​So this is the last of our “Tree Trilogy.” It comes in two parts. The first part is a review of the charming Around the World in 80 Trees by Jonathan Drori (Lawrence King Pub., $24.99). Pardon the pun, but this book is a tour de force of trees around the world. In the second half, after we have done our world tour, we come home to Bedrock Gardens, and our multi-talented founder, Jill Nooney, has some comments to add.

As the title suggests, Drori’s book covers trees growing all over the world, from Siberia, to Southeast Asia, and from Europe to the Americas. The brief essays have been characterized as “biographies” of and “love letters” to his examples. Each contains information both educational and fascinating. Perhaps the best way to proceed is to provide examples.

• The piece on the Dutch Elm understandably focuses on the disease that so devastated that species. We learn that the trees were attacked by a type of fungus borne in by beetles that bored through the bark—new information to me and something I find somewhat analogous to the way malaria is spread to humans by mosquitoes. Even more revelatory was the fact that the most plentiful survivors can be found in Holland of all places. The most interesting point of all is that botanists have developed a treatment: they actually inoculate healthy, young elms with a less harmful fungus that stimulates the trees’ defensive systems to resist the lethal version. Sound familiar? How alike are the many varied forms of life!
• In turns of durability and survival in challenging climates, I award the place of honor to the Siberian (or Dahurian) Larch, which thrives in the eponymous land where temperatures range from 100 degrees Fahrenheit down to minus 85 degrees. People live there as well, but usually with some shelter and fur, and a chance to get their feet off the permafrost!
• We learn that the Fig has been cultivated for over 4,000 years and that the Wild Apple was being developed by grafting techniques in Mesopotamia from around 1,800 B.C.
• That discussion sparks a reminder about how much of the world’s food supply comes from trees, some quite unexpectedly. Take for example, the Mopane tree in South Africa, and its like-named worm. The worms feast on the leaves to the point of a 4000-fold weight gain. Yet the trees survive, refoliate and continue to thrive. The worms in turn are a popular food for people there, who consume “thousands of tons” of them, as they are nutritional (60% protein) and apparently not bad when fried.
• Finally, two other trees’ stories repeat a theme that has become quite important to me—the interconnectedness of disparate forms of life—how symbiosis is so fundamental to the survival of so many living things. The Silver Birch has a root system that interconnects with mycorrhizal fungi, which extend the trees’ reach for nutrients, which the fungi pass on to the roots in a digestible form; for which the trees then return sugars to fungi for their nutrition. As an interesting aside, the species also partners with a form of toadstool the produces hallucinogens used by some Siberian tribes in shamanistic rituals. At last, there is the Whistling Thorn of eastern Africa, the thorns of which are connected to bulbous, thistle like protuberances that are both hollow and have small holes. They also carry a nectar that is a particular favorite of a species of biting ants. When disturbed, as air blows through the holes, the bulbs whistle, which in turn summons the ants to sally forth in a protective swarm against whatever is consuming their favorite food. The ants then exude distress pheromones which summon even more ants as reinforcements and the larger, feeding animal is harassed sufficiently to flee.

As with some of my previous readings, and as alluded to earlier, almost all of these readings on plants and trees reveal the miracle and complexity of nature. A major aspect of that complexity is the interdependence of so many forms of life, from fungi, to humankind, all linked through the plant world, which itself has its own intelligent adaptations. As we marvel at nature, may we also respect it and protect it.

So we have toured the world of trees, not just in this Drori’s well written and recommended volume, but in earlier reviews. It is time to return home and enjoy and admire the trees in our own backyard of Bedrock Gardens. Herewith, I turn the article over to Jill Nooney.

                                                                                                                                                      MWB

​As an aside, we saw many sacred trees in Thailand that were wrapped in bands of fabric that would be refreshed periodically, they often had a collection of little elephants at their base. It was magical. If I had known about this practice earlier, I surely would have wrapped these sacred trees.​

Then one day in mid summer, I came home from work and saw it slumped over and resting itself on the roof of the Work Room. It was in full leaf.
​

No one heard or saw it happen. We went through all the desperate measures you do when you are given a terrible diagnosis. I cried. After all the consultations and conversations were over, Bob and I circled around to a saying his father had picked up from treating his patients in the hollows of Appalachia: “Leave ‘er lay where Jesus flang ‘er.”

