Finding the Mother Tree

 

After a life time of work in the forests of British Columbia, scientist Suzanne Simard has just released her life’s story in Finding the Mother Tree: Discovering the Wisdom of the Forest.  Her love of trees began as a child in a family that logged in a sustainable way in BC. Working in the forestry industry as an adult led Simard to follow her hunches and explore new ways that science could look at the interconnectedness of the forest.

Simard and other scientists found that mycorrhizal fungi connected the roots of trees and other plants, forming what was dubbed the wood-wide-web.  She found that trees not only cooperated but that the huge ancient mother trees favoured their own offspring in sharing resources.  Even trees that were dying, sent all of their nutrients flooding to the saplings. 

Finding the Mother Tree details this journey of hunches, intuitions and exacting scientific protocol to describe the interactive community of the forest.  When foresters clear cut an area, this web is destroyed and the seedlings that are replanted have no access to a sharing elder or other species to protect them.  Birches, for example, protect other trees from root disease.  Saplings that grow just outside of the dripline of a mother tree grow well.  Trees that are planted on a clear cut that has had the other trees and stumps removed along with the fungal rich soil, are left to fend from sun, wind, snow and disease alone.  Many and in some cases most, fail to thrive.

Simard weaves her own life’s story throughout the book, much like Robin Wall Kimmerer does in Braiding Sweetgrass.  As she sees parallels between her own family and the forest, she paints a picture that is new for science and she realizes that she is approaching the same conclusions that are held in Indigenous wisdom, but from a completely different starting point.  Simard writes:  

“I don’t presume to grasp Aboriginal knowledge fully.  It comes from a way of knowing the earth – an epistemology – different from that of my own culture.  It speaks of being attuned to the blooming of the bitterroot, the running of the salmon, the cycles of the moon.  Of knowing that we are tied to the land – the trees and animals and soil and water – and to one another, and that we have a responsibility to care for these connections and resources, ensuring the sustainability of these ecosystems for future generations and to honor those who came before.  Of treading lightly, taking only what gifts we need, and giving back.  Of showing humility toward and tolerance for all we are connected to in this circle of life. “( p. 294)

Simard chronicles how the decisions made by forestry companies and government policy makers which are based on making the maximum profit are damaging to the forests, the rivers, animals and humans.  Recent wild fires are only just one result of this misguided management. 

But she has solutions.  “We must heed the answers we’re being given,” she writes.  “I believe this kind of transformative thinking is what will save us.  It is a philosophy of treating the world’s creatures, its gifts, as of equal importance to us.  This begins by recognizing that trees and plants have agency.  They perceive, relate, and communicate; they exercise various behaviors.  They cooperate, make decisions, learn, and remember – qualities we normally ascribe to sentience, wisdom, intelligence.  By noting how trees, animals, and even fungi – any and all nonhuman species – have this agency, we can acknowledge that they deserve as much regard as we accord ourselves.  We can continue pushing our earth out of balance, with greenhouse gases accelerating each year, or we can regain balance by acknowledging that if we harm one species, one forest, one lake, this ripples through the entire complex web.” (p. 295)

Suzanne Simard

Simard advises, “expanding our modern ways, our epistemology and scientific methodologies, so that they complement, build on, and align with Aboriginal roots.” (p. 295)   Suzanne Simard is one of the growing number of scientists who are coming to this conclusion.  What they seem to have in common is a deep love of nature, the ability to tap into their intuition and follow its lead through the scientific model and the persistence to share their findings which can only come from deep love.  Using their hearts, both sides of their brains and their ability to communicate, these scientists are changing how we do business.  Our economic models need to reflect the truth of our interconnectedness as well if we are going to heal the damage that has already been done.  There are voices from within economics who are rethinking this already.  Hopefully, they are also powered by love as they get their message out, this new story.  And what can we do?  We can listen, pay attention and support them as they emerge.  We can be a part of this new story.  

Suzanne Simard (2021) Finding the Mother Tree: Discovering the Wisdom of the Forest. Penguin Canada.

