AWeekintheAndrewsForestinaChangingSeason

AHaibunCycle

HollyJ.Hughes

Anecessarycomplementtotheobjectivityofscience,then,isthesubjectivityofexperience.Anenthusiasticopennesstothelivesofotherspecies—thetimingoftreebloomsoncitystreets,thecallsoffrogsinwetlandsorthearrivalofmigratorybirds—isanactofresistancetodeceptionsandmanipulationsthatworkmostpowerfullywhenwe’reignorant.

“Post-truth”doesnotexistintheopeningoftreebuds.

—DavidHaskell

Weareimprisonedinoursmallselves,thinkingonlyofhavingsomecomfortableconditionsforthissmallself,whilewedestroyourlargeself.Ifwewanttochangethesituation,wemustbeginbybeingourtrueselves.Tobeourtrueselvesmeanswehavetobetheforest,theriver…

—Thích Nhất Hạnh

Seen,Unseen

Snowfallsinsloppy,wetflakesasIdriveuptheroadandintotheforest,snowmufflingthewheelsonthehighway,snowsplattingonthewindshield,snowdribblingdownmyneckwhenIgetoutofthecar,remindingmethat,yes,snowisjustonemoreformofwater.

Istowmyweek’ssuppliesintheGreenhouse,grabmycameraandnotebook,andheadoutintotheforest,achingfortimeintalltrees,forsilence,forspaceformycoiledmindtounwindinitsmossyarms.

I’marrivinghereontheheelsofaweekendinAstoriafortheFisherPoetsGathering.There,ontheshoresoftheColumbia,wesharedpoems,songs,stories,andabeerortwo.Ireadmyessay“GoingAshore,”areflectiononthepullIfeelbetweenlivingonthewater,asIdidformanyseasons,andthelongingtosinkmyrootsintotheearth,asI’vedonethelastdecade.Sincethepoliticalseismicshiftsixmonthsago,similar,seeminglyopposingdesireshavebeendukingitout—thedesiretoflee,escape,retreattomybooks,poems,andsolitude—andthedesiretoconnectwithforcesgreaterthanme,whetherinthenaturalorhumancommunity.Hereintheforest,Ihopetoseebeyonddualisticthinking;Ihopetofindenoughspacetoholdboth.

Iheaddownatrailoversnow-drapedlogs,brushingsnowoffthecedarandhemlockbranchesbeforetheydumptheircargodownmyneck.Fernfrondssplayopenlikeasundial.IfollowmyfeetdowntoLookoutCreek,thesamecreekwhereweassembledtowriteinfilteredsunlightbackinSeptemberattheBlueRiverWriter’sGathering,thesoft-spokencreekthatnowusesamegaphonetoannounceitsarrival.

Meanwhile,thissymphonyisharmonizing,thehighnotesofthesnowdropplink,plink,bassnotesofsnowclumpsfallinresonantthuds,whooshofthestreamhurryingaway.Todaytheskyisthesamecolorassnow;onlythedustygreenfirsandhemlocksofferacounterpoint,studdedwithwispsofUsneaandjellyfish-likesplotchesofLobaria.Squish,squish,squishriffmyfeetheadinghome.Theysayduskfalls,buthere,duskseemstorisefromtheforest,releasedfromthearmsofthetallfirs,hemlocks,andcedars.Soonthismonochromaticlandscapewillfadetoblack,andIwanttogethomebeforeitdoes.

Wait.Istumbleuponasetoftracks.Eachsetsymmetrical,pawslandingintandem,unlikeawolfthatwalksastraightline.Bobcat?Coyote?Fisher?Istandinsilence,listen,gratefulforevidenceofacompanion,evenifIcan’tseeit,forremindingmetherearenoeasyanswers,forthemysterythisforestoffersindimminglight.

Westandtogether—seen,unseen—arriveinsnowbaffledsilence.

