There's an intriguing quality to woodlands that I like to call the layered effect. It's most obvious when staring into a forested area that spans a large area and is composed of many different species of trees and other growth. Those in the foreground appear, of course, the clearest and offer the most detail. Pine needles, branches and leaves are all visible, distinct one from the other. But as the eye moves more deeply into the denser growth, images begin to blur, until they appear as layer upon layer of subtly different shades of greens and browns.
There, the edges of distinguishable shapes like leaves and branches blur, and smaller objects, such as individual pine needles, join to produce a tufted look when framed by the more delineated shapes of large boughs and trunks. Colors soften, and from that distance, pine boughs take on a bluish tint depending the slant of the light, becoming the stuff that woodland fantasies are made of.
This so-called layering process extends to all of life, from the air masses that exist above us to the ground we walk on. From its core outward, the planet we call home is a series of mineral masses that have continued to build on top of each other over billions of years. The uppermost layers, called plates, move constantly, releasing some of the intense pressure trapped beneath them in the form of earthquakes and volcanoes.
The oceans are composed of layers of water that start out relatively warm at the surface and get progressively colder toward the bottom. Clouds are layered masses of moisture, the air we breathe is just one layer in what we call our atmosphere, and in winter, snow accumulates in layers between storms. As all things grow, they do so by a process of new growth covering, or being covered by, old growth, as illustrated most distinctly in trees, whose new tissues emerge as rings that can be counted once they are cut down. As smaller plants grow, they do so as layers of new tissue displacing the old, snakes shed old skins to make room for the new, and even we humans evolve through growth that involves a layering process that takes place within and without.
Stylists speak of hair layering, painters apply pigment in layers toward the perfect finish, and masons put down stacks of foundational materials. We polish our nails with multiple coatings, we dress in layers against the cold, and even our lives could be said to be layers of experiences, one following another, each resting upon those that came before it.
Physically or philosophically, much of life evolves by degrees that often manifest themselves as shapes, objects, events or outcomes superimposed one upon the other. And the woods mirror that, in the detail they show us up close and layered against blurred masses of color and substance that act as backdrops, lending perspective and assigning meaning to what we are seeing. In this sense, nature is forever making connections between all forms of life, between the real and the abstract, between the clear and the hazy, between the lives of woodlands and wild creatures and our very own.
Looking deeply into the woods is an exercise for the mind and the eye, as both take in the myriad shapes, planes, surfaces and configurations that work together to produce what we see. And at some point in the farthest reaches, clarity dims as does reality and the imagination takes over. What is that over there, I often ask myself, when some shape, shade or shadow in the distance is too vague to identify. It could be nothing, I answer, or then again, it could be everything.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/1530989876
Showing posts with label branches. Show all posts
Showing posts with label branches. Show all posts
Saturday, June 7, 2014
Friday, June 6, 2014
Death of a Tree
As I write, the old dead tree out back is coming down. A crew stopped early this morning to ask if they could work on this side of the fence, so I gave them the landlord's phone number. Since they began slicing off the side branches, my eyes have remained glued to the multiple holes that several woodpeckers have called home since before I got here. My hope is that, by now, the birds have vacated the premises and have started canvassing for other digs. Yet, it isn't without some measure of sadness that I observe the drama unfolding before me, not unlike a bird's wings, one feather at a time. And I hope that the fact that I haven't heard the woodpeckers' characteristic cries indicates that they are nowhere near. I'm not sure if birds mourn disruption as much as humans do, if they decry having to part with familiar surroundings and be forced to adjust to new. Come to think of it, it's really not unlike what we go through when we leave beloved places behind.
Watching these birds go through the motions of building a nest, then bearing and raising their young, was actually one of the things that helped me through my own transition from wooded to urban living. I kept my field glasses near that back window so that I could be quick to see what they happened to be up to at any given time. That's how it is with birds. You've got to be quick to catch the special moments that are over all too soon, and it is this vigilance that eventually rewarded me with observing the newborn's beak finally poke out of the hole in search of food. This happened some time in late May or early June, and at which time both parents began flying themselves ragged each day to keep Junior fed, and it was only at night that the process stopped or slowed. As fate would have it, I got busy with other things and never did see the moment when the young 'un finally left the nest. I seriously doubt that any bird will come anywhere near that old tree while chainsaws rip through its ancient flesh, putting the final touches on its demise. It wasn't completely dead. There was still a lot of greenery at the bottom on the healthier branches. But it has apparently become someone else's bane, so down it is coming, with many many thuds, and, if I'm not mistaken, groans of protest.