And that is what we did.

When you have gardened in one place for forty years, you become a part of it both as an observer and a participant and the acute anguish of losing these twin maples gets softened into the swelling and receding of a low chorus always singing and reminding me that we are all just passing through.
​                                                                                                                                                  JN

Words, Words, Words….and Pictures Worth Thousands of Them
 
Herewith is the second part of a series on trees.  We are reviewing two books that present an interesting contrast in terms of reading material.  The first is a fairly well known work by Stephanie Kaza, entitled Conversations with Trees, An Intimate Ecology (Shambhala, pub.).  The work was originally titled, and may be more familiar to some, as The Attentive Heart. The second work is Meetings with Remarkable Trees (Random House), by Thomas Pakenham.  While each is about encounters with trees, the respective authors could not have taken more diverse approaches to achieve their aims.
 
Ms. Kaza served as professor emerita of environmental studies at the University of Vermont and has written several books.  Her writing comes from a somewhat unique viewpoint: the themes of Buddhism and nature are closely liked throughout this book, and, evidently, in others she has written (Dharma Rain: Sources of Buddhist Environmentalism and Green Buddhism among them).  Moreover, in Conversations she presents an exceptionally personal series of meditations, each chapter being its own self-contained essay, and all with a very spiritual slant.
 
This approach comes at a price, however.  For those readers not acquainted with Buddhism, it can be a bit overwhelming, and, more often, distracting.  Her language is elegant and the prose is filled with metaphors and quite poetic descriptions of the otherwise commonplace.  Here is an example, dealing with the cutting down of a tree:
 
But in this space there is not time or space for the luxury of a fully lived death. The pungent, refined smell of gasoline fills the air; the biting sound revs up again.  WhrrrEEEEEEeeenEEnn.  It is so insistent, so aggressive, so capable of overriding the resistance of the tree….I am beginning to feel worn down myself by the relentless growls and snarls of chain saws.  The penetrating vibration presses into my chest, biting away at my heart, carving my trunk into segments.
 
One must admit the prose is very descriptive and quite compelling.  But in the end, the style becomes somewhat exhausting, and tends toward prolixity.   As well, it serves to distract from any deep science on the subject of trees.  As the book is really a collection of essays, it can be read in small doses—and probably should be by most of us not so into Zen.  Yet reading thusly will provide the reader with the rewards of enjoying some luscious prose. One might even see the book as a lesson in descriptive writing.
 
Totally different is Pakenham’s Meetings with Remarkable Trees.  His approach applies the old adage: “A picture is worth a thousand words.”  Where Kaza exercises her abilities with metaphor and poetical descriptions of nature, Pakenham lets Nature speak for Herself.  And for this reader, it was no contest.  The photos of the trees bring out the poetry in each—in fact, some could be classified as epic poetry.  Most have been around for centuries (one is reputed to have given a shady rest to Bonnie Prince Charlie).  I was heartsick to learn that all are in England, but the quality of the photography provides sufficient consolation for not being able to see them in person. 
 
 
 
Mostly yews and oaks, almost every one could figure in a romantic story, (my personal favorite is “The Whittinghame Yew”) and in fact, many are associated with figures in history and one with the poet William Wordsworth.  One tree has a house built in its spreading branches, another, a door with a room inside.  The deep clefts and wide-spreading branches of yews (and a massive wisteria) no doubt have inspired romantic fantasies in the minds of many of their visitors.
 
Pakenham, an historian, has written some magisterial works in that genre (The Boer War, The Scramble for Africa, The Year of Liberty), but a review of the rest of his body of work reveals an author with a deep appreciation of trees and a wonderful talent for producing books on some spectacular trees from around the world, filled with photographs that visually enrich his essays.  So if one becomes of fan after viewing this volume, there is the promise of more.  We look forward to acquiring at least one additional volume. 
 
