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Got Milkweed

1/23/2017

This is an article was originally published in North Jersey Media's The Suburbanite
GOT MILKWEED?

BY BRENDA CUMMINGS
NORTHERN VALLEY SUBURBANITE

I was working diligently at the computer when a fruit fly nearly flew up my nose. That tiny, annoying creature flew in my face for half an hour before I finally swatted it and sent t on its way to insect Valhalla.

My insect-loving daughter told me I was a horrible person for killing the fruit fly, but even if she’s right, I don't know many people who love flies of any sort.
We tend to associate fruit flies with houseflies. Both come into our homes because they’re attracted to our food, but they’re different species. Both are beneficial because they are decomposers — but houseflies are the species responsible for the transmission of disease. The common fruit fly (dropsophila melanogaster) has contributed hugely to scientific research, helping scientists learn more about genetics, diseases and human behavior, but most of us are disgusted by flies and don’t ponder their usefulness when they’re flying in our faces.
The disgust so many of us feel toward insects is partly ingrained, and partly cultural. Many cultures eat insects, but most Americans can barely stand the thought. Even the insects that we find most disgusting have a functioning role in ecosystems. The larger human populations grow, the less room we allow for other creatures, and we tread on thin ice when we seek a quick fix to control them. We now know that habitat loss, climate disruption and the widespread use of pesticides have contributed hugely to Colony Collapse Disorder among bees, and without bees we would lose approximately 75 percent of our food crops.
We are presently in the midst of a mass extinction event. Most of us are aware of the endangered celebrity species — animals like polar bears, panda bears, tigers, elephants and rhinos. Goodness knows, the decline in their numbers is alarming, but we also need to come to the aid of the countless small animals whose numbers are declining.
According to Rodolfo Dirzo, professor of environmental science at Stanford, " … in the past 35 years … the number of invertebrate animals – such as beetles, butterflies, spiders and worms – has decreased by 45 percent." Insects are essential to pollination as well as the cycling and decomposing of organic materials. Without them, ecosystems fail. We forget that we live in and are dependent upon ecosystems. Unless we learn more about them and contribute to changing human behavior, we too will face extinction.
Recently, the monarch butterfly made headlines because the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service has finally recognized its decline. The agency announced that the monarch may deserve protection under the Endangered Species Act. The single reason for the decline of the monarch butterfly is the loss of its food source — milkweed. Milkweed is the only plant monarch caterpillars eat and it’s where all female monarchs lay their eggs. The Fish and Wildlife Service announcement came in response to a petition from The Center for Food Safety, The Center for Biological Diversity and leading monarch scientist Lincoln Brower, professor emeritus at Sweet Briar College in Virginia. According to their research, published in June 2014, "Milkweed populations in the U.S. dropped 21 percent between 1995 and 2013. The vast majority of that milkweed loss — about 70 percent — overlapped with prime monarch breeding areas."
Milkweed has been nearly eradicated on soy and corn farms in the Midwest. This has devastated the monarch’s habitat. Logging in Mexico’s Oyamel fir forest, pesticide use, weather and climate disruption and the demise of 500 million monarchs during a winter storm in 2002 have not helped the situation.
In the meantime, planting milkweed seems to be one way we non-farmers can help. I have not had to plant milkweed seeds because I let the volunteers take over. If only a scattered few of us are planting milkweed or letting it volunteer, we won’t really have much impact. On the other hand, if thousands of people all along the monarch’s migration route planted milkweed anywhere and everywhere possible, it could very well turn the situation around.
Milkweed seeds can be acquired from several online sources, and some of them are free. Livemonarch.com asks for a self addressed, stamped envelope, and several sites sell seeds. There are many varieties of milkweed, including common milkweed, swamp milkweed and butterfly weed, which is an ornamental and has orange flowers. Many conservation societies ask for donations.
Since the FWS has not made their final decision, sending letters to Tony Sullins, Chief of Endangered Species, Midwest Region, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, 5600 American Boulevard West, Suite 990, Bloomington, MN, 55437 is another way we can help the monarchs.
Even the smallest, most seemingly insignificant organisms are essential to the health of ecosystems. We too are each important, and when we work together, we can make a huge difference. Plant more milkweed.

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I AM THE HUGGER!

