Treasuring Trees—Part 1

I am fortunate enough to live in a rural environment that is heavily populated by trees—of all varieties and ages. Part of my land was once farmed, about 100 years ago, and then abandoned to Mother Nature's succession process, wherein the first wild growth—weeds—gets replaced by short-lived saplings, followed eventually by long-lived, majestic towering trees. Thus, in my immediate environs, I can enjoy the dynamics of the forest's initial rebuilding cycles, as well as the grand, soaring trees of a climax forest.

Immediately surrounding our small, domesticated clearing—which required only the removal of several interim short-lived pine trees—are towering trees that shade us and inspire respect. They possess a natural beauty that I liken to the spires of cathedrals. They bend and sway in the wind, reminding me of green-clad monks, as they bow in blessing.

I have become acutely aware of the blessings that they provide for us, besides their loveliness, which evokes wonder: they expire life-giving oxygen, as they inspire and capture our carbon dioxide, transforming it into trunks, branches, and leaves. When they die and tumble to the ground, trees offer one last gift of firewood that will provide us a cozy experience on winter nights.

I love to watch and listen to the wind blow through the trees. I can hear distant waves of wind approach and flow by, as I observe branches swinging to and fro in response. Sometimes an individual limb or leaf will flutter in isolation, as the remainder of the tree stands still—as if that leaf alone has been excited by the passing breeze and is waving to it, as it blows through.

I sometimes ponder how similar I am to my brother trees, despite our obvious differences—and how our existence complements each other. Besides our exchange of atmospheric oxygen and carbon dioxide, I appreciate how trees refresh the air in so many ways, and how their photosynthesis transforms the sun's energy into food that most all life on Earth depends upon.

We each are composed of many of the same organic molecules. The water and blood surging through my body is similar to the sap flowing through the tree's capillaries. My bones provide the same function of support as does a tree's strong trunk. We both—along with all lifeforms—are a component of the cycle of life, as we die, to become part of follow-on lifeforms. We come into being, exist for a while (although a tree dwarfs my lifespan), and finally become sustenance for the life that follows. These thoughts help me to comprehend the deep connectivity between all life forms.

Over the next four posts I will describe some of the fascinating facts about the lives of trees, mostly taken from the book The Hidden Life of Trees: What They Feel, How they Communicate (2015), by Peter Wohlleben, who worked for many years as a forester in Germany.