Sunday 12 July
I have two books on the go at the moment. They’re both on the theme of nature but both very different about their subjects. In both, trees feature so prominently, and yet neither is specifically about trees.
I guess that’s not too surprising. But in both, and in any other book I have read where trees get a mention, their status is often revered, even feared. They’re wise, old, experienced. They withstand hundreds of years of weather, extremes of drought and rain, freezing cold and blistering heat.
They provide shelter to generation after generation of mammals, birds and insects. Many raise their young in the arms of their branches. The young fly off to foreign lands only to fly back again the following spring to the same tree to raise their own families. Some animals hibernate in the tree’s womb-like hollows or underground amongst its wrap-around roots.
The tree provides early nutrition to invertebrates, who scurry, slide or crawl under leaves, along branches and in-between the ridges of the bark. These, in turn, get fed on by predators further up the food chain. So, many creatures consider the tree their home and larder.
For walkers, the old tree provides a welcome resting place to sit or lean against. To eat a sandwich or sip a cup of tea under. The thick canopy provides cool shade from the sun and shelter from that sudden downpoor. That big old tree is a local landmark, the meeting place, the waypoint on a journey. Ropes hang from it. Houses are built in it. Names are etched in it with a heart shape in between.
Life courses through it. So much science occurs in it. Every year, stored energy unfurls leaves and fills plump, new fruits and wholesome nuts. They fall, providing food for those below, shelter for countless invertebrates and nutrients for the soil. Some may take root and grow in awe of their towering parent. And then, a year later, it does it all again. Trees look after each other.
When I was a child, I really wanted trees to talk. I feared they may walk. Today, when I come across a big old tree, I try to imagine the stories they may have to tell. The characters they have seen, the conversations they have overheard, and what they make of it all.
The Bald Birder 