9/24/2016

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My Indiegogo campaign to publish "I AM THE HUGGER!" ended on 11/2/16!

https://igg.me/at/IAMTHEHUGGER

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Money Doesn't Grow on Trees

9/13/2016

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My daughter leaves lights on, doesn’t close doors, forgets to close the refrigerator door and stays in the shower for way too long. I remind her that we pay for everything we use, but she still forgets. I am constantly harping, begging her to remember that not only does it save us money to remember these things, it’s the best way to conserve energy and resources for the whole world. Her hormones are raging, so I get it, but being a harpy gets old…

One thing I don't say to my daughter is “Money doesn’t grow on trees!” I can’t count all the times my mother said it to me. I too forgot to close doors, turn off lights and water, and I was perpetually reminded that money didn’t grow on trees. Before I was mature enough to appreciate a good metaphor, I remember thinking it was a dumb expression, because, of course money doesn’t grow on trees! It’s been a cliche for a long time, but it highlights our disconnected relationship with the natural world. Our culture monetizes everything, and very little escapes exploitation for profit.

While researching mother trees for the last blog I wrote, I learned about Robin Wall Kimmerer, plant ecologist, award-winning author, poet, and SUNY Distinguished Teaching Professor at the SUNY College of Environmental Science and Forestry in Syracuse, New York. Professor Kimmerer is a member of the Citizen Potawatomi Tribe and is the founding Director of the Center for Native Peoples and the Environment at ESF SUNY. I immediately reserved a library copy of her most recent book of essays: “Braiding Sweetgrass: indigenous wisdom, scientific knowledge and the teachings of plants” which was released in 2013, and was awarded the Sigurd Olson Nature Writing Award.

I am overwhelmed by Kimmerer’s poetry, eloquence and wisdom. Weaving together science, indigenous wisdom, family history and personal experience is no easy feat, yet Robin Wall Kimmerer manages to create beautiful, moving and healing lessons with each and every sentence. I want to read this book over and over again.

For several years Dr. Kimmerer has been studying the Potawatomi language, which nearly became extinct. At the time she began her studies, there were only 9 living speakers left in the world. Much of the Potawatomi culture was destroyed by government and missionary assimilation programs which plucked indigenous children from their tribal homes, and forced them into restrictive boarding schools where they were not allowed to speak their own languages. Dr. Kimmerer describes her joy in rediscovering the language of her grandparents as well as her delight in discovering the ways in which it holds the living world in a familial embrace. “So it is that in Potawatomi and most other indigenous languages, we use the same words to address the living world as we use for our family. Because they are our family.” Kimmerer calls it a language of animacy - a language that understands a world “full of being, full of unseen energies that animate everything.”

In Potawatomi, when you take a walk in the woods, you are walking among the Birch, Pine or Maple people. If you climb the hills, you are with the Rock people; and down below, you may glimpse, at a bend in the river, the home of the Beaver people.

Every day scientific research uncovers more evidence that organisms and systems are intricately connected and that small causes have large effects. Actions have consequences, but English is a language with more nouns than verbs, focusing more on things than actions. Western cultures are built on buying and selling, but indigenous cultures are built on “gift economies”. They are cultures of gratitude. Reciprocity and generosity are a given. Indigenous cultures have no need for money, and trees are people.

I was raised speaking English, and what a wonderful language it is, but in so many ways, I agree with Robin Wall Kimmerer when she says, “… beneath the richness of its vocabulary and its descriptive power, something is missing, the same something that swells around you and in you when you listen to the world. Science can be a language of distance which reduces a being to its working parts, it is a language of objects.“

Imagine saying, “Money doesn’t grow on Grandma.”

If we could all learn more of the language of animacy, we would gain a greater sense of connectedness as we stop our thoughtless exploitation of the natural world.

When I finish “Braiding Sweetgrass” I’ll be reading Kimmerer’s earlier book “Gathering Moss”. I have a feeling I’ll want to read that one over and over again too.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

In the meantime, I'm waiting for my patient, helpful, wonderful, 14 year-old nephew to finish some final video edits, and then I'll launch the Indiegogo campaign for "I AM THE HUGGER!", my picture book about trees and why they deserve our hugs.

https://www.indiegogo.com/project/preview/74e0fcf2#/

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Little Apples

8/31/2016

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Those of us who were raised in small towns or rural areas grew up with trees as part of our landscapes. I took them for granted as a child, and only later understood their significance. The 19 years I lived in NYC allowed me the opportunity to visit a long list of parks where I could enjoy the comfort of trees any time I needed them. Every time I visit the city it makes me happy to see that new trees are continually being planted. Now we live in my husband’s family home in a small New Jersey town, and there are many old trees on the property. We moved here about 15 years ago, then adopted our beautiful child, hoping she’d grow up loving the trees as much as we do. She does love them, and can’t even stand the idea of pulling up seedling volunteers.