Pakenham was inspired to write Meetings… after a violent storm took down a tree that had been on the family’s property for five generations, as well as by his perception that, despite the ever-growing concern for environmental issues in general, old trees, no, ancient trees are insufficiently treasured.  He asserts that such trees in fact serve as documents of nature and this book is intended to preserve those documents as well as enable a greater appreciation of the miracle of their existence. One brief passage in the introduction reveals his view succinctly: 
 
To visit these trees, to step beneath their domes and vaults, is to pay homage at a mysterious shrine.  But tread lightly. Even these giants have delicate roots.  And be warned that this may be your farewell visit.  No one can say if this prodigious trunk will survive the next Atlantic storm—or outlive us all by centuries.” 
 
But the text really is not preachy; for after his introduction, Pakenham lets the trees speak for themselves. The book can serve as and was likely intended to be a coffee table tome, and it succeeds in that aim with remarkable excellence.  If you love looking at trees, if there is a bit of the romantic in you, if you just appreciate the beauty and majesty that Nature can offer, this book is a must have!

So there are still a few remnants of snow on the ground here in Stratham, and, as I hope is the case with most of you, we are self-isolating.  Besides cleaning the basement, two things to do to make the time pass, (things I like to do) are reading and hiking in the adjacent trails through the nearby woods.  The latter affords me the benefits of exercise and fresh air, with ample room to maintain my social distance from the occasional folks I meet.  I have always loved hiking in the woods which, in addition to their salubrious gifts, also provide the solitude necessary for thinking.  Yet lately, these two pastimes have converged for me with respect to the subject of trees, abundant in “the woods,” of course.  Now I find that, after reading The Hidden Life of Trees by Peter Wohlleben (Greystone Books), I will never again look at trees the same way.  I found this fascinating discussion of the life of trees filled with revelations and insights into nature and life itself that I had not sufficiently considered ever prior.
 
Wohlleben is a forest manager in the Eifel region of Germany.  His concern is primarily beech trees, and thus much of his information is somewhat limited to that genus.  But he covers several others, as discussed below.  Another trait of his writing is that it can tend to be a bit too anthropomorphic, especially his chapter titles, such as: “Forest Etiquette” and “Tree School.”  And I confess I found the latter half of the book less filled with wonders than the first.  All that being said, however, this is a genuinely intriguing book and well worth a full read.
 
Where Stefano Mancuso dealt with plants on an evolutionary, kingdom level, citing examples on as individual basis, in The Revolutionary Genius of Plants (reviewed by me some months ago), Wohlleben discusses trees as members of an interconnected community.  He points out how they are mutually supportive and, as a result, interdependent.  He cites an abundance of instances; here are some highlights:

• Some species of Acacia trees, when attacked by giraffes, quickly generate a toxic substance that drives the animals away, AND they are deterred from going to adjacent acacia trees.  The mechanism?  In addition to the toxin, the trees emit a gas that warns adjacent acacias to produce the same toxin.
• Some Elms and Pines can recognize the saliva of the species of insect attacking them and then release pheromones that summons species-specific predators to attack their foes.
• Stumps of trees harvested long ago have been found to have inner parts still alive.  They get their photosynthetic nourishment from adjacent trees still standing, trees that transmit nutrients through the interconnected root system and the abundant fungi beneath the soil.
• Indeed, where I thought roots only provided moisture and some chemicals, they play a far more significant, albeit invisible role in the welfare of trees.  There is some much more to a tree than previously imagined.  You could say I’ve looked at trees from both sides now.

 
And I learned that the fungi beneath the soil (they exist in a staggering quantity) are as much a part of the forest as the trees.  In fact, without fungi, forests could not endure.  I could go on for as long as the book itself does on the roles and functions fungi perform.  Suffice it to say they are an underground highway for nutrient transmission as well as chemical information.  There is so much more in this book:  how coniferous trees clean the air, how trees perform the vital function of carbon storage (adding even more urgent justification for saving the forests), and finally the effects of climate change. If you have even remote interest in trees and or nature, this book is a must read.  And the next time you visit Bedrock Gardens, be sure to look up.  To paraphrase Abigail Adams: Remember the trees and be more favorable to them.

