Knock on wood, but we’re usually better together

There’s a small chance that long-time readers of this page might remember me talking about Peter Wohlleben’s 2016 book The Hidden Life of Trees: “a highly entertaining — albeit anthropomorphic — book that postulated that trees communicate with each other” in tough times through their root systems.

I had to search whether or not I did in fact write that: I find fact and intention seemed to get mixed in the blurriness of age. But according to the Google machine, I mentioned that book in 2019. And with new data from the Advocate’s reader survey, I’m thinking that may ring a bell with some readers. I mean not to brag, but the data suggests that consumers prefer — ever so slightly — reading this column to reading the classified page. I’m not in the same league as say the back of your cereal box, of course. But the classified page is important and I’ll take that. I’d run a victory lap, if I could run.

I was thinking about that book as I was walking in a tree-covered neighbourhood recently.  I found myself in awe of the new growth that only comes in spring. To the untrained eye, the effects of the devastating ice storm just two months ago was less noticeable than the splendour of the greenery. As we know, the damage was extensive and staggering. According to the city, one contractor alone took approximately 5,000 cubic yards of branches out of Lindsay and another took more than that out of both Omemee and Bobcaygeon. As of mid-May, there are more than 16,000 cubic yards of wood chips from the 17,000 citizens who brought tree debris to city landfills. The final numbers, which will quantify both the severity of the storm and the city’s amazing response, will be mind-blowing.

But as I walked down the street, I was not thinking of the recent devastation to the tree canopy, but rather the beautiful resilience of nature. Not to sound like some hippy, but the sight of the trees carrying on, despite injury gave me a measure of hope.

Wohlleben postulated that tree families, much like human ones, do better as a group. They protect each other and live much longer than solitary trees, who statistically do not do as well nor live as long as trees that are together. This too gave me solace.

For several people in our community, May was a sad month. There were high-profile, unexpected losses that affected many people deeply. But as it always does, our community gave tribute, supported those most closely affected and gathered together, strengthened by that togetherness.

And that’s when we are at our best, even in sadness. When we are like the trees that continue, despite injury or devastation, we just survive better together.