My daughter’s favorite tree is an 80-year-old Japanese maple she’s been climbing since she was quite small. She’s a very skilled climber. When I was little, I was good at going up, but not so brave about coming down - I once climbed so high on a dare, I was unable to come down. I had climbed ridiculously high, and my babysitter’s coaxing couldn’t calm my fears. She eventually called the fire department to rescue me. The ribbing I received about being a cat didn’t end until we moved away. I’m grateful the experience didn’t stop me from climbing trees or exploring their many wonders.

My family moved frequently throughout the Dakotas, the Midwest, West Virginia, and later to Tennessee and Washington state, and each new town offered new trees for exploration and exploitation. I thought all trees were fair game. There were crab apple trees in nearly every place we lived and I got more than one case of stomach cramps from gorging on them. Chokecherries were another favorite, and I brought them home in buckets so my Mom could make jam. In Knoxville, TN, there were lots of beautiful pear trees adorning lawns when I was 10. The pears were all hard and green with thick, bumpy skins, and even though they were woody and dry, we tried to eat them. They were probably ornamental pears, which are now considered invasive.

We were fortunate enough to live by three different orchards as we moved from one town to the next, and for an entire summer we lived in the house attached to an abandoned apple orchard in La Crescent, MN. I ate so many apples that summer, I couldn’t eat another one for two years. The orchard was home to at least one enormous colony of bats, and we enjoyed scaring ourselves by walking through the apple trees at sundown as the bats flapped around us, in search of food. They were probably as afraid of us as we were of them.

I am old enough to have grown up in a time when children were sent outside to play and make their own entertainment. Trees gave me a large amount of that play time and amusement. I tasted all kinds of nuts, seeds and berries without knowing what I was eating. We stirred up and drank concoctions of twigs, leaves, berries and bark, and I wonder sometimes why were weren’t poisoned. We swung from branches like little monkeys, tied ropes to tree limbs, and some of us broke our own limbs falling from those ropes. Parents like ours would now be considered negligent, but I feel very fortunate to have had those adventures in complete freedom. Trees were an enormous part of my childhood experiences.

Our world has changed immensely since I was a child, and although many of the changes have made life better, some of them have moved all of us further away from the natural world. Even though I have tried to expose my daughter to nature as much as possible, I have still been unable to keep her away from one screen or another. Here I sit in front of a computer screen typing this blog, so I’m not immune…

My daughter argues with me about Pokemon Go, maintaining that it helps people to get outside and explore the outdoors. Because I am an old fogey, I tell her that back in my day, no one needed a computer game or a smart phone to get outdoors, use our imaginations, or find things to amuse us. Because she loves finding Pokemon eggs so much, I have refrained from commenting on them, but I found plenty of real eggs in real nests when I was her age, and discovering them was its own reward.

Summer vacation is almost over for my daughter, and she goes back to school next week. After we’re all settled back into the swing of things, I’ll be launching an Indiegogo campaign to publish my children’s picture book, “I AM THE HUGGER!”. It’s a silly but informative take on trees. As a build-up to the fundraising campaign, I’ve been writing about trees all summer, and I have learned a lot. I hope you readers have enjoyed learning with me. Some of the news about trees is exciting and eye-opening, but too much of the news is distressing. Too many forests are succumbing to disease, fires and industry abuses, but we can all help to change that. I'm hoping that "I AM THE HUGGER!" will help to spread the word that trees need us as much as we need them.

We can all encourage sustainable forestry practices, support reforesting campaigns, and encourage tree planting and protections in our communities. Our children, their children, and their children’s children deserve to live in a world that values trees.

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Mother Trees, Family and Pronouns

8/23/2016

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My mother passed away in the summer of 2011, and I miss her just as much today as I did the day I got the gut wrenching news that she had died in her recliner 2 hours after coming home from the hospital where she had been treated for a stomach ulcer. She had beaten cancer against all odds and was doing very well, so her death from a stomach ulcer was a shock. There was a time when I didn’t think I could survive without my Mom, but I had to pull myself together because I am a mother too. I tell myself I’m lucky to have had her love and advice for more than 50 years, but it doesn’t cure the sadness that comes from being motherless.