 
 
Fantastic Fungi:
As a corollary to the book review I want to add some notes on a movie I recently saw at the Music Hall.  Having my interest in fungi piqued by The Hidden Life of Trees, I was excited to see that the documentary “Fantastic Fungi” by Louie Schwartzberg was showing.  It was truly fantastic: informative, very entertaining, visually stunning, and filled with new (to me) insights.  Again I feel the need to provide one caveat:  its celebration of hallucinatory mushrooms was a little overdone and came across as a commercial break.  Nonetheless, I recommend this film without reservations.  The time lapse cinematography shows fungi slowly decaying life forms as well as blossoming forth from them—the continuation of life.  I learned that fungi are now considered their own kingdom—neither plant nor animal (maybe not news to you, but it has been over five decades since I took biology!).  Study of fungi has discovered roles for these life forms in natural pest control of carpenter ants, and use in attacking the microbes which kill bees, thus helping to preserve our most important pollinators.  I hope this film gets wider circulation; it is not yet on Netflix, but you may be able to find it somewhere in live stream.  This one gets my personal Academy Award for Best Documentary.
 
I think as a final comment on both of these works, I gained a deeper appreciation of the interconnectedness of all life forms.  Nature indeed exists in a balance.  Both the book and the movie underscore not just that balance and interconnectedness, but the interdependence of all life forms.  Both offer a lesson of which we should be especially appreciative in our current time of pandemic and climate change.
 
 

A Review of “The Revolutionary Genius of Plants” by Stefano Mancuso
 
 
Ever wonder—at length—about what really is going on inside plants? Until I read this intriguing book on a doesn’t-really-feel-like-spring-yet day, I would answer that question glibly with, “Sure, photosynthesis.”  But Stefano Mancuso, a neurobiologist, now has changed all of that for me.  The work’s sub-title promises a “New Understanding of Plant Intelligence and Behavior,” and it fully delivers on that promise.  Having read it, I will be visiting Bedrock with a new appreciation of what I see there.
 
The author starts with the premise of something we all know, but have perhaps not fully appreciated: Plants differ from animals in a couple of ways that are most significant to their evolution.  The first is the obvious one that plants do not possess mobility; here the author further points out that this attribute (never call it a lack of an attribute) has led plants to evolve a survival strategy that emphasizes adaptability instead of migration.    The second major difference is that plants do not exist on the model wherein single organs perform specific functions; all forms of the more complex animals, for his main example, have a brain, which functions via a connected neural network. 
 
In contrast, the model for plants is a diffusion of function.  This characteristic has been of paramount significance to the evolution of plants, and necessary for the success of plants’ adaptation strategies.  It is especially significant with respect to what he terms “diffuse intelligence.” The diffuse nature of a plant’s intelligence and the functional repetition in a plant’s body are essential to its evolutionary success and survival.  Mancuso does not go so far as to say the evolution of plants is in anyway superior to that of animals, but he demonstrates how their evolution is equally successful, given the fundamental differences that exist.  I found his points on diffuse intelligence and plant behavior most intriguing. 
 
Citing a few examples here should draw you in to reading this fascinating book.  First, can plants learn? Can they receive cues from the environment and adapt with an effective survival strategy?  Consider Mimosa pudica, which reacts to vibrations or being touched by closing its leaves.  Going back to Lamarck’s days, botanist found that repeated touching led it to cease that reaction.  Originally attributed to a notion of “fatigue,” more recent studies have confirmed that what seems to be going on is that the plant is learning that the source of stimulation is not a threat, but instead, a benign, newer aspect in the environment, and something it can live with.  Some sort of “learning” is taking place in the diffuse intelligence of the plant.  Even more fascinating was the finding that Mimosa pudica retained something like a memory for up to forty days.  Only partially understood, this behavior is felt to be actuated by some form of tropism that alters genes controlling such action in the plant’s cells (a process he terms epigenetics).
 
Mimicry by one organism of another as a survival mechanism is not that uncommon in the animal kingdom, and in fact has been known to exist with plants as well.  Mancuso introduces the reader to what he terms the “King of Mimesis,” Boquila trifolata, found in the temperate rain forests of Argentina and Chile.  Boquila rates the royal title due to its distinct and astounding ability to mimic different plants it grows near.  This feat of botanical legerdemain really depends on two abilities, first to “perceive” the plant it will mimic, and then to manipulate its genes to alter leaf shape in different ways.  The process is not fully understood. Epigenetics can generally serve as a description of the mechanism of the mimicry, but the perception of a different object to mimic relies on structures Mancuso terms ocelli, which provide a possible means of that perception.   While he stops short of calling this seeing with eyes, he makes a case that there is something like that taking place. Boquila gives the impression that it perceives something and somehow then actually synthesizes that information.
 
