“A lightning bolt illuminates the sky, striking the highest point of the forested ridge.” Thus begins the biography of a single tree.
Tree, A Life Story is a 700-year-long tale that begins with a Douglas fir dropping a seed from its cone in response to a forest fire and ends with the fallen tree continuing to supply the forest with nutrients even after death. In between, the authors trace the growth journey of the fir as it takes root, matures, and reproduces. But what could be a dry lesson in botany is instead a sublime tale, filled with beauty and wonder. In the introduction, David Suzuki, a zoologist by training, sells readers on why they should care about the subject: “Trees are among the Earth’s longest-lived organisms; their lives span periods of time that extend far beyond our existence, experiences, and memory. . . .Yet they stand like extras in life’s drama, always there as backdrops to the ever-changing action around them, so familiar and omnipresent that we barely take notice of them.”
As the authors trace the tree’s life history, they take meandering strolls into the forest as a whole, underscoring the point that nothing in nature exists in isolation. In addition to an exploration of mycorhizal fungi (a new favorite topic of mine), we take detours into the lives of common ravens, who may take up residence in a mature Douglas fir; western redback salamanders, who may search for insects in the cool shade at the tree’s base; pileated woodpeckers, whose diet includes bark beetles and, thus, helps protect our fir from Dutch elm disease; and mountain lions, who may use the deteriorating snag of the dead tree as a favorite resting spot. The spotted owl also makes an appearance, and the book addresses environmental concerns without pontificating. Those in favor of logging have asked the seemingly reasonable question, what is wrong with cutting down old trees as long as they are replaced with new seedlings? But as the authors point out, a new plantation of trees is not the equivalent of an old growth forest. “A natural climax forest embraces trees of all ages, from seedlings to snags, includes deadfall and leaf litter on the forest floor, and supports salmon populations and all their predators. A reforestation project is a monocultural farm; it is the opposite of biodiversity.”
The language in this book is so poetic that the lover of words will enjoy it as much as the lover of trees. A stem doesn’t emerge from a seed coat “so much as rise up with the seed coat perched on its head like a World War I pilot’s helmet.” The ribs of a western redback salamander “expand and contract like a bellows.” In one of the steamier passages, the authors describe how a male pollen grain becomes enmeshed in the female ovule of the cone. “For two months it luxuriates on the pubic patch while the ovule’s labia swell around it; slowly the ovule engulfs the grain, which sinks into it like a croquet ball into a soft, silken pillow.” (Reader fans self.) The authors also make the timeline of the tree’s life tangible by placing it in a historical context. For example, they reference that the Middle Ages were coming to a close as our tree was entering the 15th year of its life. This very tree won’t die until the early 20th century, giving the reader a better understanding of how long these amazing organisms actually live.
Yet even as the tree dies, the story continues. After our fir is effectively dead, it stands as a snag for over 60 years, providing a home for various songbirds, flying squirrels, chipmunks, and spotted bats. Eventually the snag, batted about by weather for years, falls and becomes a domicile for mosses, fungi, and termites. As the log, now known as a nurse log, decays, it continues to support forest life.
As a final note, I must call out the wonderful illustrations by Robert Bateman. Like our Douglas fir, Bateman’s line drawings–a wolf taking shelter under the fir, a bald eagle resting on a snag, the aftermath of a forest fire–are both delicate and rich.
As I began the final chapter on the death of the tree, I was certain I would get teary-eyed at the final pages. In the end, though, I was comforted and even joyful. Long after it’s gone, the tree continues to contribute to our world. I haven’t done this lovely little book justice, but I hope I’ve been able to share a little of its wonder.