The idea of the survival of humanity without mothers is almost inconceivable. Babies need someone to provide them with attention, affection and stimulation. Research shows that without parents, babies fail to develop normally - the wiring of their brain circuitry goes haywire. Children who are adopted and nurtured by the age of two can recover from neglect, but for many, the psychological effects last a lifetime. Mothers are crucial for the survival of most organisms, but all too often, western culture takes mothers for granted.

Forestry science has come to understand the fact that trees have mothers too. When old growth trees in forests are cut down, young, orphaned trees suffer, struggle to survive and often die. When old growth trees are felled, forests lose biodiversity, and perish.

Old growth, “Mother Trees” recognize their kin and protect their offspring through an underground network of fungal mycelium which connects all the plants and trees in forests, exchanging nutrients and information. Native cultures call these old growth trees "Grandmother Trees”, reflecting their longevity and role as wise, old nurturers. Mother trees even change their root structure to make room for baby trees. While Mother Trees do favor their own offspring, they don’t just share their resources with family members - they share them with trees of different species as well. Suzanne Simard, Ph.D - a leading forestry ecologist, and Professor of Forest Ecology in the Department of Forest and Conservation Sciences at the University of British Columbia says “… when fungal networks are intact they allow a greater diversity of trees, each with their own strengths and weaknesses, to survive in the forest.”

The lumber industry’s practice of clear-cutting forests has traditionally exploited and ravaged old growth forests, targeting the oldest and largest trees because they are the most valuable. While industry practices are slowly improving, attempts at sustainable forestry practices are still questionable, and there’s a lot of greenwashing going on in the forestry business. Business practices are slow to change. Old growth forests are still suffering and being depleted just as we are beginning to understand more about their complexities. We're just beginning to understand how they can help us solve many of our environmental problems, and how important global forest recovery programs are in combatting climate change.

Trees are highly evolved, sentient life forms with sophisticated communication networks and a sense of community. Animals (including humans), plants, and fungi share an ancestor that lived about 1.6 billion years ago, and we humans share a surprising amount of DNA with our very distant plant cousins. DNA studies show that our DNA is more similar to plants than different from them - we share about half of our DNA with the banana plant.

Every moment we are nurtured, nourished and blessed by the gifts that Mother Earth showers on us. Western civilization has given little or nothing back to the Earth, and in fact, the English language impudently addresses the Earth as an “it”. According to Robin Wall Kimmerer, author and Professor of Environmental and Forest Biology at the State University of New York College of Environmental Science and Forestry, “Using ‘it” absolves us of moral responsibility and opens the door to exploitation… “It” means it doesn’t matter.” Professor Kimmerer is a member of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation and she combines traditional indigenous knowledge with science in her teaching and writing. She has been learning the Anishinaabe language.

According to Kimmerer, ”…The language (English) allows no form of respect for the more-than-human beings with whom we share the planet. “But in Anishinaabe and many other indigenous languages, it’s impossible to speak of Sugar Maple as “it.” We use the same words to address all living beings as we do our family. Because they are our family… The proper Anishinaabe word for beings of the living Earth would be Bemaadiziiaaki. I wanted to run through the woods calling it out, so grateful that this word exists. But I also recognized that this beautiful word would not easily find its way to take the place of “it.” We need a simple new English word to carry the meaning offered by the indigenous one. Inspired by the grammar of animacy and with full recognition of its Anishinaabe roots, might we hear the new pronoun at the end of Bemaadiziiaaki, nestled in the part of the word that means land?

“Ki” to signify a being of the living Earth. Not “he” or “she,” but “ki.” So that when we speak of Sugar Maple, we say, “Oh that beautiful tree, ki is giving us sap again this spring.” And we’ll need a plural pronoun, too, for those Earth beings. Let’s make that new pronoun “kin.” So we can now refer to birds and trees not as things, but as our earthly relatives. On a crisp October morning we can look up at the geese and say, “Look, kin are flying south for the winter. Come back soon.

Language can be a tool for cultural transformation. Make no mistake: “Ki” and “kin” are revolutionary pronouns. Words have power to shape our thoughts and our actions. On behalf of the living world, let us learn the grammar of animacy. We can keep “it” to speak of bulldozers and paperclips, but every time we say “ki,” let our words reaffirm our respect and kinship with the more-than-human world. Let us speak of the beings of Earth as the “kin” they are.”

What a change in attitudes Kimmerer’s small word adjustment would bring about. In a world where too many influential people refuse to acknowledge the fact that we’re destroying the planet, it might take a while before this kind of language shift can occur. It’s a beautiful, transformative idea. When we begin to think of all of life as family - kin - we will learn to respect our Mother Trees and our Mother, Earth.

