The Overstory

A Wonderful Book – Day 1055

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The Book I’m Currently Reading – Photo: L. Weikel

A Wonderful Book

A while ago – oh wow, I just realized it’s been two years! –  I read a wonderful book called The Overstory*, a novel by Richard Powers. Reading that story was a gift on many levels. I permitted myself to step back from the responsibilities of the outside world and just read for hours on end. The tale not only opened my eyes to the plight of the American Chestnut (as well as other species of trees) – but also gave me perspective on current attempts to bring that tree back in a more resilient form.

I’m currently reading Finding the Mother Tree – Discovering the Wisdom of the Forest* by Suzanne Simard. This book is not a novel. Rather, it’s the autobiography/memoir of a forestry research scientist whose work was the basis of a good chunk of The Overstory.

I happen to love reading memoirs, probably because I am fascinated by how people become who they are. The tales of our becoming are sacred.

Finding the Mother Tree

A funny thing about this particular book, though. I’ve been holding it by my side of the bed for six months. But I was compelled to read a couple other books first. Finally, though, about a month ago I finally found Finding the Mother Tree to be next in line. I’ve been savoring it ever since.

As is my habit, thought, I’ve only been allowing myself to read it after I go to bed, so I’m still only about halfway through. What’s especially cool is that my sister-in-law, Francine, sent me a text last week recommending this podcast. Imagine my surprise when I realized it was an interview with Suzanne Simard, the author of this book.

I love that this is a story about how our forests and trees are related to each other in ways no White people ever believed they could be (but, I hasten to add, indigenous people have always known they are). I’m also enjoying this book because I’m the same age as the author. I remember the attitudes she describes facing in her profession – they sound sadly familiar.

Collaboration

Ultimately, the author ends up discovering that forests thrive as a result of collaboration between species – not competition. Extrapolating her discoveries to more and more aspects of our world, especially those in which humans are interfering (or just being themselves) could change everything profoundly.

I heartily recommend both the On Being podcas interviewt and the book. Allow yourself to be inspired.

*affiliate link

(T-56)

Sycamore Love – Day 334

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Sycamore,  Peddler’s Village – Photo: L. Weikel

Sycamore Love

It’s no secret that I love nature. And my love for trees, specifically, is revealed by the way I waxed rhapsodic over The Overstory, and expressed my excitement over the possibility that blight-resistant chestnut trees that may be on the horizon. So I guess it’s not a stretch to acknowledge the truth: I’m a tree hugger.

And while I don’t like to play favorites, and there are lots of trees I adore for all sorts of reasons, there are a couple that truly hold a special place in my heart.

One of my very favorites is the sycamore. I love everything about this species, but especially the vast heights these trees reach, particularly along the Tohickon and the Lenape Sipu (Delaware River). They’re massive. And while I’ll grant that the redwoods of Northern California may dwarf our sycamores here on the east coast, in comparison to other trees around here, at least, sycamores tend to grow to significant heights.

Even more intriguing to me, though, are the distinct and fascinating designs formed by the mottled bark of the sycamore. The trunks of these trees resemble jigsaw puzzles created from camouflage uniforms left over from Operation Desert Storm. And the burls that occur relatively frequently often take forms that beg our imaginations to creatively interpret.

Our sons planted a sycamore sapling I bid on at a school fundraiser about nine years ago. It has flourished in our back yard, which delights me every time I go back to chat with it. I’ll take a photo of it and share it with you in another post.

In the meantime, I want to share this beauty with you. It’s located in Peddler’s Village, and is actually located in the middle of one of their parking lots.

Closeup of bark of Peddler’s Village sycamore – Photo: L. Weikel

I took these photos just a few days ago when the beauty of the bark sparked my imagination and kept me in thrall for several minutes. I pulled up and parked underneath this beautiful specimen and felt awe. It felt great, too, to just share with the tree how much I appreciate its beauty and determination to remain healthy in the midst of all of the cars that park right under and around it.

Of course, all of this makes me want to revisit the spiritual attributes that are often associated with the sycamore, but I don’t have enough time to write about those tonight.

Since it feels like the sycamores around me have been demanding that I notice them a lot more often lately, I probably should pay attention and…listen. I wonder – will their message have particular significance to my life and experiences right now? I guess I’ll see.

I’ll let you know.

P.S.: I drove past the thicket where I left my deer friend the other day and there was no sign of her. I took at least a little comfort that there weren’t any buzzards flying around.

(T-777)

This Is It – Day 328

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Looking a bit ragged from being dragged around everywhere – Photo: L. Weikel

This Is It

I realized something a little bit weird about myself this evening. (OK. I know. That fruit’s hanging so low you just need to leave it alone.)