SteppingintheSameRiver

ImeetFredSwanson,thearchdruidoftheAndrewsForest,at8:30a.m.tohiketotheLogDecompositionplot,oneofseveraldesignatedreflectionsites.Aresearchgeologist,FredhasspentthelastthreedecadesasascientistattheAndrewsForestandisaseniorfellowwiththeSpringCreekProject.I’vemetFredbefore,butseeinghimagain,I’mremindedhowmuchheresemblesoneofthetreestoweringaboveme:he’stall,lanky,witheyesthataresimultaneouslyintenseandwise.Ontheway,Fredgivesmeatouroftheheadquartersandtheartthat’sbeencreatedbywritersandartistsoverthelast10yearsofthisprogram.We’reinvitedhere—thankstotheSpringCreekProject—toreflectonthisforestandhowwehumansinteractwithit.Thisisa200-yearproject,andwe’rejustnowenteringtheseconddecade.Tenmoredecadestogo—whatchangeswillthenextbring?Giventhepoliticalu-turnsixmonthsago,it’ssoberingtocontemplatewhat’saheadforthisforest,forallofus.

Youcan’tstepinthesamerivertwice,saidHeraclitis.Theforestechoeshiswords—weseeitallaroundushere:the500-year-oldDouglasfirtreesgivingwaytothehemlocksmarchingupthehillsides,thenextgenerationbloomingoutofthestumps,detritusfeedingwhatwillfollow.Butthisisnaturalchange,notcausedbyhumans,notonthescalethatwe’renowexertingintheAnthropocene.Climatedisruptionhasbecomeaneverydayreality;wejustneedtolookoutourwindowstoseeit.

Ithinkaboutmycharge:toreflectontheforestandhowweinteractwithit.Reflectingontheforestiseasy,comesnaturally.Reflectingonourinteractioninevitablybringswithitpolitics,policy,sociology,thetangledwebofhumandesires,everybitascomplexasthisecosystem.Idon’twanttowriteaboutpolitics,buthowwillIescapeit?I’lladmitI’vecometotheforestcravingsilence,arespitefromthe24-hournewscycle,needingtoberemindedofresilience,ofstrengthindiversity,of

asystemthatdelightsincomplexity,notreductivethinking.Asystemthatreliesoncooperationinwaysthescientistsareonlybeginningtofullyunderstand.Whetherthetruthsofthesetalltrees--muchlessscienceorevenfacts--canbeappreciatedbythecurrentadministrationisdoubtful.

Itfeelsrighttobebackintheforestonemonthintothecurrentadministration.I’dspentInaugurationDaydrivingHighway101uptheCaliforniacoast.WewereintheRedwoodswhentheInaugurationcameon,andweturnedofftheradio,rolleddownthewindowsandlistenedtothetreesswayinginthewind.Thesetreesaren’tlivinginapost-truth,alternate-factera.I’mthrowingmylotinwiththem.

***

Ireturntothelibrarytolearnmoreaboutthedecompositionprocess,theunsungcollectiveofmicroorganismseatingthedecayinglogs,returningthemtosoiltofeedthenextgeneration.Notonlyaretheypresentinthedecomposinglogs,buttheyarecriticalforthehealthoftheforest.Entirecommunitiesofinterdependentorganismslivesymbioticallyundergroundinthetangledrootsofthesetrees;themycorrhizalfungiprovidethemwithnutrientsinaformtheycanabsorb.Insomeforests,thesefungiprovidetheplantswithupto80percentoftheirnitrogenand90percentoftheirphosphorus.Thefungi,inturn,dependonplantstoprovidethemwithorganiccompoundsneededfortheirowngrowth.Mutualismatitsbest.Whenaforestisclearcut,itcan’tgrowbackinitsfullecologicalcomplexitywithoutthesevastwebsofmycorrhizalfungi.Somescientiststheorizethattogether,theyformthelargestorganismontheplanet.Somuchgoesonbeneathourknowledge,underground.I’vecomeheretoseeknewperspectives;sometimesthey’rerightundermyfeet.

Wearegatheringattheroots.Can’tsilencethemycorrhizalfungi

themycelia,themosses.

WatershedsShedWater

Morewater,butthismorningitfallsasrainontheblanketofsnownowpittedandpocked.Thesnowtriestocatchthedropletsdroppingdeep,triestomuffletherain,butitplunksaway,drippingofftheeaves,runningdownthegutters,downtheroad,downtothecreekbelowmycabin.

