e-Tech is my name
Spying is my game
Belts, buckles, ropes and slings
Decoder pens and laser beams
Laced up with gadgets galore
Hey, I've got room for plenty more
If there's a mystery to be solved
A riddle to unravel
Look no further, have no fear
I'm on the job with all my gear.
Look out above
Look out below
I can see you
Everywhere you go
You can run
You can hide
But you are no match
For the master of attack
You think you got away
Think again
You'll be my next catch
It's me, Agent Eye Tech
Ancient aspen wisdom for a vibrant, resilient, and grounded life.
I’m not your typical tree hugger. I’m just obsessed with hugging ONE giant Aspen tree called Pandō.
During my hiking and fly fishing treks in Utah over the years, I became fascinated with these tall trees that reached high into the sky. They seemed so fragile and skinny, scarred by black notches and knots, yet were unquestionable determined and strong. I noticed they always standing together in groups, as a loyal proud family. They seemed to quietly recognize my wonder with a timbered rustle
And when the season turned to Fall, their dazzled displays of beautiful bright yellow transformation turned my reverence into awe.
I became fascinated by this beautiful, massive, resilient tree! It’s a single quaking aspen tree estimated to be 80,000 years old and 13 million pounds … one of the oldest and heaviest single living organism in the world.
It’s a massive, resilient creature! How had it survived and thrived for so long?
I had to find out!
What I discovered were five simple yet powerful secrets that have grounded my life, guided my journey, and cultivated my purpose.
Perhaps it could do the same for you.
Inspired by nature, Pandō’s ancient wisdom can inspiration us to embrace change, foster flexibility, face adversity, seek greater clarity, and cultivate purpose.
Kids can teach you lots of things. Important things like patience, the art of distraction and how not to cuss in front of others. But mostly they are grand teachers in the art of simplicity – pure joy, innocence and freedom.
I was reminded of this the other day when my son and three neighbor kids made a tree-house in our back yard.
On a sunny but cool breezy Sunday afternoon, the building crew was suddenly inspired to transform a small but resilient oak tree into their secret hideout. In preparation for the grand backyard adventure, my son had trekked in and out of the house no less than six times.
The sliding screen door scraped open and closed repetitively with each single task. One board. Another board (telling me he had an idea). The hammer. Another hammer (noting he had recruited some friends to help). Nails. More nails (explaining that the first box of nails had been dumped in a prickly bush).
“Please be safe!” I screamed.
OK, I admit my supervision was scant at best. By then, I only had enough energy to pop my head up off the couch momentarily to shout out that command, convincing myself that my son would at least have the better judgment not to hammer a thumb or nail a toe … especially not one of the neighbor’s kids.
I also mistakenly assumed that it would only take him five minutes to figure out that the tree was not fit for their grandiose vision let alone one single board. But where I saw the limitations, the kids saw only the possibilities.
I was rendered to the horizontal position after a week full of to-do’s, tasks, errands, expectations, obligations, a school field trip, work deadlines and a case of the shingles thrown in for good measure. Lying there hoping I didn’t hear a scream (though the silence was nearly as bad); I knew I needed a better plan. Little did I know that I’d get one handed to me the next day on a tattered piece of lined paper.
I dozed off and sixty glorious minutes later I was stunned awake by the mom radar that internally signals too long had passed before a screech, squeal, complaint – or request for a snack.
I jumped off the couch and in one giant leap was peering out at the most wondrous contraction shoved into the junior sized oak tree. Boards, colored with magic markers, shoved in mismatched places, and tattered ropes tied to small, errant branches.
They were still entranced in their imaginations, assembled into a highly organized team of pint-sized builders concentrating on their tasks. My son saw me and shouted, “Mom, doesn’t this look awesome!?”
Their creativity gave me a moment of pure joy. Their satisfaction blew a gust of fresh air across my heart that sang of innocence, childhood, laughter and adventure.
The next morning over breakfast, as my son and I gazed out at the backyard contraption they proudly called a “tree house”, he showed me the instructions they agreed to follow. The tattered, lined piece of paper, scrawled in pencil, listed these fourteen steps:
How To Build A Tree House
Step one: Nail board one into place
Step two: Clip branches
Step three: Put board two in place
Step four: Nail in board two
Step five: Make sure board 2 is safe
Step six: Put board 3 in place
Step seven: Nail in board 3
Step eight: Make sure board 3 will stay
Step nine: Put board 4 in place
Step ten: Make sure we like how it looks
Step eleven: Nail in board 4
Step twelve: Make sure it will stay
Step thirteen: Make sure we like our new tree house
Step four-teen: Enjoy our tree house
Hmm, their plan sure seemed better than mine. It was simple and meaningful. I couldn’t ignore the wisdom. Did I stop long enough to make sure things stay in place (like my sanity, my balance)? When was the last time I paused to make sure I liked what I was building?
And last but certainly not least, step “four-teen”- enjoy our tree house. Wow, this hit close to home. Did I take the time to enjoy something once it was done, before quickly moving on to the next task or project?
Looks like I’ll need to grab a hammer and nails, perhaps a few magic markers … even if it takes me a few trips in and out of the house to get it right.