It came to my attention when I felt a twinge of embarrassment as I plopped down on our couch in the midst of a conversation with my daughter-in-law, Tiffany. Everybody was sitting in the living room reading, and I was joining them for a few minutes before dinner was ready. As I settled into my usual spot on the couch, I pulled my book out from under the papers and pillow next to me.

My discomfort became obvious to me when I noticed her gaze lighting upon the book in my hands.

“Yeah…umm,” I stuttered. “Can you believe this?” I asked, waving the book in front of me, making a point to reveal precisely where my bookmark hovers, some 30 pages or so from the end.

I was painfully aware that Tiffany knew I’d been reading The Overstory voraciously at the beginning of last month, when I had a few days reserved at the cabin on the bank of the Tohickon. Indeed, I’d written two posts that made at least tangential mention of this unique and moving novel, with one of them extolling the virtue of solitude and the opportunity to engage in serious, hours-long binge-reading.

And yes, I’d reveled in those hours and the opportunity they provided me to give myself over to immersing myself in the several story lines that so artfully weave themselves though this book.

Busted

Yet here I was, still toting this book around, even though I’d raved about it seemingly at least year before, even though it was only a little over a month ago. I was ashamed.

I held the obviously dog-eared text aloft and made a point to highlight the bookmark’s location. “I can’t believe I haven’t finished this,” I said almost apologetically. I’d probably read 30 pages since leaving off after having read most of the book at the beginning of September.

“I only give myself permission to read for pleasure after I’ve written my blog post at the end of the day,” I admitted – hearing how awful that actually sounded when spoken aloud.

When she looked at me quizzically, I realized – oh my goodness – it is not even remotely an option for me to consider reading ‘for pleasure’ during the day. It’s just, I don’t know; there are so many other tasks that demand my attention during the day, it would feel frivolous to take time out to read for pleasure.

Delusion of the Self-Employed?

I’m not sure, but it’s possible that at least some of my reluctance to read for pleasure during the day stems from my belief that, especially being self-employed, I need to be furthering my work in some way all the time. With the exception, of course, of the precious few minutes I may still be conscious after I’ve written and posted my blog, shared it on FB, and slipped a bit bleary-eyed between the sheets.

Clearly, this is a delusion. And truth be told, I initially had as my heading, above, “Curse of the Self-Employed.” But you know what? That’s a crock. It’s an erroneous belief. It’s aberrant; a delusion. And if it is even remotely a ‘curse,’ it is the epitome of self-sorcery.

The only person putting that curse upon me is my little own self.

Let me be clear: Tiffany barely got a word in edgewise regarding my book. She was neither mean nor judgmental. Her expression, however, said it all.

Ninety nine percent of this internal conversation and these revelations took place within moments of my own realization of how embarrassed I was to be admitting this out loud.

Tomorrow’s Promise

And so, when I began this post with its title, “This Is It,” it was my intention to simply declare all of this malarkey for what it is and claim some time for myself this evening. Time to complete The Overstory so I can, first of all, achieve closure over how it’s all going to wrap up and, second of all, begin my next literary adventure.

But alas, it’s taken me a fair amount of time to articulate my evening’s revelation. And as often happens, I’m now going to futz around with uploading a photo or two, creating some links, messing with the SEO, and ultimately posting and sharing the link on social media. My eyelids will be drooping (even more than they are this very moment).

So the best I can hope for is to promise myself that tomorrow I will devote the hour or so I need to complete the book – in spite of  the number of pressing items on my to-do list – even if, heaven forbid!, I need to take that time in the middle of the day.

I hope you’re routinely better at this than I am. Clearly, I yearn to improve.

(T-783)

Chestnut Resurrection – Day 314

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Quercus Alba, White Oak (Matson’s Woods) – Photo: L. Weikel

Chestnut Resurrection

A couple of weeks ago I had the opportunity to spend some quality time, in solitude, on the banks (and actually in the midst) of my beloved Tohickon Creek.

During those several days, I took a deep dive into the novel The Overstory, by Richard Powers. And oh my goodness, did I revel not only in the solitude but also in the actual story of The Overstory, which had as the centering thread woven throughout the lives of all of its characters: TREES.

The first character to whom we’re introduced in the book is connected to and influenced by the American Chestnut. And while I’m sure I’d heard about the blight that decimated this tree in the early 1900’s, I did not fully comprehend the devastation until I read this book.

Another bit of character development in The Overstory has to do with old growth forests.

An Invitation

Thus, when I received, on one of the very days I was immersing myself in reading The Overstory, an email advertising a local program focusing upon a small patch of old growth forest right here in neighboring Northampton County, I jumped on it. (It seemed like a pretty fascinating coincidence of awareness and timing.)

Today was that program and dedication.