LookoutCreekflowsintotheBlueRiver,whichflowsintotheMacKenzieRiver,whichflowsintotheWilliamette,whichflowsintotheColumbia,whichflowsintothePacific.Fortwodays,Idrovethroughthiswatershed,noticingallthewaterstandinginthefields,lappingalongthesidesofthehighway,allthewaterwithnowheretogo,allthewaterwewaitedforallsummer,waterpoolingonasaturatedearth.

nowheretoflownowhereelsetogowillitfinditsway?

Stemfall,Throughfall

Todaythesnow’swrapsareoff,worldnoisyagain,incessantthrummingofrainontherooflikethepileatedwoodpeckerthatchosethemetalroofofmyshedtoamplifyitsmatingcallafewspringsback.Rainastaccatoonthecabinroof,rainpoolingonthepavement,raintattooingthepatchesofsnow,creatingtributariesthatrundowntheparkinglot,thendowntheroad.Istepoffthepavementandontothesoddenpath,wherebarkandneedlesholdtherain.Iheaddownthepathintotheforest,peelingbackmyhoodsoIcanhear,evenifmyheadgetspelted.It’sstillraining,butnow,therainisdistant,fallingfirstontheleavesandneedlesofthecanopytoweringoverhead,thenslowlytricklingdownthebranchesuntilitrunsdownthetrunk.Stemfall,theforesterssaytodescribetherainthatrunsdownthetrunks,asopposedtothroughfall,thewaterdippingfrombranchesandleaves.Eitherway,itfallsontotheforestfloor,wherethemossesliewaiting,athree-inchspongethat’sreadytosoakupwhateverfalls.Ibreathethroughmyownresistance,becomethemosses,trytoembracewhateverfalls.

rainastaccato,rainatattoorainrunninghere,there

everywhereHyporheic

Backdowntothecreek.Today,wemoveintoadagio,thestreamcarryingthemelody,punctuatedbywaterdrippingoffthebroad-leavedplantsoftheunderstory.Faintsunonthestream,thegrasses,myface.Thesurfaceofthecreekglidesdownstream,itsspeednotvisibleuntilitencountersshallowwater,cobbledrocks.Fromhereonitsbank,Icanseewhichrocksarenewcomers,bright,tumblingintheflow,notyetcoveredwithmossliketheold-timersshovedasidetolinetheshores.Thisgravelbarclearlyintransition—logsdriftingdownriver,swirling,jammedagainstthebanksuntilthenextflood.Peacefulnow,butchaoswaitsaroundthebend,logslinedupwillchangetheflow,remindusthatstreamshavealifeoftheirown,thattheywon’tbestoppedorevendeterred—thesheervolumeofwaterflowingpastacluetothepowersurgingbeneaththisserenesurface.

IlearnfromFredthatI’mhangingoutinthehyporheiczone,theareaunderorbesideastreamchannelthatcontributeswatertothestream.Withalltherainandmeltingsnowthelastfewdays,I’mwitnessinghyporheicflow,thesubsurfaceflowbetweenthewatertableandsurfacewaterflow.Here,withtheearthsosaturated,waterseemstobebubblingupfromhiddensprings,waterbrimming,poolinginthetracksleftbymybootsinthegravel,feedingtherootsofthealdersbentonre-colonizing,fixingnitrogen,buildingsoil.They’reassistedinthisbybacteria,insectlarvae,andothersmallcreaturesthatlivehereandaidinpurification.Thustrees—likethesealders—thatextendtheirrootsintothehyporheiczonehaveasteadysourceofnutrients,whiletheirrootssoakuptheexcesswater.Abeneficialpartnership.Theforestknowshowtohandleallthiswater—acomplexsystemhasbeeninplaceformillennia—andI’mwitnessingitatwork.Iexhale.Iwanttofeelsteady,calm,serenelikethisglidingstream,butthemoreIlearnaboutstreamdynamics,thelesscalmIfeel.There’stoomuchgoingonhere;toomuchtounderstand.Ican’thelprememberingtherainthatrunsdownmypavedstreetin

