Listening to Trees

Video Version Here

My blog post two weeks ago was about feeling the need to explain my husband’s odd words and behaviors when I was embarrassed by them. This was almost always with strangers.

I did not feel the need to explain what was happening when we were among friends and close family. They knew. They accepted. They supported.

I’ve written about the tangible support I received from several sources. There are too many to list here, but if you want to check out my earliest blog posts, that’s where I tried to honor the friends, family, neighbors, my faith community, support group, respite care, and professionals.

But what about invisible support not tied to deeds or words? Is that even a thing? I feel like it is.

Nature is a wise teacher. I learn a lot when I pay attention to her lessons.

A mature forest is an ecosystem—a community of sorts—made up of all the plant life, from tiny mushrooms to large mother trees, and all the animal life supported there. The larger trees’ canopies provide shade and shelter for the smaller plants and animals below. Sunlight provides energy for the trees and other plants, and that energy is converted into food stuffs for the animals.

What happens in the ground below, though, is where the magic really happens. There’s a whole hidden world below the surface of the earth that supports and nourishes life both in the soil and above it.

There is a physical strength that happens when the root systems of all the trees in a forest mingle and intertwine with each other below ground. When strong winds blow, or flood waters rise, because their roots are all tangled together, it’s difficult for one tree to fall. They are supported by each other.

But did you know that trees communicate with each other? I first learned about this when I read the 2016 memoir, Lab Girl, by Hope Jahren. Two other accessible books that touch on this subject are The Hidden Life of Trees by Peter Wohlleben and Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer.

Trees “talk” with each other by releasing chemicals through their leaves as a warning system to others of their species. But the bigger miracle happens below ground. Using the enormous spreading system of subterranean fungal hyphae, trees also communicate this way. They even divert nourishment along this system to trees that are more in need from those that have an abundance. Here is a nice explanation.

This silent support is what I experienced during the eight years of Harvey’s illness and afterwards. I didn’t have to explain what was happening. When I did, I was absolutely supported, but even without having to name what was happening at home, I felt understood by those closest to me, as well as from the greater community of which we were a part.

I, and my family, sheltered in the shade of our community. We were not asked to contribute. We were held and supported by all the deep roots that intertwined with ours. We did not fall when the storms of Harvey’s disease wrecked havoc in our lives. Those in our community who were doing well—psychologically and spiritually—shared the energy of their abundance to nourish us.

May you, too, know the love and support of community—a community where no words or explanations, or justifications are needed.