Moss-covered stumps, red huckleberries (Vaccinium parvifolium, and salal (Gaultheria shallon) are often a threesome in our forests — an intertwining of death and life — native shrubs thriving in the remains of a tree.

Before stumperies became the rage, stumps and plants were a natural feature of nearly everywhere I lived since I moved home from Hawaii in the early 80s. Back then, an attitude prevailed — stumps are an eyesore. So you did not see them dotting the landscape too often.

At one place where I rented, the backyard had an exceptional stump with a Douglas fir growing out of it. At some point in its life, the tree fell sideways. Then it made a 90-degree turn and rose skyward again. The young conifer appeared to float effortlessly above the ground. Branches hid the horizontal part of the trunk that clung to the big stump south of the hovering tree.

I think about that tree I left behind, and wonder if someone cut it down, or left the young conifer to live out a precarious life where gravity would eventually win and take it down.

When we bought a home, the front yard featured an old-growth stump, where salal and the deciduous huckleberries grew on top. The former owner apologized for not taking it out. Grateful, he had not; it became an excellent foundation for the garden that soon surrounded it. I cherished the nature-created stumpery for nearly two decades.

A builder logged the property next to us a few years after we moved in. In a growing pile of debris, a significant cut stump partially rotted in the middle stood out. I asked if I could have it. I turned it, so it stood on end, threw some ripe huckleberries in the middle.

I completely forgot about the stump when two Pieris shrubs overtook it. Years later, I rediscovered it. To my delight, inside the rotted area, huckleberry grew. I'll never know if the native bush sprouted from the berries I threw into it, or birds helped with their unique propagation habits of eat, digest, poop, and sow.

Unfortunately, new owners made the stump and its inhabitants a victim of slash and burn.

Fast forward three years, and I am living in the forest, where snags, and rotting stumps — some smothered in red huckleberries bushes, salal, and moss intermingle in a magical, nature-created stumpery. I feel home again.