The Company of Trees

“Trees are poems the earth writes on the sky.”–Kahlil Gibran

I am a retreat junkie, but a recent “retreat under the trees” was a unique experience, different from any ever made before. For a whole weekend, two arborists simply taught about trees. Over and over, we saw the remarkable design and care poured into every leaf. How bent on light and life the tree is, how it works against gravity to soar, how it gains ground by going nowhere. The tree is like an interdisciplinary classroom, combining chemistry, engineering, art, geometry and poetry.  I will never see a green, leafy canopy the same way again, now recognizing in it “so great a cloud of witnesses.” (Hebrews 12:1)

Recent research has confirmed the deft strategies a tree uses to survive drought, fire, wind, floods, animals like deer nibbling on its bark. While my understanding is rudimentary and far from complete, I highly recommend The Hidden Life of Trees by Peter Wohlleben and Finding the Mother Tree by Suzanne Simard  to expand this brief description. Video versions and adaptations for children are also available. The more one learns, the more one agrees with American philosopher Ralph Waldo Emerson: “The wonder is that we can see these trees and not wonder more.” 

Redwoods, the tallest trees in the world, some almost 300 feet high, send out roots as long as 6 feet, graft roots onto each other for stability, and grow in groves to protect from wind. After an old one falls, a fairy ring of tubers sprouts, new clones of the original parent. These saplings then grow in a family circle, nourishing and protecting each other from pests and other threats through a silky underground network of fungi.

Even one leaf is a marvel, with smaller ones clustered at the top so they won’t block sun, and lower ones larger to capture more light. Thus one poetic description of trees is “aerial light nets.” Even pine needles, like larger leaves, have stomata or tiny holes on the bottom to take in carbon dioxide from the atmosphere. As they release oxygen, they become our carbon banks, and are growing faster now as carbon dioxide in the air increases. A microscope reveals how the holes close to prevent the leaf releasing too much moisture which it must conserve during a drought.  

In a constant exchange with the environment, trees host mites that eat the fungi that would eat their leaves. Soil resists the encroachment of roots, so the tip of a root is lubricated to ease its way forward. Such intricate and awesome design! Or as John Muir said, “Waters and winds,… meadows and groves, and all the silver stars are words of God.”

Experts on aging like Kathleen Singh propose that the task of the later years is to move away from “selfing,” or ego dominance. While ego serves a worthwhile purpose, like accomplishing work and following directions, it wastes precious time on judgments and anxiety. As we approach our final days, “far more compelling experiences of transcendence occupy our attention.” It may take something vast and magnificent to nudge us from the ingrained ruts of thought and the old, tired patterns of behavior. Something like a forest, coming at just the right time.  

As the poet David Wagoner writes,

“The forest knows

Where you are. You must let it find you.”