If you're wondering if I stopped the car (with the dog in it) in the middle of a huge collection of hard-hatted and neon-vested tree workers to yell over the sound of the chainsaw "can I have that?" and then unabashedly jammed what I can only describe as a full-sized Willow tree (bound for the chipper!! ) into my luggage rack and slowly turned around to take it home, where I then dismantled it into pieces for a (hopefully living!) shade sail post in the yard and materials for basket making, and stuffed them all into a bucket of water next to the piano since it's fire season and we can't keep woody materials close the house outside...
...the answer is, obviously, yes.
Pro tip: cute dog makes tree workers less annoyed with you for interrupting their streamlined work flow
Willow is a sacred plant to me for the reason things are often sacred to me...it has so many "uses" which is a rather annoyingly English language way of saying that it's connected to so many ecosystem needs and offers so many "magical" options for interwoven thriving. I believe in the sacredness of "utility" - NOT productivity-burnout-capitalism, not extraction-disposaibility-objectification (objects are sacred everything is a subject and an object) - but rather, to feel so rightly in relationship, to be of use, to be used, to have a place to put my offerings and gifts so they don't pile up into pollution from not being shared.
So when I say I love Willow because of how useful it is, that is a statement of reverence, delight, wonder. Like this plant is asking me to be active, physical relationship with them. In like 47 different ways - Willow bark is an anti-inflammatory pain herb, willows re-root easily and love to have their feet wet and make great erosion-preventers along or even IN streams, willows make beautiful useful baskets, living fences, habitat, and aesthetic and auditory relief in this dry season.
I got home and onto the internet and discovered that of course it's also in my bloodline - a tree particularly sacred in Greece, known for, amongst many other things, both calling in the medicine of, and protecting us as we walk through, the underworld. As we do now.