Indianola,andthecounty-wideprogramtocreateraingardenstoabsorbtheflow,keepitoutofPugetSound.Ican’thelpthinkingoftherecord-breakingrainthatfellinFebruary,taxingthestormwatersysteminSeattlesothatrawsewageoverflowedintoPugetSound,despiteallthebackupsystems.Hypomeansbeneath,butincreasingly,weseeitaboveground.Hereintheforest,themossesandalderrootsarewaitingtoreceiveit,andwhatitcan’thandleflowsdownstream.True,toomuchwaterwillcreatelogjams,butthosewilloftenprovideshadefornativetrout.Everychangebringsconsequences,somefavorable,somenot.Theforestwillfigurethisout,Itellmyself.Iwanttobelievethat.

Dipperzoomspastheadingupcreekit’surgent,hecries

NativetoThisPlace

IpickoutwhoIknow.Toweringoverheadonthebank:Douglasfir,hemlock,westernredcedar,afewPacificyew,broad-leafmaples.Here,thicketsofalder.Lastyear’sleftoverfoxglovelonggonetoseed,teeteringinthewind.Nativeblackberryvineszigzagoverlogs.Afewdead,stiffhorsetails.Mosscoatseverysurface,inchesdeep.Alltheunromanticcolonizers,doingtheirin-the-trencheslabor,readyingthesoilonthisgravelbar,makingwayforthenextgeneration.I’mremindedthattheiconicspeciesofthisforest—thetallfirs,hemlocks,andcedars—wouldn’tstandachancewithoutthepioneersgoingahead,forgingtheway.

Fireweed,horsetail,aldermakewayforhemlock,cedar,fir

we’reallinthistogether

TheYearoftheOwl

ThismaybetheYearoftheRoosterinChina,butforme,it’stheYearoftheOwl.Theyareflyingintomylife,mydreams,andIhope,mightshowupthisweek.ThefirstsightingwasearlyinJanuary,drivinghomelateunderafullwintermoon.Asnowyowlappeared,wingssplayedabovethewindshieldforaninstant,thengone,leavingmegasping,sureI’dhadavision.Astudentwroteamovingessaydescribinghowunintentionallykillinganowlresetthecourseofhislife,whichhadgoneofftrack.Mymother-in-law,wholovesowls,resemblesone,withhercrownofwhitehairandwisebrowneyes.

TheAndrewsForestishometothespottedowlandI’mhopingtohearone.EachnightIclamponmyheadlamp,walkupthetrailintotheforest,anddomybestspottedowlimitation.WhatIlackintraining,Imakeupforinenthusiasm,listeningtotherecordingontheCornellLabofOrnithologybeforeIheadoutintothedark,moonlessnight.Whowhowhowhooo.Ilisten.Noresponse.Justthetreeswhisperingamongthemselves.

IfIcan’theartheowls,atleastIcanlearnaboutthem.EachtimeIgototheoffice,Ilingerbythestuffedowldisplay,learnthatthespottedowlnestsinhollowtreeshighupinthecanopyoftheold-growthforest.Thisowlmadechoicesthatmakeitsfuturetenuous:notonlydoesitrequireacresofold-growthforest,itpreferstofeedonflyingsquirrelsandred-facedvoles,whichbranditaspecialist.Thebarred,amorerecentarrival,isageneralist,whichmeansit’lleatwhateveritfinds.Thebarredowlisalsolessparticularaboutitsnestingsitesandisaggressiveaboutclaimingterritory.Youcanguesswherethisisgoing—anditdoesn’tlookgood.

Notjusthere,butalsobackonmyhomegroundontheOlympicPeninsula,thespottedowlisthreatenedbythebarredowl,whichmadeitswayacrossthecountryfromtheEastCoastthankstowoodlotsandtreeshumansplantedacrosstheprairies,providinghabitat.Howtemptingtoviewthebarredowlasthebullyontheblockwhenit’sjustlivingoutitsgeneticcode,makingalivingintheforest.Agood

adaptor,yes.Anopportunist,yes.Ihavetofighttheurgetovilifythem,treatthemasinterlopers.