To learn more about forest networks and Mother Trees, here are links to three Suzanne Simard videos:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dRSPy3ZwpBk
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pLU9EPo1iwQ
http://fantasticfungi.com/mother-trees/

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Oak Wilt Threatens NJ State Tree

8/15/2016

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Here in the United States, the oak is possibly the most well known tree of all. Oak trees are found in the Americas, Asia, Europe and North Africa, and there are nearly 200 species worldwide. The oak is the national tree of several countries because it symbolizes so many of the qualities we humans value: success, stability, fertility, endurance, power, strength, wisdom and health. The mighty oak was sacred throughout the major cultures of Europe. It was venerated by the Greeks, Romans, Celts, Slavs and Teutonic tribes. Because oaks trees seem to be more prone to lightning strikes than other trees, the oak was long ago associated with powerful thunder gods, including Zeus, Jupiter, Dagda, Perun and Thor. In the Bible, oak trees figure in the books of Genesis, Isaiah, Samuel, Judges, Daniel, Ezekiel and Joshua. For some Native American cultures, the oak is used as a clan symbol and is associated with strength of character and courage.

The Lenape Indians of the Oley Valley of Pennsylvania have a legend about a 500 year old Chinkapin oak that stands at 84 feet tall with a circumference of about 20 feet. According to the legend, there was once a powerful Lenape chief whose wife became terribly ill. None of the tribe’s healers or medicine men could cure her, and her illness worsened. The desperate chief journeyed to a Sacred Oak where he prayed to the Great Spirit, asking that his wife be saved. When the chief returned to camp his wife was healed. Many years later, the chief became concerned that an enemy tribe would attack - so again, he journeyed to the Sacred Oak to pray. The Great Spirit’s message to the chief was one of peace. The chief collected beads and blankets to offer the enemy, and war was avoided. Since that time, the Sacred Oak has been an especially holy place for the Lenape.

It makes perfect sense that humans have revered oak trees since prehistoric times. They provide a durable hardwood and countless products. Oaks all grow from tiny acorns and can live for centuries. More important perhaps, is the fact that other species are entirely dependent upon oaks for ecological stability.

Oaks are a keystone species, and that’s why the spread of the fungal tree disease, oak wilt, is so alarming. Oak wilt was first confirmed in Glenville, New York in September 2008, and at this point it has affected trees in at least 23 states. An outbreak was recently confirmed on Long Island by the Cornell Plant Disease Diagnostic Clinic. The disease has been spreading through Pennsylvania for a few years now, and New Jersey’s Department of Environmental Protection believes it could soon threaten the red oak which happens to be the New Jersey state tree.

Oak wilt is a relative of Dutch elm disease and it’s possible that it came to North America in the early 1900s. However, its source is unknown, and no other country has reported it. Although the disease can affect at least 16 species of oak trees, it has a greater affect on red oaks, and they seem to die off more quickly than white oak species. The oak wilt fungus, Ceratocystis fagacearum, kills oak trees by blocking the vessels that carry water and nutrients up the trunk of the tree to branches and leaves. The tree is essentially starved to death. Some trees die within a couple of months, and most die within a year.

Once oak trees become infected with the oak wilt fungus, they often become infested with oak bark beetles who help to spread the disease as they move from tree to tree. Other insects are possible transmitters of the disease, but so far, evidence is inconclusive. There is no cure for oak wilt, and the only way to maintain healthy trees is through prevention. Removal of affected trees is essential to avoid the spread of the disease, and often a soil fumigant is used after removal to kill the roots connecting trees below ground.

To avoid the spread of oak wilt here are a few of the preventative measures that can be taken: Avoid the transportation of firewood from one area to another. Never prune during the warm season. Remove affected trees promptly, and trench between diseased and healthy trees. With lots of diligence, education and a few small steps, maybe we can prevent the mighty oak from succumbing to the fate of the elm tree.

Just like the oak itself, great things can come from small beginnings.

