I have a morning tree stump where I go to sip hot coffee and think long thoughts. It’s a place where time slows down, where I dust off old memories and make room for new ones. Exploration of ideas and creative imaginings is encouraged here. Faces of family and friends greet me—if only for a moment—in my mind. It is my morning stump, where I plan the day that is waiting for me. It is a place of meditation and prayer.
I don’t know why thinking comes easier on a tree stump. I do not believe in some mystical organic osmosis—a “one with the stump” philosophy. But stumps have always been magnets to me. Even as a child I could never resist climbing onto one to test the view as well as the fit. Consequently, through the years, I have become a connoisseur of stumps.
While a log or flat rock will provide an adequate resting place, nothing can take the place of a well-chosen tree stump. Stumps left behind from logging or clearing trails provide the most obvious perches. However, the occasional driftwood stump smoothed by the hand of Mother Nature is a real find. These four-star stumps will sometimes provide back and foot rests, in addition to comfortable seating.
The view from my stump varies, dependent on time, location, and season. Stunning panoramas, including alpine meadows, sparkling snowfields, bouncing waterfalls, and glacial lakes, have thrilled me. And, I’ve been charmed by squirrels and chipmunks who have climbed nearby stumps to tear apart pinecones for lunch.
From across a small ravine, I once watched a black bear stand up to leisurely scratch her back on a big fir tree, only to be startled by a bull moose snorting up the other side. Last fall, I watched a golden eagle rise in circles above me, preparing to join others in their annual migration over the Bridger Mountains of Montana.
My favorite views, however, include watching my two sons skip rocks over a placid alpine lake at sunrise, and, after a day of exploration, settle down to toast marshmallows over an evening campfire.
While visiting new stumps has its own appeal, there is nothing like having your own stump for everyday perching. Presently, I am using a portable stump that my son moved into my rock garden for me. It sits next to the cherry tree, where I can preside over the apple tree and rose garden. It is downwind from the compost pile, so I test the prevailing wind before I get settled.
I am not just a fair-weather stump-thinker. I use my stump year-round, and am intimately acquainted with the changing of the seasons. While I use discretion during lightning storms and blizzards, there is something quite wonderful about sitting on my stump in a gentle rain, protected by a rain poncho and fortified by a steaming hot drink in my hands.
I don’t believe for a moment that I am a lone stump-thinker. We all seek a set-aside place to plan and remember and dream. So natural is this propensity for stump sitting that we have domesticated stumps into such forms as bar stools and the chrome or wood stools that line the counter of our favorite café. I also strongly suspect that the stool found in the modern bathroom is another version of the domesticated stump.
Booths and tables invite others to join us; stools imply private contemplation. There is a time for each. Perhaps we have shared a favorite stump. More likely, however, you have discovered some world-class stumps of your own.