A Pang Imagining Them

 

It rained and it rained, and it continued to rain all day. The little witch hazel chestnut oaks I planted seemed confused in all the rain.  I have been listening to Suzanne Simard’s “The Mother Tree,” hours and hours of listening rather than reading, which isn’t what I normally do.  But I listened because we had so far to drive, the day before.  And as the narrative unfolded I found myself caring for her, her career, her family and appreciating the way she wove scientific information about mycorrhizal fungi into a story that kept me captivated. 

 

The main thesis, that trees communicate and help one another to survive, is extraordinary to consider.  Root tendrils and fungal adhesives transmit chemicals within species, between species, in a manner that sometime prioritizes immediate relatives and sometimes favors the complexity of the overall forest.  Profiled as a fictional character Patricia Westford in “The Overstory” her real story, her real voice had me infinitely more intrigued. 

During the story, she repeatedly explains how experiments showed when trees were isolated and unable to communicate with other trees, younger firs from older firs, younger firs from nearby elm trees, they would suffer, as critical chemical transfers were blocked.  This struck me as rather topical, as I had a few planters with a striped maples, chestnut oaks and witch hazels which I’d transplanted, that were sitting in the yard, each unto themselves.  Each time she referenced her findings I felt a pang imagining them sitting there unable to reach out to any kinsmen with their roots. 

Nothing would be easier than to drop them down in the ground and call them transplanted. I hesitate to do so, however because the sassafras nub I did that with last year grew nicely and then one days was gobbled down by a ground hog.  The stem is still standing there this year.  I kept hoping it might germinate new leaves, but to-date it remains a bear stick.  So if I’m to plant these mountain species down here, I need to not only choose a spot but presumably remain vigilant against all the mammals and insects that might eat them down and kill them.  Being denuded by a herbivore must be worse than the rooted version of solitary confinement.  How is it that bonsai trees to grow then, in their little pots, with no one else to make root-contact with?  I suppose the critical ingredients that are otherwise transferred to struggling saplings by “mother trees” can alternatively be fed into a pot to achieve much if not all the same result. 

 

 

 

Sunday, 5/30/21