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HUMONGOUS FUNGUS

8/3/2016

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"Everything that is in the heavens, on earth, and under the earth is penetrated with connectedness, penetrated with relatedness."
- Hildegard of Bingen

Hildegard of Bingen was a 12th century Benedictine abbess, physician, composer, writer, mystic and visionary; and in Germany she is considered to be the founder of scientific natural history. Hildegard of Bingen’s scientific writings do not necessarily stand up to modern scientific scrutiny, but many of her herbal remedies have proven effective, and without modern scientific thinking to back her up, she made many correlations that have proven to be fundamentally accurate. Her scientific and medicinal ideas sprang from working in her monastery’s herbal garden to create remedies for her patients in the monastery’s infirmary. Along with her musical compositions and prophetic theological writings, Hildegard of Bingen wrote botanical and medicinal texts.

Hildegard’s scientific works are not at all prophetic, as were her other writings. She herself described Physica as a purely practical text, but her ideas about botany and medicine were closely linked to her theological concepts. In her vision, animals, rocks, plants and people are all connected and part of a whole, created and ordered by God. She read widely from the monastery’s library, particularly the Greek philosophers, and she was a keen observer. Many consider her a genius.

Nine hundred years later, we know that she was right in many ways. Systems science shows us how the earth’s systems work together, and how humans fit into the complex overlapping, intertwining patterns and cycles of our planet’s dynamic workings.

But Hildegard couldn’t have been more right when it comes to what goes on under the earth.

Studies of fungal networks in forests have proven that what goes on under the earth is much more complex, fascinating and vital than was previously understood. Without the underground connections of fungal mycelia - the vegetative, stringy, rootlike fungal filaments that entwine themselves in tree and plant roots - old growth forests would not exist. Mycelial networks work to exchange information, nutrients, carbon dioxide and oxygen among all the trees and plants in forests, with old growth, or “mother trees” in charge of what information gets communicated. These networks are referred to as the Wood Wide Web because mycelial threads work similarly to the way the internet works. The oak tree in your yard is very likely communicating with the rose bush by your fence via mycelia. The above ground mushrooms which we all recognize, are only the visible part of the organism - but some mycelial networks can extend for hundreds and hundreds of acres under the earth.

It is thought that one mycelial network in the Blue Mountains of eastern Oregon is the largest organism on Earth. It is a humongous fungus.

“This 2,400-acre (9.7 km2) site in eastern Oregon had a contiguous growth of mycelium before logging roads cut through it. Estimated at 1,665 football fields in size and 2,200 years old, this one fungus has killed the forest above it several times over, and in so doing has built deeper soil layers that allow the growth of ever-larger stands of trees. Mushroom-forming forest fungi are unique in that their mycelial mats can achieve such massive proportions."
- Paul Stamets, Mycelium Running

There are many other enormous underground fungal networks being revealed as further research is conducted, and what was once thought to be rare, is now known to be not only common, but essential to forests. Trees and plants provide the fungi with carbohydrates, and the fungi supply nutrients, transmit information, and assist with water absorption.

Every day we are reminded of the importance of trees, and as we learn more about the importance of fungi to the health of global forests, we understand how very connected all forms of life truly are.

Hildegard of Bingen may not have been a scientist in the modern sense, but she knew the importance of trees.

"…Invisible life that sustains ALL,
I awaken to life everything
in every waft of air.
The air is life,
greening and blossoming.
The waters flow with life…

The earth has a scaffold of stones and
trees. In the same way is a person formed:
flesh is the earth,
the bones are the trees and stones."
— Hildegard of Bingen, Meditations

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Mulberry Pie

7/26/2016

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I had a conversation about mulberry trees with a man in my dentist’s office recently, and although it was fun talking to him, the conversation left me feeling sad. The man has recently moved into an older house with several mulberry trees in the back yard. He hates them so much, he plans to cut the mulberries down. He hates the mess from the fallen fruit, he hates that the berries attract birds. The trees are messy, the birds are messy and he used the word ‘weed’ to describe the volunteers that pop up from fallen mulberry seeds. He was lively and animated and had a great sense of humor about his problem, but he has definite plans to cut down the mulberry trees in his new backyard. I didn’t get the chance to ask him how old the trees are, and there was no time to talk about how lucky he is to have fruit trees in his own backyard because I was called by the technician, and I had to say goodbye to the man. By the time my teeth were cleaned, he was gone from the waiting room. The conversation got me thinking about mulberries, however; so I did a little googling and found out that there are lots of people who dislike mulberry trees. My tree-felling acquaintance is not alone.

