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Category Archives: Forest

The spirits of the trees

18 Wednesday Mar 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Forest, Nature

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A License to Preach, Serendipity

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Standing in the forest, in winter, the bare branches of the oaks and maples, and the undergrowth dogwood, redbud and sassafras, intertwine in contortions and still barely touch each other. The breeze moves the branches in a thousand directions at once, and still the trees do not scrape or bother each other. They dance and swing, bow and bend.

These are living beings, not inanimate things. Aristotle believed all living things had souls, along with the animists of primitive faiths. So our ancestors worshipped the spirits of the trees. They had a glimpse of something true. The life in such wonderful plants outnumbers us by far, and our health and well-being depends on them.

The trunks stretch and crack. With an ear to the wood I hear the sound of stress and relief throughout the organic system. Doing this, Martin Buber claimed that we can have an “I-Thou” experience with a tree, that opens us to the possibility of Thou within and beyond the self and the universe, divine and exquisite. All I know is that the tree is part of me, and I am in the tree.

The power and weakness of the trees become obvious as they move, from top to bottom. I had thought that the trunk stood still, but look at it stretch and bend! The oldest tree stands most rigid, and that becomes its problem, as its core decays and allows water and air, squirrels and birds to take up residence. Yet even it spreads out tender, youthful extremities, to reach the light and make the air that we breathe, to claim its unique place among the living.

Should it be “I cannot see the forest for the trees,” or “I cannot see the trees for the forest?”

Two AT Hikers Lost in a Stampede of Wild Whats?

17 Tuesday Mar 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Forest, Hiking

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Appalachian Trail

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After an unseasonably cold night for mid-May, the day broke blue and clear, and the sun soon thawed us out from our night’s discomfort.  We left  Wood’s Hole Shelter at 7:30 heading south. We appreciated the endless stretches of trillium that lined the trail with deep purple flower buds still tight, and full blossoms in lavender, pink, white,  and yellow, and large expanses of ferns, turtle-head lilies, and multi-colored lichens spread upon the worn igneous boulders.

Over the years we had almost become indifferent to the possible dangers of the hike, though the trail log book back at the shelter had provided some engrossing narratives of previous hikers’ encounters with bears and snakes. Perhaps they were fictions invented for the impressionable. The worst that we had encountered were some very noisy and drunk motorcyclists tearing up a forest service road a year before, persuading brother David and me to stay hidden on the trail nearby.

We were close to Jarred’s Gap on the trail map, and whether it was that gap or not, it was a low, flat area, filled with head-high tall plants growing thickly in damp soil that we had come to expect when we reached the base of the mountain trail.  We had seen large scat on the trail that made us wonder who or what had been there ahead of us. We were not prepared for the noise we heard that made us turn around and stare in the direction we had come. Such a ruckus of crashing brush, squeals, and fast rampage through the woods, coming toward us, crossing the trail about fifty feet from us, and just as quickly moving away. We counted at least a dozen wild razorbacks running full out in the craziest “follow the leader” race we had ever seen.

Had we stopped in the spot they chose to cross, we might as well have been  standing in front of a semitrailer truck on an interstate highway. Splat! There was a danger no one had warned us about. We walked on in silence for a while, pondering how embarrassing it would be to leave a legacy for our family of being the only hikers on the AT to lose our lives in a stampede of wild hogs. On such a beautiful day, too.

Laurel Hell on the Appalachian Trail

16 Monday Mar 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Forest, Hiking

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Appalachian Trail

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We had climbed strenuously to the 2500 foot level and the trail had turned into a gentle incline. We were entering a thicket of laurel “trees” which my brother Dave identified for me. Too bad we had missed them in bloom, he said. They were gorgeous in bloom. I usually think of laurel as a shrub, but these were 15 to 20 feet high. The branches were thickly intertwined, forming a wall closing in on either side of the trail, which zigzagged through the laurel, so that one could not tell what might be ahead more than twenty feet or so. Then I remembered what I had read in the notebook in the shelter the night before. Some hiker had written about his experiences the day before, seeing a bear in the laurel hell.

A bear could be just a few feet away, and we would not know it was there unless we stumbled upon it. Among the worries we shared when we started, of course, were bears, poisonous snakes, swiftly flowing rivers crossed only by logs for us to balance on, and trails that were nearly washed away on steep slopes. So far we hadn’t found anything that matched our fears, but this laurel thicket made us wonder.

