On symbiosis and surges
and do we really need to Google every thought?
Living in the modern world means I willingly take part in all the things I feel uneasy about.
It’s Saturday morning and my spouse Janyce is standing at the foot of the bed near the sunlamp reading from her book The Secret Life of Trees out loud to me. I’m drinking coffee and staring at a photograph on artist Chris Jordan’s facebook page. Fittingly, his photo is of a tree plantation in what used to be the legendary Sumava forest in the Czech Republic.
“In the symbiotic community of the forest, all plant species exchange information through the fungal network,” she says.
In Jordan’s photograph, he has perfectly captured the stark sameness of every tree in this now clear-cut and replanted commercial forest where an old-growth forest once was.
I point my computer screen toward Janyce so she can see the image.
“Wow, that’s kind of beautiful,” she says.
“Beautiful and horrible,” I say.
I read Jordan’s facebook post a few days ago and cut and pasted an excerpt in Notes on my Iphone.
The Czech government uses low-end forestry practices: single-age, single-species, non-native trees that are harvested when young, including clearing all understory growth. So what used to be an ecosystem is now more like a commercial corn row. The "forests" are eerily silent for the lack of any birds, even during the summer, and there is very little else in the way of wildlife or even insects. The trees are cut before the fibers become strong enough for good quality wood, and so the only viable product from these forests is pulp. The harvested trees are ground up and turned into cardboard, and one of the Czech Republic's biggest clients is Amazon.
A few weeks ago, while sitting in our front yard garden, we were marveling at how our giant spruce tree has pinecones on it for the first time since Janyce first bought the house 19 years ago. We’re not sure what kind of spruce tree is growing in our yard, and this morning we’re sort of arguing about whether we’ve ever seen cones before now or not.
“As an example, the Norway spruce takes around 20 to 25 years before developing cones,” says Janyce. She climbs back on the bed beside me with her laptop screen lit up on a google page.
I’m not sure why we are bothering to pull the thread of this pointless tree conversation and we’re both getting irritated, but I suspect it has something to do with the news we woke up to on the radio this morning.
People are surging at the airport in Afghanistan, the delta virus is surging everywhere, and hurricane Henri is about to hit right at the same time we need to drive my son to the airport for his flight back to Nashville.
“I don’t ever remember raking up pinecones in all the years we’ve been raking the yard,” says Janyce. “Look at the time, don’t you need to wake Aidan up?”
My cellphone is surging beside me in the bed and I’m stopping my train of thought every few minutes to chime in to the “Tinywins” text chat with my college girlfriends.
I think the worst thing about Chris Jordan’s eerie facebook post was the part he wrote about Amazon. Living in the modern world means I willingly take part in all the things I feel uneasy about. For one, I have a love hate relationship with Amazon. I gasp at the thought of all those cardboard boxes filling up my garage and their relationship to this factory farmed forest. I’m also delighted in my one-day delivery of my speedo swimming cap.
I have a love hate relationship with my screens, too. With my cellphone blinking first thing in the morning, and the laptop screen that bookends the day. Last night we carried Janyce’s into bed with us so we could watch the first few episodes of David E Kelley’s newest binge-worthy television show Nine Perfect Strangers. (Ironically, the first episode showcased each character’s struggle to give up their cellphone as they checked in to their 10-day wellness resort.) And I especially have a love hate relationship with our bad habit of googling every fleeting thought that runs through our minds while we discuss it.
It’s easy to see the detrimental effects of all this connectedness and consumerism. It’s also easy to see how I’m not sure I can live without it, either. My very best friends in the world are a keystroke away at all times. I woke this morning to a text from of one of my college girlfriends who sent me happy family photos from Europe, where she is visiting her son in college. And the “Tinywins” text chat means I have the constant funny banter and support from two of my friends for the past 37 years pretty much every day.
“I’m going out for a jog now,” says Janyce.
“I’m leaving now to meet dad,” says Aidan as he peeks in to the crack in the bedroom door.
And so I guess I’m getting up now, too. My only plan for the day is to set the table, arrange the flowers, and take my time making a slow-cooked bolognese and bechamel sauce. Here’s hoping a baked lasagna for an in-person family dinner before the storm surge will restore much needed balance to the day.