William Shakespeare, on the other hand, liked mulberry trees very much. It is believed that Shakespeare was an avid gardener because he made so many learned references to plants in his plays and poetry. The ancient mulberry trees in the Shakespeare Birthplace Trust’s, New Place Gardens, are said to have been grown from cuttings of a mulberry tree that Shakespeare himself planted. There is a story about how that original tree was cut down by the Reverend Francis Gastrell in the 1750s. Gastrell lived there at that time, and became so irked by all the visitors asking to see the tree that he cut it down. Shame on him. He's long gone of course, but what a way to be remembered.

Shakespeare describes the difficulties of mulberry picking in Coriolanus, when our protagonist is asked to show humility:

Now humble as the ripest mulberry
That will not hold the handling.

Shakespeare also refers to the mulberry tree in A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream. The play within this play is taken from the classical Greek story of two Babylonian teenagers, Pyramus and Thisbe who, like Romeo and Juliet, are forbidden to meet because their families hate each other. They communicate through a chink in the wall between their homes. Madly in love, they concoct a plan to disobey their parents and meet under a mulberry tree. Thisbe gets to the tree first. She sees a lion with a bloody mouth, runs away, and drops her cloak as she flees. The lion picks up the cloak, gets it bloody and then drops it. But when Pyramus shows up, he sees a red mouthed lion and Thisbe’s bloody cloak, so he assumes that Thisbe has been eaten by the lion. Bereft, he stabs himself, spilling blood on the mulberry tree. Thisbe returns to the mulberry tree, sees her dead lover and kills herself.

Played by bumbling goofballs in Shakespeare’s version, the tragic tale of two star-crossed lovers is made into comedy. According to the mythical tale as told by Ovid in his Metamorphoses, this is how white mulberries became red. In Ovid’s version, which was adapted from an even earlier myth, Thisbe sees a lioness, not a lion, and drops a veil instead of a cloak. Shakespeare’s royal audiences would have been familiar with the story and would have recognized the importance of the mulberry tree in the classical version: The sympathetic gods permanently turned the color of mulberries from white to crimson out of respect for the ill-fated lovers.

I had not considered how much poetry and emotion mulberries could incite, but they have a long literary history. The domestication of silkworms originated in China several thousand years ago, and mulberry trees figure in many Chinese songs and poems. The mulberry as an image of love and seduction is deeply rooted in Chinese civilization.

Mulberries are beautiful, delicious and highly nutritious. The leaves of the white mulberry mentioned above, are the sole food source of Bombyx mori, the silkworm. Unripe fruit, leaves and other green parts of the plant are intoxicating, mildly hallucinogenic and sometimes toxic, so the mulberry has a lot going on.

I wish the man I met in the dentist's office appreciated his mulberry trees. I'll probably never see him again, but he’s inspired me to plant a few of my own. When they’re grown and producing their luscious fruit, the first thing I will make is mulberry pie.

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More Trees, Please

7/18/2016

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We have a neighbor who many years ago suggested that we cut down the trees on our property. We inherited our old house with all of its wonderful trees, and the neighbor’s assumption was that we couldn’t possibly be as unreasonable as my husband’s parents were when they were living here. Certainly we would want to do the obvious thing and clear away all the trees. Our neighbor has exactly two trees, and believes that having more than three trees on your property lowers property values. We have so many trees, I couldn’t begin to count them. This neighbor has not spoken to us for many years now.

Attitudes like our neighbor’s are not that uncommon. Many of the people in this area don’t do their own yard work, so they don’t have to think about the environmental problems an immaculate, grassy, almost treeless lawn creates.

A lawn like our neighbor’s requires the application of countless chemicals which go straight into our water supply and wash directly into our waterways. The downstream effect is that some of these chemicals create algal blooms, diseased fish and die-offs. Treeless lawns also contribute to flooding problems. They harm insects and birds, contribute to habitat loss, lack of biodiversity and high extinction rates. In addition, the maintenance of lawns requires an enormous amount of water and fuel. Lawns are just not healthy for children and other living things.

The idea of the manicured lawn as a status symbol is not new. Like many American ideas, we took the idea of perfect expanses of grassy, weed-free, tree-free lawns from the English and French aristocracy. In the 16th century, lawns and fields surrounding European castles were kept free of trees so that guards could have a clear view if an enemy tried to approach. At that time however, lawns were probably a mix of grasses, chamomile and thyme. In the 17th century all-grass lawns became popular with wealthy landowners. Those expansive lawns were maintained by the hard labor of servants wielding scythes, and the grazing of sheep. These days, the servants have been replaced by landscape firms with loud equipment and the sheep are not allowed by most health departments.