Here one should provide a couple of caveats; one, that scientists have yet to fully understand some of the processes described, and two, because we have always conceived of intelligence along a certain, centralized paradigm, our very language in describing what I would term “plant-think” is somewhat limited in its effectiveness, and, as a result, one can fall into too much anthropomorphism in descriptions.  These two aspects might limit the book’s impact with some readers.  Nevertheless, the story of Boquila is fascinating.
 
There are several other interesting behaviors Mancuso cites:  how plants manage moisture, especially in arid climates; how they use different cell structures with what amounts to hydraulics to adjust position and open and close at different times of day; how they manipulate insects for pollination as well as for protection from predators and even competing plants.  Much of the book is about what we can, and have, learned from plants and their evolutionary strategies.  Further, Mancuso cites several engineering and architectural designs that were inspired by plant structures.  Did you know that London’s famous Crystal Palace was based on a design inspired by the structure of a plant named Victoria amazonica? 
 
Sometimes the digressions go a bit far for my taste, especially in the final chapters, and so, if you’d rather not dive too deeply into different kinds of tropisms for example, perhaps this is not the book for you.  Yet I found the book intriguing by and large and the science on an approachable level.  It has given me a deeper appreciation of what I see when I walk through Bedrock Gardens, knowing now that the flora there represent much more than a passive beauty. An extra, nice plus of the book are its beautiful photographs.  “The Revolutionary Genius of Plants” is published by Atria publishing (a Simon and Shuster imprint), runs around two hundred pages and costs $30.00.
 
MWB

​​Marc Bono is a retired business development executive, and president of our board.  In reality, he is a closet culture vulture.

​Anything becomes interesting if you look at it closely enough.
Eugene d’Ors  1882-1954

Bark is immensely important to trees. It protects the vulnerable internal tissues from physical damage from rain, sleet, cold, heat, frost, ultraviolet rays and so on. It offers physical and chemical protection from insects, fungi, bacteria and parasitic plants. It is difficult for birds and mammals to penetrate. Bark is a dumping ground for metabolic wastes and dangerous chemicals. The inner layer of bark houses the tubes (phloem) that transport nutrients to all the tree parts.

Tree bark has many forms. Some of these are:

• Smooth – American beech, yellowwood
• Smooth with a peeling outer layer – paper birch, sycamore, paper bark maple
• Fissured – oaks, redbuds, some maples
• Interlacing ridges – walnut, linden
• Small to moderate scales – firs, spruces
• Large scales – pines, some cedars
• Flexible narrow strips – many junipers, dawn redwood
• Rigid long plates peeling up from the bottom – shagbark hickory, some false cypress

Bark is the main factor determining which trees are struck by lightning. Water is a much better electrical conductor than wood. Smooth bark trees get uniformly wet. Lightning travels through the water and into the ground with little or no damage to the tree. Bark that has shallow or connected fissures also lets the electricity travel through the water and into the ground. Bark with deep, unconnected furrows not does not give lightning a path to the ground. The electricity penetrates the bark and travels through the sap. This heats the tree and may even start it on fire. The damage can be substantial, even deadly. Oaks, with their deep rough furrows are struck by lightning more than any other genus.
​
Tree bark is very useful to humans. We use it for medicine, nutrition, building materials, canoes, dyes, fibers for baskets, clothing and ropes, and the ornamental bark of many trees for landscaping.

Bark is also very useful for tree identification in the winter. Trees have opposite branching (maples, ash, dogwood, horse chestnut) or alternate branching (all others). With this concept and a key to tree bark you can put most trees in their genus and often in their species.

Include looking at bark when you look at trees. The more you look, the more interesting it will be.

Hobson Jandebeur is a retired machinist who has been studying, planting, and selling trees and shrubs for over twenty years.

January 8th was a dismal day.  Fog enshrouded the landscape, which was covered by a dusting of snow.  The cold and damp were penetrating.  The Twelve Days of Christmas were now past and the decorations all boxed up.  The Christmas tree had been hauled away, leaving only stray pine needles that resisted the vacuum.  In this depressing setting I decided to cheer myself up by thinking of the sure-to-come spring and future visits to Bedrock in all its glory.  As I was imagining, I began to think about what made me fall in love with the Gardens.  I would like to share that reflection.