Story of the Forest Protector

 

I want to share the story of the Forest Protector.  It started with the logging of Poplars in our favourite forest.  The large, profitable logs were taken away but the rest was left behind, in piles, wasted.  One five foot log with a diameter of 30 inches started to get the attention of my partner.  He began to think about carving a face on it.

Using tools he already had and fashioning some new ones, he took the bark off of the log.  Then he drew a face and began to carve with chisels and a wooden mallet that he constructed.  Over a number of days, the face emerged.

Then we had to roll it to a large stump that would work as a pedestal and somehow get it standing upright.  

Once in place, he added wooden ears, complete with earrings of shell and pinecone.  One eyeball was a piece of rounded sodalite shared by a friend.  The other was a black stone that we found in the nearby river.  The eyes brought the Forest Protector to life as it surveyed the forest beyond.

Other sea shells and cones adorned the face as well.  Then he added pine and cedar bows into holes drilled into the hat which was made from a stump and a slice of a big log.  Two pine bows adorned the top of the hat, hanging at a jaunty angle.  Two feathers were attached with red string.  They spun and danced in the breeze.

On the opposite side of the trail we placed a stump that was attached to a tall piece of bark.  I wrote “Listening Spot” on the stump and attached two more feathers, one crow and one swan, just like those on the hat. 

What are we listening to?  The forest, the Forest Protector, the silence, our inner voices?  Sitting before the statue and being invited to listen, who knows what may happen? 

The Ferns Speak

 

This is the time of the year, in southern Ontario, to forage for those wild treasures of the forest – fiddleheads.  Only the fiddleheads of the Ostrich Fern are edible in these parts.  Since ferns can be tricky to identify, it is best to do so in the summer and then remember where they were the following spring.   However, there is another possible way to identify Ostrich Fern rhizomes in the spring.  The fertile fronds of both the Ostrich and the Sensitive ferns are still present in the spring on top of some of the rhizomes. 

Telling these two fertile fronds apart is rather like telling the difference between frog and toad eggs.  Frog eggs are laid in one big mass while toad eggs are laid in a double row on a long string.  Likewise, the fertile frond of a Sensitive Fern is made up of double rows of brown bead like structures on little branches while those of the Ostrich Fern are dark brown and look like a feather.

The furled young fern leaves rise up from the rhizome looking like the head stock of a violin or fiddle, hence the name fiddlehead.  This is the stage to pick them for a delicious meal.  As these fronds grow, the curled heads unfurl.  Their tiny leaflets are curled in on themselves and these too unfurl and open up.  At this stage, they are no longer edible for humans.

I spent some time recently, sitting on a fallen log with a patch of Christmas Ferns.  They are so called since they are evergreen and apparently people used to pick them for Christmas decorations.  Last year’s fronds lie on the forest floor as the new fiddleheads rise from their centre, from the rhizome below.  I am paying attention, looking carefully and listening. The ferns speak:

Christmas Fern fiddleheads and last year's evergreen fronds

“When the time is right, our new growth rises.  Light, warmth and water tell us when it is time.  Tightly curled, our fiddleheads rise from our rhizome, our core, where we have stored our energy over the winter.  As we rise, the pressure of the soil disappears and we  stretch out, unfurling in the absence of constraint, in the presence of sunlight.

Do you dare to rise from the constraints of human life?  Do you dare to uncoil your gifts, your DNA in the presence of love?  Fear and grief kept them buried, coiled and furled.  Do you dare to take up space?  Do you dare to grow and mature as if you belonged here?  As if you were home?”

I have to admit that there is something about unfurling, exposing, taking up space that feels dangerous.  It is like wearing a target on one’s back.  Part of that is true, but that is only the tip of the iceberg.  Below the surface is the historical, ancestral trauma.  Just like an iceberg, that is the part that can really do the damage.