Meanwhile,thegeneticdeckisstackedagainstthespottedowls.They’retrusting,atraitthatallowsscientiststobandthem,butmaynotservethemwellwhenitcomestopredators.Theiryoungarevulnerableafterfledging—theyremainontheforestfloor.Theyneedfourtimestheterritoryofthebarredowlstosupporttheirparticularfeedingandnestinghabits.IcanhearDarwinmutteringonlythefittestsurvive.Or,inthiscase,themostabletoadapt.

WhydoIwanttoliveinaworldwherethespottedowlwillsurvive,Darwin’stheorynotwithstanding?WhyamIrootingfortheunderowl,thelessadaptable,morevulnerablespecies?Thatwouldmeanbarringthebarredowlsomehow.Butnowallsinthisforest.Movethem?TurnsoutscientistshavebeendoingthisinWashingtonState,relocatingpairsofbarredowlstodifferentforeststogivethespottedowlsmoreroom.Andinsomeareas,they’renowkillingthebarredowls.Ibreatheatroubledsighofreliefforthespottedowls,gladthescientistshavetheirbacks,butcan’thelpwondering:Isn’tourhumanactionmanipulatingthenaturalcourseofevolution?Butinthetwenty-firstcentury,whatisn’t?

Today,Steve,aspotted-owlresearcher,washeretogiveatalktoavisitinggroup.Isatinonhisslideshow,fascinatedtolearnthattherearenowseveralhybridpairsofowls—barredowlsthatmatedwithspottedowlsintheAndrewsForest.Sofar,they’renotyetsuccessfulinproducingyoung,hereports,butthehybridpairsseemtobeacceptedbybothspecies.Maybethey’llworkitoutontheirown.

Sparethespottedbarthebullybarred

buthow?

SeeingtheForestfortheTrees

Fromhere,Icanseetheforest—nottheindividuals,butthemosaicoffirs,hemlocks,cedars,theaggregate,thesenseofhowtheyallfittogether,thegrowingbodyofdata,thiselusivepuzzlethatistheAndrewsForest.Todaythesunemerged,andafterfourdaysunderthedrippingforestcanopy,I’mreadytoemergeintothesuntoo,readyforashiftinperspective.ItalktoMark,theforestsupervisor,whosuggestsdrivingpartwayupForestServiceRoad#130andhikinguptothequarryatthetop.Fromthereyou’llbeabletoseeTheSisters,hepromises.

IfollowthetracksofaloggingtruckupthesnowyroadashighasIdare,pulloffonanoutcropoppositeasetofsolarpanels.NotmuchsnowwhereIpulloff—asouthwestexposure—butIroundthenextbendandambackinsnowuptomyknees.Itrudgealong,wishingIhadgaiters,butdeterminedtomakeittotheview—I’vecomethisfar.Lookingacrossthevalley,Iseesnowstillduststhetreesonthenextridge.

It’seasytocurseloggingroadsforthewaytheycarveuptheforest,butrightnow,I’mgratefulforapathtohighergroundandaglimpseoftherockformationsthatliebeneaththeforest.WalkingupthisroadIcanseethesoilbeneaththerootsofthetrees—andthere’snotmuchofit.Thismountainsideisbasalt—thecolonizershavedonetheirjobwelltobreakdownthishardrockintoenoughsoiltosupportthesetoweringtrees.Downbelow,theforestfeelssoft:sunlightfiltered,Usneadrapedoverthebranches.Here,lifeishard:tangledrootsclingtorockandthetreesdon’tsprawlbutgrowstraightup,oneafterthenext,armiesmarchingupthemountain.Grasseslieflattenedundertheweightofwintersnow—theroadprovidestheonlycurvethroughthisharshlandscape.Snowcarriesthetracksofthelogger’struck,thenthelogger’sfootprintsastheytaggedtreestobetrimmed.Snowcarriesrabbit,deer,me.Above,ajetcontrailbisectsanemptybluesky,headingnorth.