Later, when I went back to the window, despite the fact that I knew what I'd see, it was still a shock to see that vast empty space where that tree had stood. I stared at the spot a long time, then closed my eyes and tried to envision its beginnings as a tiny seedling straining to make its presence known among what might have been those many years ago a thicket of other growth. Most trees with trunks that wide have seen many rings added to their girth, so I'm guessing this particular old timer had seen many moons grow full and wane and even more sunrises and sunsets. And while its bottom half was still struggling to survive in this world where it is every tree for itself, the top had become home to creatures that might not otherwise have taken up residence in such a place as this.
I accepted this tree's removal with a sort of resignation that is still seeking to find a space in my own thinking. My life has undergone a lot of change lately, and I'm not quite sure just how I feel about a lot of it. But I can say this: for a lover of trees, it's never easy to bid one farewell. I must once again choose how to feel, and this is what I've come up with...that I don't have to go very far to find renewed comfort in the fact that, for every tree that is dismembered and sacrificed for the sake of aesthetics, there are dozens, hundreds, thousands, millions of others awaiting my gaze and appreciation. And knowing trees and their ways, I wouldn't be at all surprised if, at some point and unbeknownst to most, a new seedling, or maybe even two, someday poked through the soil in that very spot and whispered, "I'm back."
That's how it is with trees.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/1530989876
Watching these birds go through the motions of building a nest, then bearing and raising their young, was actually one of the things that helped me through my own transition from wooded to urban living. I kept my field glasses near that back window so that I could be quick to see what they happened to be up to at any given time. That's how it is with birds. You've got to be quick to catch the special moments that are over all too soon, and it is this vigilance that eventually rewarded me with observing the newborn's beak finally poke out of the hole in search of food. This happened some time in late May or early June, and at which time both parents began flying themselves ragged each day to keep Junior fed, and it was only at night that the process stopped or slowed. As fate would have it, I got busy with other things and never did see the moment when the young 'un finally left the nest. I seriously doubt that any bird will come anywhere near that old tree while chainsaws rip through its ancient flesh, putting the final touches on its demise. It wasn't completely dead. There was still a lot of greenery at the bottom on the healthier branches. But it has apparently become someone else's bane, so down it is coming, with many many thuds, and, if I'm not mistaken, groans of protest.
Later, when I went back to the window, despite the fact that I knew what I'd see, it was still a shock to see that vast empty space where that tree had stood. I stared at the spot a long time, then closed my eyes and tried to envision its beginnings as a tiny seedling straining to make its presence known among what might have been those many years ago a thicket of other growth. Most trees with trunks that wide have seen many rings added to their girth, so I'm guessing this particular old timer had seen many moons grow full and wane and even more sunrises and sunsets. And while its bottom half was still struggling to survive in this world where it is every tree for itself, the top had become home to creatures that might not otherwise have taken up residence in such a place as this.
I accepted this tree's removal with a sort of resignation that is still seeking to find a space in my own thinking. My life has undergone a lot of change lately, and I'm not quite sure just how I feel about a lot of it. But I can say this: for a lover of trees, it's never easy to bid one farewell. I must once again choose how to feel, and this is what I've come up with...that I don't have to go very far to find renewed comfort in the fact that, for every tree that is dismembered and sacrificed for the sake of aesthetics, there are dozens, hundreds, thousands, millions of others awaiting my gaze and appreciation. And knowing trees and their ways, I wouldn't be at all surprised if, at some point and unbeknownst to most, a new seedling, or maybe even two, someday poked through the soil in that very spot and whispered, "I'm back."
That's how it is with trees.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/1530989876
Interlude
Those who dwell among the beauties and mysteries of the earth are never alone or weary of life. ~Rachel Carson
I took a walk in the woods yesterday along the path I blazed last fall only to find it strewn with the debris of the most recent storm. So I picked fallen branches up as I went along and lay them to one side where they will soon be buried by falling leaves. Ferns have taken over once again in a spongy area just above where the natural spring exits the hill, and I was thankful I'd blazed a few trees to mark the way.
