by C. H. Wells
It is at this time of year, when the trees have changed their colour in spectacular display, and dropped their leaves, and that distinctive smell of fall is in the air, that we may find ourselves more aware of trees, as they stand there deciduous, stark and naked; or coniferous and still green, despite everything herbaceous around them dying. We know, with full faith, that next spring the trees will bud again and soon come out in leaf, seemingly overnight. And the conifers will warm with the sun, refresh themselves with new growth, and cast the scent of summer heat into the air.
But in autumn, when the call of the crows makes eerie echoes through the leafless trees, life is different, and we are reminded of other things.
Humans have long been bound to the seasons, performing ritual tasks; praying thanks or seeking blessings; drawing in a collective breath – of awe or expectation. We have written fables and myths featuring those who died and were buried or who entered the underworld, only to rise from beneath the earth again, triumphant. All mirror the extraordinary cycle of nature’s apparent decease and remarkable rebirth after lying cold and dead through the long winter.
Chief among our natural harbingers – the trees: Inscrutable, silent sentinels.
The odd thing is, that most of us give very little thought to trees otherwise. They’re just there – all around us and above us – taller than any creature on Earth. Even the scrawniest saplings in our yard soon tower over us. We live our lives generally heedless of our lofty sylvan neighbours. But, be warned – we do so at our peril!
Consider that we “harvest” billions of them every year, on this planet. We chop them down and make our houses and our furniture out of them. We casually use them for shade, boundary lines or noise barriers, forcing them to survive in environments they wouldn’t normally care to set a root in; or isolate them, ditto, just to pretty-up our gardens. We eat their potential offspring; burn them to ash, in an effort to stay warm; and we crush them to a pulp [literally], just to have something to wipe our … um … selves on. A rather ignominious end for the tree – if you’ll pardon the pun.
We destroy whole ecosystems in the Pacific Northwest, where trees are hundreds and hundreds of years old, or decimate tropical rainforests, often to make room for farming. Ironically, given that “agriculture” is listed as the greatest contributor to methane levels in the world, trees may have the last laugh as we meet our own – even more insidious and humiliating – doom: “Death by cow fart.” [I know. You’re laughing. But wait.]
Among the flowers, pitcher plants, sundews and the infamous Venus flytrap, all eat ‘meat.’ And in Victorian times, people believed in the legend of the Yateveo tree, which was known for capturing and eating humans. [Ya te veo – Spanish for “I (already) see you.” Uh-oh!]
The Madagascar Tree, the Vampire Vine and the Jubokko, among others, were also said to kill humans for their flesh, and/or their blood. Our books, films, television and theatre abound with tales of “man-eating” plants, some of which, like John Wyndham’s triffids, were mobile, and could communicate with one another. And M. Night Shyamalan’s 2008 film, The Happening, envisioned ordinary trees producing and releasing toxic chemicals that obliged any nearby humans to self-terminate. [Oh, dear!]
Though it may be comforting to dismiss these tales as fantasy, recent forest research indicates that trees really can communicate with and support one another, through their roots, via a microbial (mycorrhizal) network hidden under ground. [This network has amusingly been dubbed the “Wood Wide Web.”] And it is certainly known that a tree under attack from insects, for example, can send out a message that warns neighbouring trees to prepare a chemical defence.
We’ve long been aware that a visit to the forest can be healing: the sights and sounds and smells lowering our blood pressure and raising our endorphins, making us feel all happy, safe and relaxed. But if trees can lull us into a state of bliss, does it not follow that they could do the opposite? Nature has a way of balancing things out, after all, and trees are nothing if not adaptable.
Indeed, they already have the capacity to recognize both the vibration of a chainsaw and the chemical signature of refined petroleum. If trees can learn to mount a defence against insects – one of their chief predators – then surely, sooner or later, they’re going to figure out how to deal with us. And trees already know how to cooperate with each other for their greater good.
When they’re ready, we will be hard-pressed for any viable counterattack: We kill off the trees, we kill off great gobs of our oxygen supply. And trees sink [capture and hold] an enormous amount of the carbon dioxide and methane from our air that would kill us if left unchecked. With the trees gone, it’s a toss-up whether we would die first from lack of oxygen, or from the aforementioned bovine flatulence [methane].
Remember that trees have been known to survive fire and floods and even being struck by lightning. They’re undoubtedly tougher and stronger than we are. [Don’t believe me? Okay. Pick out an average-sized maple tree. Now, go up to it, ball your hand into a fist, haul back, and punch it as hard as you can!* See?]
What makes trees so big and strong? Simply put: nutrients. Though trees can manufacture their own food – in the presence of sunlight – from CO2 [Thin air!] and water, they also need micronutrients from the soil. Sounds pretty innocuous, doesn’t it?: “Micronutrients.” But what exactly are micronutrients? Well … [cough] … not to put too fine a point on it: us.
Yep, trees munch on our flesh, snack on our bones and draw their nutrients from our very substance, as they do with all other life forms. They just do so in a rather slow process, with the aid of animals or insects and of fungi, bacteria and microorganisms in the soil, who help cut up and transport their food for them. [Trees got caterers?!]
Not too scary, till you consider some of the other reavers of the biosphere: Ever pondered why it feels so chilling to see a flock of vultures, circling, in the distant sky? We know it marks the death, below, of some unfortunate creature whose still warm body is about to be riven to unrecognizable bits. Likewise with slavering jackals or hyenas slinking through the African savannah, edging closer and closer, in anticipation of that fateful loss of consciousness that ensures an easy meal.
There’s something about that passionless, primeval ravening that makes our blood run cold. It is deeply disturbing to contemplate others waiting patiently … [and sometimes not so patiently] … for our final shuddery breath, before moving in to feast. But trees, too, are essentially scavengers and opportunists. They, too, wait placidly for their turn to feed. Just one, tiny, evolutionary step further, and they may learn a new, and more direct way to catch, kill, and digest their ‘micronutrient sources.’ And trees do learn.
No problem, you’re thinking, I can easily outrun a tree! But can you outrun the Wood Wide Web? While you focus on that tree in front of you, it’s busy messaging the trees behind and each side of you, via their interconnected root systems. [You’re standing on them!] Give it another generation, a couple more metres-per-second of speed on the ol’ dendronic hinternet, and good luck getting out of the forest before every tree knows you’re there – and that you’re prey.
If you do decide to try to outrun the trees? Don’t be surprised if, just like in the movies, you “accidentally” trip on a root and go sprawling. Best not lie there too long. [Just sayin’ …]
It could be the real question is, can you outrun death? Because, eventually …
… and the trees will be there: Waiting.
So the next time you’re out walking by the woods, alone, you might want to consider this: Perhaps that’s not just the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves, after all. Maybe that’s actually the sound of the trees, smacking their lips.
I mean, if we‘re going to insist on using the “food chain” [who eats whom] to determine the pecking order of all life on this planet? Well … Who’s the superior species, now? [ … eh, human?…]
———————————-
*[For illustration purposes only. Don’t try this at home!]
DISCLAIMER:
Note: No trees were harmed in the research or writing of this article. 😉