Some of my ancestors left Ireland to seek employment in the cotton mills of Oldham in Lancashire, UK.  Some came from Yorkshire and some from Middlesex as well.  They left their land and worked inside the mills and for the businesses that supported the mils and their workers.  Intense pollution was the price tag they paid.  Long, unhealthy hours of work was also the price.  Don’t rise above your station was the rule of the land.

I sit on a fallen log amidst the debris of logging and the forest feels fractured.  The world feels fractured with the pandemic.  And my DNA feels fractured by the traumas of my ancestors.  I sit on a fallen log and watch the ferns unfurl.  They speak of rising and spreading out.  They speak of embodying space, of being Christmas Ferns.  They share the forest floor with Trilliums, Trout Lilies, Wild Leeks, Maples, Beech and Balsam Firs.  They share the forest with Wild Turkeys, Deer, birds, fungi and insects.  They are unfurling together and becoming their full selves.

Do I dare to unfurl my clenched, wounded DNA so that the full coding is available to me and to the world?  Do I dare to learn how to heal these old, old wounds not of my making?

For supper, I feast on fiddleheads and Wild Leeks.  I drink my Nettle tea freshly foraged and chlorophyll packed.  I feel their strength enter my body, their wildness and their wisdom.  Unfurl, stretch out, be fully human.  We will show you how.

 

 

Oak, the Ogham Tree of May

 

The ancient Celts created the first alphabet in Europe which is called the Ogham script.  Each letter is associated with a tree or an important plant.  The alphabet was used as a mnemonic device to encode knowledge, the Celtic song of the universe, Ceolta na Cruinne (Diana Beresford-Kroeger).  The thirteen months of the year (pre-Gregorian calendar) were each represented by a particular tree.  The new year began on Nov. 1^st with Birch, followed by Rowan in December, Alder in January, Willow in February, Ash in March and Hawthorn in April. The tree associated with May is Oak.  It Duir to the Celts and it represented the letter D.

Oak is a member of the beech family.  It can grow up to 50 meters.  It has a very large and deep root system that firmly anchors it into the earth and can be as large as the branches above. The Oak flowers in May with male and female flowers on the same tree and its fruit is the acorn. The male catkins appear on the tree with the leaves. They become long, pendulous and pollen-filled.  The female flowers open a month after the males, as upright flowers with two or three cups which hold the seed vessels that will become acorns. These female flowers are in the canopy and are very tiny.  Oaks don’t produce acorns until they are 40 years old and peak between 80 – 120 years.  Therefore, it is very hard for humans on the Earth to see these flowers.  Oaks like a lot of light and Oak leaves that fall to the ground continue with their photo activity.  They release a growth hormone called abscisic acid which helps the acorns to grow. 

Oaks grow across Europe, Britain, North America and all over the world.  An Oak can live to be a thousand years old.  There are 600 species of Oak and some have acorns that are edible for humans.

The shade provided by the Oak encourages the growth of wild flowers such as Bluebells, Foxgloves and Wood Sorrel.  Fungi and lichen grow on the trunk as well as ivy.  Oak forests provide a habitat that supports more life forms than any other British trees, hosting over 280 species of insect which supplies food for birds.  Many birds and mammals eat the acorns.  The fallen leaves support invertebrates and fungi.  Birds and bats nest in the crevices and Woodpecker holes. 

After the first hundred years of growth, Oak grows very slowly making the wood strong and long lasting.  The wood was used traditionally for bridges waterbreaks and houses.  Neolithic trackways made of Oak have been found in the UK still well preserved after thousands of years. Oak was central to shipbuilding for the Vikings and the British.  The earliest boats found in Britain were made from a single oak trunk. It was also used for coffins.  Oak bark was used for dyes.  An infusion of oak bark and copper was used by Scottish highlanders to make a beautiful purple dye.

A decoction of dried Oak bark and water can be used to treat sore throats, skin inflammation, minor wounds and fevers.  A foot wash made from Oak leaf tea can ease weary feet. Traditionally the leaves, bark and acorns were used to heal ailments such as diarrhea, inflammation and kidney stones.  Tannin from the bark was used in tanning leather. 

