You don't have to fall to be a nurse log for someone

I'd never heard of "nurse logs" until today, even though we have a couple in our back yard. Ours are toppled trees that fell almost a decade ago and we left to rot. One is all but gone, but the other keeps on giving.

This nurse log in our backyward powers through.

The trees' deaths spun up new beginnings.

Nurse logs become habitats for insects, fungi, plants, and new trees. Seedlings find shade, nutrients, water, and protection from disease. Birds feed on the bugs that live there, and sometimes squirrels shelter. For decades after their deaths, these dead trees nourish and give life. They help generations start and grow strong.

I saw two parallels.

One is obvious because he's always on my mind. Alex died almost a year ago. And he's kept us afloat, I could even say he's helped us to grow, certainly to start to heal. His friends, who shared in letters and videos and visits how he'd shown them vulnerability and how to be a friend, flourish and pay him forward. And, literally, we dug some of his ashes into the roots of a magnolia tree and he's working with the sun to bring some early spring flowers through.

The second parallel is more active, more available to all of us. Working with immigrant and refugee jobseekers, I see plenty of people in advanced stages of their careers, or who have left companies and places behind, willing to help nourish and nurse people earlier in the cycle who are trying to take root. I feel some decay — I'm not great at keeping in touch with former colleagues and my sense of what it takes to thrive in the job market is getting stale — but making connections where possible and offering up experiences that might help often makes a difference.

Can you be a nurse log for someone this spring?