When I reached the main path, I turned left and headed up the steep slope that is now mercifully open only to those on foot. Several summers ago, I had a problem with someone tearing up and down it on a very loud all-terrain vehicle, and finally asked a neighbor to block its lower end with some huge boulders. It's off-limits now to all but those who walk these woods, and that is as it should be. The path slopes steeply down toward the dirt road and, as such, provides a natural egress for heavy rains and melting snows. The recent heavy rains have worn a deep rivulet in one side of it, so it's hard going up there, but I wasn't to be deterred. Two of my three cats weren't far behind, and we made our way slowly but surely toward the ridge where the land levels off.
As I neared the area, I discovered an enormous maple tree that had fallen and completely blocked the path with its thick branches and dense foliage. All I could see were the silvery backs of leaves against a deeper green background, color values not normally seen from this angle, an anomaly in this place of uprightness and tenacity. A bit of scouting revealed that it will be possible to regain the path by passing under the maple at its root end, but I will attempt this earlier in the day and will bring loppers with me to clean the area out a bit.
It occurred to me then that, had I not had my neighbor block the path with boulders, nature would eventually have resolved the problem herself, as was evidenced by this tree. While trespassers have, in the past, taken it upon themselves to cut and move branches out of their way, they could never have budged this great tree. There it will remain until someone decides to take a chainsaw to it. Its leaves will turn brown and fall off, and for awhile, it won't be an attractive part of the landscape. But time will solve that as well, and at some point, it will look like it's been there for years.
As I headed for home, I looked up at the treetops tinged with the setting sun's light, and blue jays flew over crying out to each other as they went. A squirrel scolded my cats as they passed through what must have been its territory, and it sat in that tree for quite some time chattering away and venting its irritation at them. They seemed not to notice as they made their way through the weeds and grasses, tall now as summer nears its end. My garden, too, has that wild tumbled eclectic look that I love, with black-eyed susans smiling above long stalks of mint bearing their spent blossoms.
It's no longer summer but neither is it fall quite yet, and one of my favorite times of year. I like to think of it as an interlude as nature readies herself for the spectacular display of color that's just around the corner.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/1530989876
I took a walk in the woods yesterday along the path I blazed last fall only to find it strewn with the debris of the most recent storm. So I picked fallen branches up as I went along and lay them to one side where they will soon be buried by falling leaves. Ferns have taken over once again in a spongy area just above where the natural spring exits the hill, and I was thankful I'd blazed a few trees to mark the way.
When I reached the main path, I turned left and headed up the steep slope that is now mercifully open only to those on foot. Several summers ago, I had a problem with someone tearing up and down it on a very loud all-terrain vehicle, and finally asked a neighbor to block its lower end with some huge boulders. It's off-limits now to all but those who walk these woods, and that is as it should be. The path slopes steeply down toward the dirt road and, as such, provides a natural egress for heavy rains and melting snows. The recent heavy rains have worn a deep rivulet in one side of it, so it's hard going up there, but I wasn't to be deterred. Two of my three cats weren't far behind, and we made our way slowly but surely toward the ridge where the land levels off.
As I neared the area, I discovered an enormous maple tree that had fallen and completely blocked the path with its thick branches and dense foliage. All I could see were the silvery backs of leaves against a deeper green background, color values not normally seen from this angle, an anomaly in this place of uprightness and tenacity. A bit of scouting revealed that it will be possible to regain the path by passing under the maple at its root end, but I will attempt this earlier in the day and will bring loppers with me to clean the area out a bit.
It occurred to me then that, had I not had my neighbor block the path with boulders, nature would eventually have resolved the problem herself, as was evidenced by this tree. While trespassers have, in the past, taken it upon themselves to cut and move branches out of their way, they could never have budged this great tree. There it will remain until someone decides to take a chainsaw to it. Its leaves will turn brown and fall off, and for awhile, it won't be an attractive part of the landscape. But time will solve that as well, and at some point, it will look like it's been there for years.
As I headed for home, I looked up at the treetops tinged with the setting sun's light, and blue jays flew over crying out to each other as they went. A squirrel scolded my cats as they passed through what must have been its territory, and it sat in that tree for quite some time chattering away and venting its irritation at them. They seemed not to notice as they made their way through the weeds and grasses, tall now as summer nears its end. My garden, too, has that wild tumbled eclectic look that I love, with black-eyed susans smiling above long stalks of mint bearing their spent blossoms.
It's no longer summer but neither is it fall quite yet, and one of my favorite times of year. I like to think of it as an interlude as nature readies herself for the spectacular display of color that's just around the corner.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/1530989876
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