Snowbearstracksofrabbit,deer,logger

meequallyWhattheRiverSays(withthankstoWilliamStafford)

TheMacKenzieRiverchurnspast,gallopingwhitehorsesfoamingatthemouth,tossingbacktheirheadsinthesun.Asteadylowshuussh,butbeneathitgulps,groans,moans.Thealdersandcedarsliningthebankleanintohearbetter.Somuchwater,sofast.Whereisitboundinsuchawhooshingrush?Aroundthisbend,overboulders,slickstones,carryingitscargooflogs.Howseductive.Howtemptingtostepin,besweptalonginitscertainty,itsbeliefinmovement,nomatterthedirection.

Whattheriversayswon’tuntilwestopdropeverythingListen

Isitonthebanklisten,lettheriverrunawaywithoutme

ExperimentalForest

Here’sthethingaboutthisexperimentalforest.Onemomentyou’rewalkingdowntheforestpath,andthenextyou’relookingupa100-footconcretechute,stepsoneitherside.HaveIfallendownarabbitholeintodowntownManhattan?OrtraveledbacktoValdez,Alaska,inthe1950s,whenconcretewasking?ThatwasthefirsttimeIsawit.NowIknowwhattoexpect,butthesightofallthatconcreteinthemidstoftheforeststilljarsme.I’vebeenhereafewtimes,listenedtoFreddescribehowthisconcretechutegivesscientistsinformationaboutdebrisflow.I’vealwaysbeenatthebottom,lookingup.Today,withmyintentiontokeepseekingnewperspectives,Iclimbthestairs.

Twochoicesofsteps,andI’minstinctivelydrawntothewoodstepstotheright,formedof2x6sontheirsides,thestepsbeingreclaimedbymosses.Whyisthis?Idefendmychoice.Morenatural.Wood.Moss.Quieter.Moreaestheticallypleasingthantheregimentedclimbofconcretetotheleft.Concreteismadeofsilica,stone,water,allnaturalmaterials—true—butheatedatahightemperature,demonstratinghuman’stendencytomasternature.Alltheedificesthatstandintestimony:dams,monuments,freeways.Butinthetwenty-firstcentury,damsarecomingdown,bridgesneedrepair,andthefreewaysandroadsarepockedwithpotholes.

Meanwhile,myfeetkeepslidingontheslipperywood;themossisbeautifulbuttreacherous.Grippingthehandrail,Imakemywaytothetop,somehowexpectingtoseeaview,alake,perhaps,liketheflumeIusedtoclimbinAlaskaaboveanoldcanneryinButedale.Instead,it’sjustthesameForestServiceRoad#130thatIhikedupafewdaysago.Iturnaround,lookdown.Gasp.Fromhere,theforestdoeslookdifferent,thetreesbelowdwarfedbythisconcreteriver,theemphasishereonexperimental,notforest.Ofcourse,that’sthepoint.I’mallforresearch,havetaughtwithscientists,knowthevalueoffactsanddatasets,hypothesisandproof.ButIknowtolistentomybody,too.Rightnow,Inoticemyheartrate.Thesteps,youjustclimbed100steps,Iremindmyself.Butit’smorethanthat—I’vebeenheldinthestrongarmsofthefirsandcedarsforseveraldays.Here,Ifeelnaked,exposed,vulnerable.Timetoheaddown.

Igallopdownthecementsteps,gratefulforgoodtraction,makingitdowninhalfthetime.Iexhale,lookup.Theriverofconcretestilllooksimposing,stilllooksoutofplacehereintheforest,butthosestairsworked.I’mremindedofthepowerfulclosingimagefromthepoem“SlabonGrade”byOregonpoetClemensStarck:“Foryearspeoplewillwalkonit,/hardlyconsideringthatitwasputthere/onpurpose/onaThursdayinAugust/bymenontheirknees.”Perhapsit’snotoneortheother;perhapsthere’sroomforbothinthisexperimentalforest.

IntheforestconcretestepsacontradictionuntilIskip

downtwoatatime.IncrementalChange

BacktoHeraclitis.Notonlycanyounotstepinthesameriver;youcan’tseetheriverchangingasitflowspastyouineachmoment.Thismakessensephilosophically,intheabstract,butit’soneofthoseraretimesthattheabstractiseasiertograspthantheconcrete.Howdowenoticechangethathappensimperceptibly,fromminutetominute,especiallyasourcollectiveattentionspandiminishes?Theslowunfurlingofthefern’sfiddlehead?Thespider’sweb

reachingtofillthedoorframe?Thechildnextdoorwho’snowpackingforcollege?Thankstotime-lapsephotography,wecanviewtimepassing,buthowofteninrealtimedoweslowdownlongenoughtowatchabudbreakopen?

