Page 120 of In a Word, Yes

“Stick together!” Mom shouts from the back of the line.

“I know why you’re saying that, Nana,” Chase says. “I saw the sign about cougars.”

“Nothin’ for us to worry about, son,” my father says. “I have it on good authority that cougars detest birthday parties.”

My new nine-year-old appears to consider this.

Wyatt halts. Points up ahead. “Why don’t you go see what it says on that sign, Chase?”

Chase returns, wide-eyed. “‘Big Tree.’ It says ‘Big Tree.’ The arrow points down that way.”

Wyatt suppresses a smile. “No kidding? Maybe we should check it out.”

“Yeah. Obviously there’s a pretty big tree down there.”

“Obviously.”

But already Chase has adopted that forward-leaning gait of his and set a new, brisk pace down the narrow trail. As if our family hike has just become a serious botanical expedition.

“Stick together!” Mom yells.

Wyatt and I exchange a smile.

I rub my palms together. This is going to be so good.

Within minutes, we stand dwarfed in the shadow of a massive ponderosa. Chase’s eyes are glued to the interpretive sign.

“You guys! Big Tree is the largest ponderosa pine ever recorded! What the what?” Again and again he spouts “What the what?” while marching around the tree. He examines Big Tree (couldn’t they have come up with a better name?) from every angle. He studies its giant gnarled trunk. Its stubby limbs, mangled over the centuries by weather.

His grandpa reads the marker. “It says its crown was recently lost to weather, making another ponderosa taller. But Big Tree remains the largest in circumference. Says it’s over five hundred years old! Which means it was already a giant before the Oregon Territory was established.”

“I’ll tell you what the what,” I say when Chase finally comes to a halt. “You can thank Wyatt. He made the discovery—”

Wyatt stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets. “Oh, it was no big thi—”

“He found out about Big Tree and came up with this whole birthday idea.” And for this, I couldn’t love him more.

“Thank you, Wyatt!”

“Happy birthday, Chase,” Wyatt says. “Wait. Isn’t there some goofy song we’re all supposed to sing on someone’s birthday?”

Chase rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”

It’s no small feat to convince my son to pose for a family photo in front of this mighty tree with the pale green river winding beyond. He’s never been much for photos, doesn’t harbor a fear that one day he will want to remember the past. I still have so much to learn from him.

And I can’t help thinking that God is a present-day God. He doesn’t hang out in my past. And I won’t find him in the future until I’m there.The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save.

Beautiful fodder for the book I’m writing with, of all people, my mother.

Seriously, though. What the what?

Eventually Chase’s interest in lunch overshadows his interest in trees, and my parents accompany him back to our campsite.

Wyatt and I linger on the bank of the rippling green river.

“Guess I’ll have to dream up another excuse to come to the station and interview you,” I say.

“Nope. My turn to get in on this business of interviewing. You game?”