But why did they call it a “laurel hell?” Then we realized that if there were no marked trail through this area, which reached perhaps a half mile in each direction, we could wander around for a long, long time before ever escaping. At any point we could run into one of those fears we had imagined. At any point we could run into un unclimbable rock face or cliff or river bed, and we would have to turn around and head another direction until we would be completely turned around, which means, we could be lost forever, if there wasn’t a trail. But there was a trail, which someone had conveniently cut through this maze ahead of us.

We didn’t come upon a bear, but later that day we were walking through a “rodie hell.” There the rhododendron formed the same kind of maze that the laurel had formed alongside the trail we had walked through earlier. But the rhododendron were in full bloom, masses of white flowers and lightly sweet fragrance filled the air. We didn’t expect to see these in full bloom in mid-July, but the altitude had delayed their blossom season. It was a marvelous sight and the blossoms just kept on going for hundreds of footsteps, and yet, without the trail, we would have been just as hopelessly lost.

Someone had been there ahead of us, maybe only a few years, maybe generations back, lost in time, finding a way through this beautiful maze. They had blazed the trail. Now we just followed it and enjoyed it … mostly enjoyed it, as long as we didn’t find the bear.

What is that smell… on the Appalachian Trail?

12 Thursday Mar 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Forest, Hiking, Seasons

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Appalachian Trail

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What is that smell? My brother and I found ourselves asking that question as we hiked along the trail. The odor resembled garlic or onions, strong and persistent in a local area, then as we walked on, it vanished. Sometime later the odor came strongly again. We looked around to see if there were some kind of onion in the vicinity, but all we could find was wild ginger, trillium and mayapples. The area was wooded and shady, of course; virtually everywhere along the trail was wooded; oak and maple predominant in this particular area, about 2500 feet in altitude. The soil was noticeably loose and rich, full of humus, with the mountain slope providing plenty of drainage.

I thought it was the wild ginger. I have a small patch of wild ginger in my garden, but I’ve never noticed a distinctive odor coming from it. The roots are supposed to be usable as an herb, similar to the ginger found in grocery stores, but not botanically related. Still I surmised that the odor of such large amounts of ginger might be strong, as the flavor usually is. I have little experience of wild ginger, certainly none of patches that are as large as tennis courts. I took a leaf and a stem and crushed them in my hands, and all that came out was a fresh grass-like scent. I smelled the soil around the ginger, and although the ambient area was filled with the distinct aroma, the soil smelled like, well, soil.

Dave thought it smelled like ramps. What are ramps? He had attended a ramp festival somewhere in North Carolina. They cooked with ramps, and told stories about ramps, which are popular in the Appalachian region. He didn’t particularly like what he had tasted, which is unusual for my brother, but he knew that people collected ramps in the mountains.

Still there was no sign of an unusual plant. We walked on until we came to another patch of wild ginger, where the aroma was again strong. Every time we entered a large patch of ginger, which was regularly at the same altitude and type of environment, the aroma came. I guessed that the aroma percolated up through the soil from the roots.

Maybe ramps and wild ginger are the same plant? We wondered about it, but walked on without knowing. Recently I took the time to investigate further. Wild ginger, which I had correctly identified, is Asarum canadense. Ramps are an entirely different plant, scientifically identified as Allium tricoccum and Allium burdickii. Both wild ginger and ramps show up in the same kind of mountain environment. Ramps look something like lily of the valley, but the leaves die back after their spring appearance, leaving the onion-like bulb in the soil.

My favorite story about ramps, also called “wild leeks,” comes from their seasonal character. Mountain families would find and use them alongside morels and other mushrooms in their spring cooking. Children often enjoyed ramps’ sweet taste, and ate them like candy, with the problem being that a vile smell oozes from people’s pores for days after eating them. Children were often excused from school for those days.

So we have to go back. We have to dig up the roots and see whether there are some onion-like bulbs among all those wild ginger roots. We will put our trowels to use in this scientific quest, which is different from their typical use along the trail.

May you find yourselves on fruitful quests throughout the coming spring. May your curiosity be piqued and your senses be stirred with aromas, flavors, sights, sounds, and textures in limitless variety. Taste and see that God is good.

Silent unseen companion

28 Saturday Feb 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Forest, Nature, Seasons

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Serendipity

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My desk sits next to and facing a window, and the only problem with that comes from my tendency to gaze into the woods instead of attending to the project that sits on my desk. On this day I’m glad I looked up when I did. About fifty feet directly in front of me, still in my yard, though my “yard” is all undeveloped forest, I catch a slight movement. It appears to be the twitch of an ear, a rabbit, I think. Then I look closer and see the body lying in the fallen leaves, blending perfectly into the snow covered forest floor in a depression next to an old stump. That is the biggest rabbit I have ever seen! Instead, as I take some minutes to observe, it proves to be a deer. 