Theproblemwithclimatechangeisthatit’shappeningincrementally,glaciersmelting,seasrising,rightbeforeeyes,butsoslowlythatwe’renotabletoseeit.It’snotliketheCuyahogaRivercatchingonfire,theExxonValdezoilspill—wheredevastationgreetedusontheTVscreeneachnight.That’swhyoneofthemosteffectivewaysI’vefoundtoreachstudentsisvisually.Severalyearsago,forEarthDay,weshowedthemovieChasingIce,apowerfultestimonytophotographerJamesBalog’sdeterminationtoshowtheretreatoftheglaciersovertime.Thestudentsweremoveddeeply,notonlybythetenacityandcourageofthephotographer,butbyseeingclimatechangevisually,throughtheirsenses,awaythattouchedtheirheartsmorepowerfullythandrygraphsevercould.That’stheroleofart,totakeustoadeeperlevel,toallowviewerstoexperiencewhatourmindstooeasilydeny.

Scientistsusetheexampleofthefrogtoillustratetheinsidiousnatureofincrementalchange.Dropafroginboilingwaterandofcourse,thepoorfrogsensesthewateristoohotandleapsout.Butdropafroginwaterandslowlywarmitup,anditwon’tleapuntilit’stoolate.ThefirsttimeIheardthis,themetaphorwaslostonme;Iwastooworriedaboutthefrog.Butthequestionis,ofcourse,willwe?

Basho,they’vedroppedyourfroginboilingwaterwhat,then,willwedo?

WakingtoWhatIs

Iwaketosnowfallingoutthewindow,snowlandingintheneedlesofthefirandhemlock;onlythecedarknowshowtoletgo.Everybranchofthealdersfrosted,reachingoutinalldirections,ungainly,likeateenagerwhohasn’tyetgrownintohisbody.Inoticehowthetipsofthefirsdroop,thoughtheydothissnoworno.Butinthismonochromaticlandscape,eachtreetipetchesasnow-soakedsky.Sameviewoutmywindow,sametrees,samesky,butshapesandpatternssuddenlyvisiblethankstothislate-springdusting.

Ahhsnow.NotwhatIwanted,butwhatis.Iwantedcleartrailstodayformylastdayintheforest,clearroadstomorrowtodrivehome.Iwantedwinteroveranddone,springascertainastheswellingbudsonthealders,daffodilspokinguptheirinsistentgreenantlers.Butthetreesdon’thaveapreference,thetreesreceiveitall.Thetreesknowhowtousethismoisture,howtoholdit,letitrundowntheirneedlesandtrunksintothesoftground.IfI’velearnedanythingthisweek,it’sthatthisforestisonegiantsponge,designedtoholdwhateverfalls.Iwalktotheedgeoftheforest,stop,listen,notwantingtobreakthisquiet.Avariedthrushcallsonce,twice,threetimes.Whydoesitsbrightcallseemthreadedwithurgency?

Whatdoesthesnowmeanforthevariedthrush?Whatdoesitmeanforallthebirdsandanimals?Aretheyshiveringintheirburrows,cursingtheweatherman?Stopit,Isay.Theyarejustdoingwhatanysmartanimaldoes—adaptingtothecircumstances,theirsurroundings,nomatterwhattheweathergodsthrowtheirway.ButwhataboutallthoseswellingbudsI’djustobservedonthealders?

AndwhatdoesitmeanthathereintheNorthwestthatspringisalmostamonthlate,whileit’samonthearlyontheEastCoast?Ashiftinweatherpatterns—orclearevidenceofclimatedisruption?WhatdoesitmeanthatwhenIreturntoreadingtheNewYorkTimeseachmorning,I’llreadaboutanextremeweathereventhappeningsomewhereintheworldeveryday?

SnowfallsonswellingbudsDoesthevariedthrushcareordoIimagineconcern?

