolved to stand, waiting for the spring of victory. And in time, his patience bore fruit, and a nation was born.

Borland’s wisdom calls to you, O seeker: if you would learn to be unshaken in trial, to endure in hardship, to grow without haste, then sit among the trees. Listen to their silence, watch their slow majesty, feel their rootedness beneath your feet. Their company will teach you what no book nor battle can.

Practical steps are given: walk in a forest when your heart is troubled. Lean your back against a trunk when your spirit is weary, and let the strength of the tree remind you of your own. Plant a tree, and watch it grow year after year, teaching you patience as it reaches toward the sky. When you are tempted to rush, remember the tree’s steady growth; when you are tempted to break, remember its deep roots.

Thus remember Borland’s teaching: strength is in steadfastness, patience is in seasons. Welcome the trees as companions, and they will share their wisdom freely. Learn from them, and you shall stand tall in every storm, bearing fruit in your time, and leaving behind roots and shade for generations yet to come.