Not only did the idea of grassy lawns come from Europe, many of the grasses used for American lawns are from Europe. Native American grasses are not as easily controlled as the kinds of grasses European landowners used for their lawns, so when wealthy landowners in America built their large estates, they had their lawns sown with grass seed from elsewhere. Blue grass, fescues, and bent grasses are all from Europe, and Bermuda grass comes from Africa.

The popularity of golf and lawn bowling also contributed to the proliferation of large-scale lawns in America, and in the mid 19th century cities all over the country began beautification campaigns. Public parks became common in even the smallest American towns, and the elegant, landscaped features of the grand English estate became democratized for all.

Slowly, the American craving for grassy expanses caught on, moving from public to private spaces, and as suburbs began to develop in the mid to late 19th century, so did the ubiquitous American lawn. The first lawn mower was invented in 1830 by Englishman, Edwin Budding. It was a push mower and wouldn’t be steam powered until around 1893. In 1900 the gasoline powered lawn mower entered the scene.

By the late 1940’s the need for affordable housing got a shot in the arm from returning GIs and their new families. Conformity was the norm, weeds (and Communism) were the enemy, and chemicals were the panacea. The population of America was growing and so were the suburbs.

One of the largest and most well known development firms of the time was Levitt & Sons, Inc. The firm created and sold ready-made suburbs beginning in 1947. The first of these planned communities was Levittown, NY. Levittown homes were designed to be affordable, and when buyers moved in, lawns were already in place. Abraham Levitt himself stated “No single feature of a suburban residential community contributes as much to the charm and beauty of the individual home and the locality as well-kept lawns.” His opinion stuck, and here we are.

I’ve watched more and more healthy trees come down in our area since Hurricane Sandy, and while I understand my neighbors’ fears, it will make our flooding problems that much more of an issue in the long run. Some people in the area are becoming aware of the environmental problems lawns create, but there are still too many homeowners who cling to old fashioned, environmentally destructive practices.

It took almost 200 years for Americans to create all the problems that come from unsustainable lawns, and I wish we had the luxury of 200 years to fix those problems. What we can do is plant more trees. Please.

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Keep Breathing

7/11/2016

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Photosynthesis is a Greek word in origin. It means “putting together with light”. The process itself is miraculous. Almost magical - Out of thin air, sunlight, and water, plant life and trees are born.

The process is used by green plants and trees to convert light energy from the sun into chemical energy. Trees store this energy in their leaves, using it to grow, form flowers and produce fruit. Like most plants, a tree’s chemical energy is stored in simple sugars which are made from taking in carbon dioxide and water. Oxygen -- the waste product -- and water vapor are then exhaled from the leaves. Without photosynthesis, there would be no life on Earth. Trees and plants literally breathe life into the atmosphere.

When winter arrives in the northern hemisphere, where the largest number of the world’s trees grow, atmospheric carbon dioxide levels are at their highest. The trees lie dormant, resting through the colder months, but in the spring, when leaves begin to breathe again, CO2 levels go back down. Trees return to the job of absorbing carbon dioxide, and cleaning up the air. Trees breathe like we do, only in reverse. Carbon in. Oxygen out. NASA has actually created a computer model allowing us to watch this global breathing process, and it is breath-taking.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x1SgmFa0r04

The model is a powerful visualization, showing us how winds and weather patterns travel around the globe, and it illustrates the fact that everything is connected.

New research published in the journal Forest Ecology and Management shows how crucial the breathing of trees is to our future. This recent news about California’s redwoods is helping to prove in no uncertain terms just how important trees are as a weapon against climate change.

The seven-year study by Humboldt State University and the University of Washington indicates that California’s redwood trees manage to store about 2,600 metric tons of carbon for every 2.5 acres of forest. Led by Robert Van Pelt, the enormous team meticulously studied 11 forested areas spanning about 500 miles, from the Oregon border to UC’s Landels-Hill Big Creek Reserve in Big Sur.

Of all the tallest trees across the globe, including the giant sequoia, Douglas fir, Sitka spruce, Australia’s mountain ash and the Tasmanian blue gum, California’s redwoods are the best at storing carbon because they live the longest. Even after redwoods die they continue to store carbon in their heartwood, which takes a much longer time to decompose than wood from other kinds of forests.

"We finally got the numbers," said Van Pelt. "No one has ever gotten them before. It took an army of people seven years to get all that. It was very satisfying."

Breathing is the rhythm of life, and if we hope to keep breathing ourselves, we must nurture the breathing of the trees.

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