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(Above photo courtesy of Cindy Mead of Woodsong.)
Welcome to the eighth edition of the Festival of the Trees and the second of 2007.
As I write, snow continues to fall in my little corner of southwest Michigan. I sit in the living room, whose window overlooks a dark row of evergreens. Every so often one too many snowflakes sends a gentle shower of snow sliding off a branch. The candle is lit, the hot chocolate is poured, and Enya’s Lothlorien (the only treeish thing I have) is playing. Only the fire is missing, because someone forgot to bring the wood in before the snow fell. But here we have more than enough trees to make up for that oversight, even if they’re not burning.
The Firefly Forest reports that snow fell in Tucson in January and has the photos to prove it.
At Hurricane Katrina Forest Recovery Tom Wilemon reports that “FEMA has decided to expand the area from which it will remove dead trees beyond the surge zone of Hurricane Katrina.”
After that, all the weather news goes downhill. Juliet Wilson of Crafty Green Poet writes about trees in Edinburgh that fell before gale-force winds. More winds took out trees in Stanley Park, Vancouver, British Columbia. Heather Smith of Beautiful British Columbia took pictures of piles of logs awaiting removal.
The trees are not only on the banks but in the river at Save the Ribble.
Over on the other side of Michigan, Garden Djinn‘s quince tree budded at the wrong time (no wonder, with all the unseasonably warm weather we’d been having). One hopes that there’s no lasting damage there.
While it makes for a beautiful picture, too much ice can be devastating for trees, as Marcia Bonta writes in Mountain of Ice.
Bruce and I went out shortly after nine in the morning to walk in First Field a safe distance from the ice-laden trees. We did have to pass under one large red maple tree that bore an incredible burden of ice, and I commented to Bruce that we probably shouldn’t be under it. He shrugged off my concern, but we had only moved fifty feet away when it toppled to the ground. “That’s it,” I said. “We’re staying far away from all trees.”
Not staying away from the trees are those who blog their travels in the wood, or the park, or on the road. Phil’s thinking of the future when he and his wife plant tree seeds or seedlings on their walks. He suggests planting on public land, as presumably your neighbor might not appreciate your efforts.
Pam at Nature Woman missed seeing the birds on her walk at The Thousand Acre Swamp Sanctuary, but enjoyed the trees nonetheless. She says that this is “a tree that looks like he’s trying to run away from his major issues”. You can see why.
Jason at Xenogere got trees and birds on his lake ramble, ending with this gentle exhortation:
Before we disperse, each on his or her own way, each into a life perhaps so far removed from this place as to be unimaginable . . . Take but a moment to think about this time and this place—about this experience. Let the natural beauty of what you’ve seen go with you.
Alice of A Growing Delight covered a lot of ground on a recent Australian road trip, from trees in the wild to trees in the backyard.
Wayne takes readers on a panoramic tour of the tree-covered banks of Sparkleberry Springs Creek at Niches. With any luck, the imaginary development will never happen, and the land and trees will be left to do what they do best.
Cypresses appear in several entries this month (first at the aforementioned Xenogere).
Larry Ayers of Riverside Rambles writes about an article on Mediterranean cypress reforestation in Morocco and the symbiotic relationship of these trees with a particular type of fungus.
At Mimi School in North Taranaki, New Zealand, Shem Kerr of Forestneeds writes about the 1927 legacy of a horticultural teaching assistant keeps on giving. The Monterrey cypresses s/he planted are gone now, but their seeds continue to be planted.
Watch a brief video clip of a bald cypress at Trailhead’s Mountain Time.
Trailhead is also a fan of mangroves, along with Jade at Arboreality. Mangroves are host to crowds of wildlife, both above and below the waterline. Trailhead’s picture of a cormorant rookery in a mangrove swamp is but one example.
Ponderosas, pohutukawa, and palms featured prominently at Under the Ponderosas (here and here), Penguin Unearthed, and Pure Florida. Perhaps the pohutukawa has the most peculiar pronunciation, but it’s also the most friendly to tree-climbers (and with that, I’m out of alliterative prison. Sort of.).