Matson’s Woods

Briefly, I learned that there is a small wooded area known as Matson’s Woods in Northampton County, in the Louise Moore Park, which is part of the Northampton County Park System. Due to the age of the trees found on this relatively small tract of land, it has been nominated for registry in the Old-Growth Forest Network.

When we walked the trail this morning, even though I believe the ‘woods’ comprise only approximately 7 acres or so, and there is development surrounding much of the Louise Moore Park, there nevertheless was a profoundly noticeable shift in energy when we walked amongst these grandmother and grandfather beings, the eldest and tallest being Quercus Alba or White Oak.

Do you see the face? – White Oak – Photo: L. Weikel

Most noticeably, a deep sense of quiet emanated from the forest floor. This sense was remarkable and unmistakable, and I noticed that the entire group immediately lowered their voices to a whisper. Without even realizing it consciously, we all acted as if we’d entered a cathedral.

Chestnut Resurrection

While I reveled in the opportunity to walk in the presence of these elder statesmen, I have to admit, I was very excited to hear about the apparent breakthrough in reclaiming the American Chestnut.

Before entering Matson’s Woods, we approached a hillock upon which six wire cages containing leafy green seedlings were arranged roughly in a circle. It was explained to us that research had yielded what forest scientists are hoping will permit a resurrection, in a sense, of the American Chestnut.

It’s been discovered that a single gene associated with wheat (I don’t know the specifics), if introduced to the genome of the American Chestnut, yields offspring that are resistant to the blight that decimated billions of these trees in the last century.

I believe it is the intention of the arborists in charge of this project to plant an American Chestnut that has received one of these blight resistant genes in the center of the circle of seedlings. When they mate, chestnuts produced should result in seedlings that are resistant to the blight.

I’m including at the end of this post a photo of the flyer that gives an email address for Allen Nichols (fajknichols.75@gmail.com) should you wish to request nuts and/or seedlings in order to plant a grove of chestnut trees on your property.

Trees Are Integral to the Health of Our Planet

I’m grateful to have had the opportunity to celebrate the dedication of Matson’s Woods into the Old Growth Forest Network and to learn about the hope associated with a blight resistant American Chestnut.

We’re definitely hoping to plant some new seedlings!

(T-797)

Solitude’s Companions – Day 296

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Water snake – Photo: L. Weikel

Solitude’s Companions       

If you read my post from last night, you know that I spent many consecutive hours yesterday immersed in a captivating novel that uniquely weaves together the lives of trees and humans. Naturally, given my love affair with nature and Pachamama (a Quechua word for Mother Earth – and more), I’m loving it.

It is no wonder the book, The Overstory, was awarded the Pulitzer Prize. It’s an amazing feat of complex storytelling – and I’m saying this while remaining extremely aware of the fact that I’m only half way through it.

What you didn’t know is that I was thwarted in my desired illustration of the post by a 13 hour delay in my photos being ‘sent’ via email from my iPhone and their arrival to my laptop. (I know. Old news. I can’t figure out why sometimes they come through immediately and other times it takes them a day to make the trip.)

But arrive they did, just after noon today. Finally.

Far From Alone

I guess I should be grateful. The delay gave me the opportunity to harvest two posts out of one luscious, Labor Day afternoon spent perched in the middle of Tohickon Creek.

Because while I spent the afternoon in delectable solitude, I was far from alone.

Of course, there was and is the relentless movement of the creek itself. She is alive. Her waters flow around boulders and under tree limbs and through sluices of haphazardly strewn rocks and fallen branches, each maneuver amplifying or quelling her contribution to our conversation.

Her voice has the ability to reassure and center me in a way that keeps me in a swirled state of awe and gratitude. Day after day. No matter how many times I visit her, or at which point in her winding, ox-bowed, seemingly meandering journey to the Delaware River I approach her, she somehow manages to speak directly to my soul. Sometimes I go to her knowing she will wash away my very human concerns, and other times, inexplicably, I resist entering her presence. Perhaps I’m embarrassed; maybe I feel unworthy.

Beyond Her Presence

But beyond the undeniable presence of the Spirit of the Tohickon itself, there’s never been a visit to her shores that I’ve not been greeted by at least one and usually a myriad of other beings.

Yesterday was no exception. Nor was today. Nor, for that matter, was a day last week.

Last Thursday, an osprey made sure I noticed it flying upstream by calling out to me just as it passed overhead. I thought it a bit odd that it called out at that moment, but wrote it off to good luck on my part. The encounter felt a bit more like a determined bid for my attention when the bird did exactly the same thing on its way back downstream, about 20 minutes later.