My first visit was an uplifting journey of discovery.  Yet I soon found that I experienced that very same sense of finding something new every time I returned.  The Gardens possess an amazing charm of newness, no matter how many visits one makes.  I also realized that, to me, Bedrock is comprised of three fundamental aspects.  First there is the open space; it creates a spirit of exhilaration.  Second are the flora, providing beauty, wonder, and a sense of peace.  Finally, and by no means least important are the sculptures, so perfectly integrated into a landscape that is already a work of art.  I can enjoy all three elements, but I believe it is the combination and integration of all that creates the special sense of wonder when one visits Bedrock.

German opera composers had a theory about just such a combination that we today might refer to as synergy.  It was Gesamtkunstwerk.  The idea originated with the 18th Century opera composer Gluck, was furthered by von Weber, and achieved it ultimate expression in the operas of Richard Wagner.  Roughly translated it means: a “total work of art,” or an “all embracing work of art.”  The notion was that the orchestration, singing, drama, and staging should all work together to support the underlying meaning and artistic intent of the composer’s opera.  Prior to this reform movement, many opera works consisted of alternations of arias and recitative, music, and sometimes incomprehensible and irrelevant narrative plots.

You do not have to be a Wagnerian opera fan or even a fan of opera, however, to appreciate Bedrock as an all-encompassing work of art, but that is exactly what it is.  The space, the flowers, and the sculpture all have their own virtues and positive impact; together, they bring the visitor something more: into closer contact with something fundamental to human need and contentment.  The gardens proclaim the beauty of nature in an abundance of open space.  The sculptures, created by the hand of a woman, are exceptionally well integrated into the landscape—distinct but not separated entities, and thus they remind us that we as humans have a place in Creation.   The gardener and the garden could not exist more closely together than here.

Indeed, as Robert Harrison points out (Gardens, An Essay on the Human Condition) in our western tradition, human life began in a Garden, Eden. Here he connects “humanity” with the Latin for soil, “humus.”

Perhaps this talk is all too much philosophizing about simple outdoor enjoyment. Perhaps you will see this more clearly when you observe children cartwheeling and dancing when they encounter Jill’s “Acrobats.”   But maybe this note will help you experience Bedrock a bit differently and enjoy it a bit more when you next visit.  I look forward to seeing you there in the warmth of spring.

Marc Bono is a retired communication engineer, and president of our board.  He is doing just fine at this type of communication, too!

EARLY ONE MORNING LAST WEEK, my husband and I were ambling along the sunny and flamboyant Garish Garden, when a blaze of movement caused us to freeze. There, dancing around a golden smoke tree (Cotinus coggygria 'Golden Spirit'), were five rambunctious hummingbirds, the antics of which ground us to a halt.

We are no strangers to these sprites, but this lot was unlike any we’d seen. Twittering incessantly, they chased each other around the shrub and zipped to and fro the surrounding violet-hued ​delphinium (Delphinium exaltatum) and fire-y red crocosmia

(Crocosmia x crocosmiflora 'Lucifer'). Every few minutes, one would zoom out like a fighter jet over the Grass Acre, the others in hot pursuit, only to all return to start the hijinks again. (Have I mentioned this place is magical?) We stood, enthralled, for a good 20 minutes before the birds had had enough and moved on. Despite our efforts to catch the speedy buggers on camera, the photos all came out like a game of hide-and-seek.

​So full of color and life, Bedrock’s Garish Garden with its trademark crocosmia is one of Jill Nooney’s favorite areas of Bedrock, especially in summer. (Here is more about this stunning perennial.)

For example, plants are transitory, subject to the whims (and whams) of nature, to the seasons, to their genetic inner clocks. Plants are pliable: They bend, break, and decay. Yet always, they produce more of themselves, as well as making the very medium in which they grow. 

Alternatively, most of the works of art at Bedrock are crafted and welded together by human hands (and tools) from metal to be permanent fixtures: They are individual pieces that are one-of-a-kind (and quite incapable of reproducing themselves). 

​​Another yin: Much of her art is made from a local and abundant resource that has deep ties ​ with this land: discarded and forgotten