ThinkingLikeaForest

Forthefirsttimeindays,IbreakmynewsfastandlistentoalocalNationalPublicRadiostation,hopingforaweatherreport.Instead,IhearapieceonLymedisease.

Apparently,scientistshavedeterminedthatLymediseaseisbeingspreadnotjustbydeer,butalsobymice.Miceareplentifulbecausethey’rereproducinginforeststhat

havebeenloggedandtheirpreyhavebeeneliminated—theowls,fox,wolvesthatneeduninterruptedforesttosurvive.Themicehaveitmadeinthesefragmentedforestsandwoodlots;they’llhappilybeourneighbors,moveinrightnextdoorinoursuburbs,too.Andwiththem,apparently,theircargoofticksthatspreadLymedisease.Deer,too,arewellacclimatedtolivinginthemidstofpeople,theirpredatorsgone.IthinkoftheAldoLeopoldessay“ThinkingLikeaMountain,”whichI’vetaughttostudentsmanytimesovertheyears.WeknewLeopoldwasright—youcan’tdisruptthepredator/preybalancewithoutpayingtheconsequences—butevenLeopoldcouldn’tknowhowpainfullythiswouldplayout.

IthinkabouttheclearcutFredtookmetothefirstmorning,howtenyearslaterthetreesareclearlycomingback.It’stemptingtothinknoproblem,theforestwillregenerate.ButwhatI’mlearningthisweekmakesmeunsure.Yes,anold-growthforestcanmaintainitself,butregenerate?Whataboutthearmiesofmicrobes,themycelium,themychorrizhalfungi?Whenthetreesarecleared,whathappenstothem?Cantheyhunkerdownandwaityearsforthetreestosendtheirrootsdownoncemore?Whatabouttherainwashingdownthosebaremountainsides,washingsiltintothestreams,strippingthesoilofitsnutrients?Withouttherootsoftreesandmossestoholdtherain,therainwreakshavoc.Howmanyhillsideshaveslidoncetheforestwasclearcut,oftenwithdevastatingconsequences,likeinOso?

Aldo,howlongbeforewe’lllearn

tothinklikeaforest?What’sAhead

Thelastmorning.IsetoutinthesnowtorevisitalltheplacesI’vereflectedthisweek,boththeofficialreflectionsitesandmyownsites,too.Withoutthinkingaboutit,I’mrewindingtheweek,startingwithyesterday’sascentofthestairs,thenhikingup#130tothelookoutwhereIsatinthesunafewdaysback.Iclimbupontothesamerock,slipperynowunderafewinchesofsnow,lookacrossthevalleytothenextridge,wherethecedars,firs,andhemlocksaredrapedinsnow.AsIsit,thecloudspartforasecond,turningthesnowtoglitter,driftingdownlikethatfinalsceneinTheDead,rightontothecamera.

Foramoment,timeseemstostop,suspended,snowsiftingthroughtheairlikeflour.Morelikelyit’sme—Iwanttimetostop—tolingerinthesnowyarmsofthetrees,tokeepturningoverstones,tokeeplookinguntilIseealltheinterconnectionsthatknitthisplacewhole,thatremindmetosinkmyrootsintotheearth,togivethanksforthevastnetworkofseenandunseenorganismsthatkeepthisforestworking.Torememberthattoseetheforest,youhavetoseenotjustthetoweringcedarsandfirs,butallitsinhabitants:Usnea,Laboria,mychorrizalfungi,mycelia,mosses;thechatteringDouglassquirrel,thesilentfox,thesleepingsalamander;thekingfisher,thedipper,thevariedthrush,thespottedowl,andyes,thebarredowl,too.

Thisforestremindsmewhatis:changeisinevitable:thegravelstreamwillshift,thelogswillrot,therainwillfall—andthesnowfall,too—andIhavefaiththatthisforestwillremainasitsteadily,slowly,changes,itscommunitiesworkingtogetherinsystemsthathaveevolvedoverthemillennia.It’stheundeniableincrementalhumanchangeIfear,andIcan’tclimbhighenoughtoseewhat’sahead.

Iwalkbackdownthetrailinachangingseasonintoachangedworld

thatisstunning,complexandin/outofourhands.