But while I’m in a wild and crazy mood, check out Treeface:
As Amazingly Bizarre reports:
Thousands of people are flocking to a Malasian village to see a ‘ghost tree’ which has reportedly sprouted a human face. There are markings on a 5-metre tall betel nut tree in Kanpung Paya. These clearly resemble human eyes, teeth and a nose. Zainol Nayan, a native spotted the curves emerging a month ago but said the resemblance to a human face only became obvious last week. Villagers, who call it the ‘ghost tree’ claim the face changes each day and they are selling photographs to villagers!
I saw more salamanders this week than I saw all last year at Burning Silo (Bev’s got a lovely reminiscence on a walk in the woods) and Rigor Vitae. As Carel Brest Van Kampen points out, birds aren’t the only creatures that suffer as a result of deforestation:
In the southern Appalachian Mountains, the center of salamander diversity in the United States, it’s estimated that logging has reduced the overall salamander population by 9%. The salamanders most vulnerable to logging impacts are probably the members of the family Plethodontidae, the largest salamander family, with 23 genera and well over 200 species, nearly half of which are native to the U.S.A. Having no lungs, these mostly small, slender amphibians breath through their delicate skin, which loses moisture quickly. Because of this, they venture abroad only at night and during rain, otherwise remaining ensconced under leaf litter or inside decaying wood.
Shem Kerr writes about his recent participation in the New Zealand Farm Forestry Association’s field days for special purpose timber groups, which seemed to work out well for him but perhaps not for others. Which is how it seems to be working out for the tamarisk tree in the southwestern United States. Josh McDaniel’s article on the this tree, a non-native species introduced from Eurasia, is a sobering story of plants in the wrong places. There’s a note of mourning in Ester’s brief tale of a tree death at Daily Drawings.
Jade at Arboreality not only gets all crafty with her live Christmas trees but makes me want to hang with the birds in her yard, and I’ve even had supper. Instead of me, however, she got a great horned owl as a dinner guest, not to mention red foxes, white-tailed deer, raccoons, gray squirrels, and voles.
Forests can become old friends, but even old friends can show a new side of themselves from time to time. So Pablo discovered when he found a cedar tree at Roundrock he calls the Old Man of the Forest.
Salix Tree’s witch hazel at Windy Willow is a breath of fresh air in my wintry landscape and makes me wish for the days-to-come of scratch-and-sniff blogs. The crab apple trees at Earth, Wind, and Water are meant to inspire you gardeners who are looking for something new.
Often we truly don’t know what we’ve got until it’s (almost) gone. Joseph Ilick knew this when he wrote ten reasons why we need trees. Genevieve Netz places his writing in its historical context at Prairie Bluestem.
Bonsai may be literally the least of the tree world, but there’s nothing small about their impact. Laurahinnj visits the bonsai display at Longwood Gardens and comes away with an appreciation of the work that results in a bonsai.
O, what would it be like, I wondered then, to have that thing explode each year for a week into blossom in your head so long after you were dead?
From “May”, Laura Kasischke’s poem of memory.
Silvia at Sister Earth points to the Tree of Contemplative Practices found at The Center for Contemplative Mind in Society.
Not everything found in a tree belongs there. Fences grow in, objects get swallowed up. If you don’t believe me, read Riverrim’s essay (with pictures to prove it) on things people find in trees. Of course, it’s not only trees that absorb what was not there in the beginning:
At first, compromise is such tender discipline, a bending arch as comforting as a gentle stretch or the quiet nudge of a warm and welcomed hand. At what point do ties begin to bind, the supple shape of acquiesence gradually solidifying into the iron bands of unmoving habit? What says “stability” to a strapping sapling might say “strangulation” to a full-grown tree, the initial kiss of hugging cables increasingly chafing with each swelling season. Once contained within a metallic embrace, can a growing tree ever sway against the inevitability of no escape? Once restrained, can any freed creature be re-trained?
So writes Lorianne of Hoarded Ordinaries.
Grassroots Social Worker points to these words of Julia Butterfly Hill:
As I started to picture the trees in the storm, the answer began to dawn on me. The trees in the storm don’t try to stand up straight and tall and erect. They allow themselves to bend and be blown with the wind. They understand the power of letting go. Those trees and those branches that try too hard to stand up strong and straight are the ones that break. Now is not the time for you to be strong, or you, too, may break.
With this wisdom we end another edition of Festival of the Trees. Next month’s festival will be hosted by Riverside Rambles. Send your entries to larry (dot) ayers (at) gmail (dot) com by February 27. You may also submit entries via the entry form at Blog Carnival.