My cousin Anna asked if I could find acorn caps for a craft project she’s planning. The only ones she had access to were too small for her plans. She didn’t tell me what her project was, but she has promised to show me the finished item, and I’ll show you then.
The water oak on my front yard provides shade for my al fresco dining porch as well as support for a sting of lights. The acorns from this oak tree are tiny, likely what Anna has at home, so they wouldn’t work.
As I planned my neighborhood walk that morning, I decided I would keep my eyes open for acorn caps. The neighborhood is named Forest Park, an apt name for this area of streets lined with mature trees. Surely I would find some suitable oak trees.
After donning a skort with large pockets, I set off. I knew there were no oak trees on the first portion of my walk, so I lifted my head and savored the bright blue skies and crisp autumn air.
When I reached a section of the neighborhood that was particularly shaded by large deciduous trees, I began to scan the sidewalk in front of me. There were all kinds of autumn detritus on the path—leaves, twigs, ginkgo fruit, and weeds poking through the cracks made by the roots of the big trees. If I really slowed down, I saw an occasional snail or the quick movement of a lizard out of the corner of my eye.
And acorns, with and without their caps. And such a variety! Lots of the tiny water oak acorns and some medium sized ones. The treasure was a mother lode of extremely large acorn caps, some one-and-a-half inches in diameter. I filled my pockets, wondering if anyone was noticing my very odd behavior.
Further on in my walk I found some very peculiar looking acorn caps, with frilly offshoots covering them. I vowed I would look up the different species of oaks based on their acorns when I got home.
That’s when I realized that I had never even looked at the trees themselves—the trunks, the bark, the branches, or the leaves—all the identifying markers of a tree. I’ve always thought of myself as one who sees a forest for the trees, but here I was not even looking at the trees, much less the forest. I was only looking at what was on the ground, what the trees could provide me—the acorns that the trees had shed.
Wouldn’t the world be a better place if we saw whole persons and not just what they can provide for us or do for us? The acorns of people’s lives are just a small portion of what we see, but that’s never all there is to a life. Your mail carrier might have a spouse and children. The woman that checks out your groceries may play in a band on the weekends. The kids crossing your lawn on the way home from school might be on their way to help care for an ailing grandparent.
It’s always good to remember that each individual you come in contact with has as full a life as you do. We do not know the richness or entirety of others’ lives, but we can begin by acknowledging that reality. And not focusing on only the part we see.