She sits silently, motionlessly, except for an occasional reaction to a gust of wind or a wary reflex to a sound nearby. Likewise I am absorbed in meditating on her, as she has chosen to rest mid-morning in such close proximity to my home. She is well-concealed, nearly invisible, camouflaged in color and stillness, and secure in her choice of resting place. 

Not thirty minutes before this I walked around the house, passing just a few feet from her. She must have been there then, but still she stayed. She lies there, and even when I stand to get a better look, she makes no move. Now I know where deer go during the daytime. In the evening we often see them along the road. They leave their tracks all around the house. On a wintry night I have walked outside and interrupted a herd of ten or more nearby, but during this particular day, she is by herself and secure in her secret. If she had not moved so slightly when I happened to look up in her direction, I never would have noticed.  

I have moved enough, and made enough noise, that I know she is aware of me. Once she even stands and looks in my direction, then turns around and moves a few feet, still in view, and lies down again. For three hours, as I work at the desk, she is my silent partner. 

How many times have I missed such a visitor? What am I not seeing now, even as surprised as I am by this one, and as intent on seeing someone or something else? Does the barred owl still rest on this day in the stump nearby? Does the armadillo dig in the loose leaves and make a nest for sleep during this day?  

How hard it is to learn to be observant and sensitive to the world around us! Only by accident do most of us note what is there for us to understand all along. Accelerate the hustle-bustle of our pace, and we miss even more. Slow it to a steady, thoughtful pace, and we at least have a chance to notice. Now I too must move along and do some other work, but her soft, gracious presence has beautified my day. When I return she too has moved on to something else. But, I think, she is still nearby, observing me.

Cooper’s Hawk and the snake

23 Friday Jan 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Forest

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Serendipity

The large Cooper’s Hawk glided to a tree branch at the edge of the little clearing in front of our Ozark home. His red eyes searched, his gold chest puffed out, his navy blue banded tail feathers twitched. He looked at the long white snake that stretched across our driveway, ready to pounce and carry it away. For half an hour he studied quietly, then out of exasperation he started to cry out, trying anything to get that snake to move.

We had been taking note of cardinals, tanagers, chickadees and other unidentified birds. They of course disappeared when the hawk arrived, leaving him to consider the snake as easier prey. But he looked like he wanted some help; maybe a flock of Cooper Hawks might be needed for that intractable white snake.

We had some problems getting telephone service into the new little house. The contractor dutifully followed the wiring plan and installed several telephone jacks and bundled them into one line at the Northeast corner of the house. The phone company, as promised, provided telephone service down the 400 foot lane and installed the service box… at the Southwest corner of the house. We suppose they thought that the intervening link might be provided by satellite or something. Tiring quickly of going outside to plug a phone directly into the service box, I stretched a hundred foot line between the box and the bundle… a long white telephone line, across our front drive.

The hawk finally gave up and flew away, but a few hours later he was back for a while, and next day, too. Wondering what’s up here? Concluding that some things are not meant to be. Like a lot of things in life that may work out in accord with our plans, or not, we just have to wait, and see.

barred owl and I

20 Tuesday Jan 2015

Posted by chaplines2014 in Forest

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The large barred owl perched asleep in the broken core of an old oak tree, twenty feet up, and forty feet out from my study window. Occasionally opening his eyes and peeking at me, he was there for a long time before I recognized him as something more than an odd colored hunk of wood. Surrounded by the open hollow log of the tree, with a clear V-notch for entry and exit, he sat on a high secure throne for hours, almost motionless. Imperturbable. Wise. Patient. Serene. Watching the owl, one can see why people have assigned these attributes to him.

How can a person reach such a position of self-possession and peace? One must carefully choose the surroundings. I will surround myself with spiritual walls as strong and sturdy as oak, yet where I can see a great distance, where no one can threaten and yet all can reach with perseverance and trust, where the sun can shine on my face and bathe my body in warmth even in the wintertime, where I can look steadily into the eyes of any intruder yet feel unafraid. From there I survey the whole forest and know my little place in it and be content.

I hear the words of conviction matching my admiration for the owl in these moments of observation. So quiet and still in the midst of the place where everything moves and changes. So open and yet so secure. God provides. From such a place we will finally spread our wings and soar.

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