Oak produces one of the hardest and most durable timbers. It’s Latin name Quercus robur means strength and it was the primary ship building material. Oak was one of the woods used for the Yule log.  The Oak was sacred to many European cultures as well as the ancient Hebrews.  King Arthur’s round table was reputedly made of a slab from an enormous Oak tree.

“The Oak is the darling of the Celtic world,” writes Diana Beresford-Kroeger (Kroeger p 206).  Oak was a chieftan tree for the Celts.   In Ireland, Oak bark creates a kind of soil on its horizontal branches where ferns and moss can grow as well as mistletoe which was a magical herb of the Druids.  As the wind twists the canopy, the torque on the trunk can allow a water to appear.  It was called uisce dubh or black water by the Druidic physicians.  It is a polymer called gallo-tannin which is still used for burns.

Oak was used so extensively in shipbuilding during the Elizabethan era that it almost became extinct.  Then it was the first tree to be protected by legislation in Britain.  There are many famous Oaks in Britain.  The word Druid is derived from duir and it means “one with the wisdom of the oak”. (Forest p. 99) The Druids met under oaks and planted them to mark sacred places. 

Oak was sacred to thunder and lightning gods across Europe as well as Brighid.  A Druidic legend says that the tree is the “beating heart of the planet” and that the time will come when people will replant the sacred Oak groves beginning in County Clare, Ireland.

The word door comes from the Gaelic word duir, a word for solidity and protection and the Oak.  Oak was the King, solid with great branches and even greater roots.  Oak is often struck by lightning which can make the sap burst, leaving the tree gnarled and yet still living.   Ancient Bards and Druids preached under Oaks, gaining strength from the tree.  This tree represents primeval strength and the ability to overcome and survive.

Oak is the World Tree for Britain. Neolithic “woodhenges” were also made of Oak.  Oak galls are known as Serpent Eggs.  Oak as central to British worldview goes back 4,500 years as found in the discovery of Seahenge in 1998 in Norfolk.  The trunk of the Oak buried upside down there is a doorway between worlds.  The roots hold the ancestral wisdom in the Lowerworld..  The branches symbolize the Upperworld and hold the potential, the embryonic concepts which are yet to come.  The trunk symbolizes the Middleworld which connects the other worlds and it is where people live. 

In the Celtic worldview, the Oak King guards from midwinter to midsummer and the Holly King from midsummer to midwinter.  The Oak King is the lord of the sky and the fire of the sun, while Holly is the lord of darkness and the underworld or the fire at the heart of the Earth.  And at Beltane or Mayday, the Hawthorn Queen marries the Oak King so that fertility for the land is assured.

And finally, Glennie Kindred writes that Oak represents inner strength, endurance, courage, a doorway and self-determination.  “Go to the Oak tree itself when you need to find the courage and strength to fight against great difficulties.” (Kindred p. 27) 

 

Species:  English Oak (Quercus robur), Sessile Oak (Quercus patraea) in the west of England, the Holm Oak (Quercus ilex) in the south of England

In Canada, Red Oak (Quercus rubra), White Oak (Quercus alba), Black Oak (Quercus velutina) and Burr Oak (Quercus macrocarpa).

This is a compilation of information taken from the following sources:

Diana Beresford-Kroeger (2019) To Speak for the Trees. Random House: Canada.

Danu Forest (2014) Celtic Tree Magic: Ogham Lore and Druid Mysteries. Llewellyn Worldwide: Woodbury, Minnesota.

Glennie Kindred, (1997) The Tree Ogham. Glennie Kindred: UK.

Liz and Colin Murray (1988) The Celtic Tree Oracle. Connections Book Publishing: London, UK.

Jacqueline Memory Peterson (1996) Tree Wisdom: The definitive guidebook to the myth, folklore and healing power of Trees. Thorsons: London.

Elen Sentier (2014) Trees of the Goddess. Moon Books: Winchester, UK.