I’m sure it would be no surprise if I told you that the appearance of Osprey held astonishing significance to me and reinforced a message I’ve been receiving for, well – one could argue at least six months. In fact, I’m almost ashamed to admit that until Osprey showed up last week, I’d actually forgotten the initial onslaught of pointed messages I’d received back in March, although I had noticed and heeded other cameos in recent weeks.

Yesterday’s Companions

So while I descended into the ‘understory’ of The Overstory, I nevertheless maintained a slightly heightened awareness of my peripheral vision. A number of times I sensed creatures around me, riding the currents, slipping around boulders, but didn’t see much other than the occasional little feeder fish or water spiders skimming the surface like speed skaters.

As quickly as that, a head popped out of the water, its red tongue tasting the air. The currents buffeted its slight body and made it waver as it held its head up. I said hello and asked if I could take its photo. It answered in the affirmative, as you can see from above.

I couldn’t zoom in as closely as I would’ve liked, but my sense was that it was a water snake. A youngster, I was pretty sure, as I’ve seen them grown to much (much) larger dimensions than this little guy. I was pleased ‘serpent’ had decided to pop in and say hi.

Last Night

Later, as I sat by the fire and continued my immersion into my book, my peripheral vision again kicked in – despite the competing bids for the attention of my rods and cones. (The firelight flickered and danced, yet I was also focusing the laser-like beam of my phone’s flashlight onto the pages to read into the night.)

Surprised, I trained my phone’s tractor beam to my right. Just outside the stones stacked neatly to create a firepit sat this wonderful toad. We had quite the conversation, as it was not in the least afraid of me, and I felt its presence acutely. I wondered if it was a little chilly, since it seemed determined to explore the spaces between the firepit stones, which must’ve felt warm and toasty.

Fire Buddy – Photo: L. Weikel

Shortly after my little friend made its way wherever, I decided it was time to find my way home as well. It was quite a day of amphibian love yesterday – enhancing my solitude, by letting me know I wasn’t really alone at all.

(T-815)

A Stark Reminder – Day 295

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Trees on Apu Azez – Photo: L. Weikel

A Stark Reminder   

I suppose, instead of titling this post A Stark Reminder, I could also have called it A Stark Realization.

Both the reminder and the realization have to do with the way life used to be. The really and truly completely different way we lived our daily lives before cell phones.

Good grief, I know; I hear myself! I sound like some old coot opining from her rocking chair as she watches life parade past her from the comfort of her porch.

<<Wait a minute…Too close for comfort…>>

Can’t Remember the Last Time

I can’t remember the last time I allowed myself to sit and read a novel, non-stop, for close to four hours straight.

As I’ve mentioned a bazillion times in these posts (that’s what happens when you write every day – you discover the shockingly limited repertoire of your daily thoughts), reading and writing are two of my top favorite activities in the whole world. And I used to read non-stop. And while it’s true, I take a book everywhere I go, (always have and always will – thank you for that habit, Mommy), I’m chagrined to admit that a vast amount of potential book time is usurped by those fleeting, yet oh-so-seductive siren calls, “I’ll just check the headlines first. And see whether I’ve received any emails. Oh! So-and-so texted me, I better write back…”

Anyway, today I was at a place where there is ‘no service.’ Yea! After making the strikingly uncharacteristic decision not to write in my journal before doing anything else, I planted myself practically in the middle of the creek, my perch on a boulder made more comfortable through use of a backjack, and r-e-a-d.

Unexpected Resistance

It was strange, too. I could feel my inherent discomfort in applying my attention to a long-term task . The first hour or so, I probably looked up, shifted my position, talked to myself, and otherwise distracted myself every five to ten minutes. It was ridiculous.

Eventually, though, it was as if my brain and psyche remembered ‘the good old days’ when I would sit and read for hours and hours on end, and I found that old groove again.

Heaven!

I’m currently in the midst of reading a couple of books at the same time. But the one I immersed myself in today would probably be loved by many of you: The Overstory by Richard Powers.

Ooooh! It’s so delicious. And like all great novels, the deeper you get into it, the more you find it nearly impossible to tear yourself away from it.

The coolest thing, I think, is realizing there’s a connection between the books I’m reading – even if, at first glance, one might think they’re going to be radically different. When you realize that the non-fiction book you’re reading is saying one thing, and the novel that’s begged to be read is pretty much saying the same thing, only displaying it via fictional characters – you know you’re being sent a message.

Where I Am

I’m in a state of bliss, having taken a deep dive into the essence of The Overstory and realized I’m getting a message. A consistent message. From a variety of sources.

But this day, I managed to slow myself down, remember the way life used to be when we weren’t tethered to the sugar-water bait of the cell phone, and immersed myself in other worlds for a while.

A stark reminder of something I don’t do enough.

Blue Heron – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-816)