The Absent Relations of the Mysterious Crape Myrtles

It has been a long, but fluctuating transition of emotions from the first time I sat at my chosen patch of trees to today. When I learned I had been assigned to choose a field site where I would spend time pursuing natural history, I would have never imagined it would have been this one. Perhaps it had never really stood out to me, or perhaps I never really let it do so. Since the moment I moved to Salisbury, I have been consumed by a series of daily tasks driven by my responsibilities as a student. I would drive to school and back, mostly, with the exception of the grocery store and the vet. Not until after I was brought, through a class requirement, to connect with a location in this area did I ever think I would spend my time taking in the natural world by the leasing office of my apartment complex.

My “spot” is alongside the entrance road of my apartment community. If you were driving into its entryway, the location of the trees would be on your left, directly across from the leasing office.  This spot is truly beautiful, complete with a wooden bench trimmed in green metal that sits on a bed of mulch in front of a tiny fenced pond. Outlining the mulch is a row of crape myrtle trees that have, at times, captivated me beyond belief. From the first moment I identified what they were, I began to research into them. Unfortunately, all I would find were tips on how to grow them, as well as pictures of the infinite varieties of crape myrtles. But, that’s not exactly what I was hoping to find. Instead, I hoped to find the explanations for why people wanted them in their yards - were they really that aesthetically pleasing? Sure, they have gorgeous flowers and a stunningly captivating multi-trunk uprising, but why are they suddenly present everywhere one turns, a dominant feature these days of most landscape designs? After a long chat with her, I learned that this community once was a strawberry field. How interesting. She also told me that the crape myrtles were planted there as part of an intricate landscape design. I wonder if she knew whether they were planted for their beautiful sight or their resistance to most wildlife.

After several days and weeks of research I found information on one of the worst crape myrtle pests around. Surprisingly, there are very few pests or diseases that invade crape myrtles, which I suspect is among the main appeals of this tree chosen by many to be included in landscapes. According to a Home & Garden online article, the pests that do attack this species include the Japanese beetle, primrose flea beetles, crape myrtle aphids. and a whole lot of fungi. Inadvertently, this immunity to most diseases and pests, although attractive to individuals, are what distinct crape myrtles from the natural world.

In addition to my lack of any insight into the cultural assumptions leading to dominance of crape myrtles, I found that the crape myrtle was not very welcoming to other wildlife. Although at one point I thought I saw a nest up in the branches, I could have been mistaken because it was no longer present during my next visit. I also noticed that the hours I spent examining the patch of crape myrtles, the birds that would visit the location would typically rest their feet on branches other than those of the Crape myrtle.

Part of natural history is the observations and analysis of relationships among living things. Personally, I have always had a fascination with the way different species interact with each other. Unfortunately, that is not something I encountered with this patch of crape myrtle trees. Not only were these trees excluded from the beauty and wonder of the natural world that surrounds them, but they also felt empty in a way. They lacked wonder and greeting. Needless to say, after having spent an entire semester observing these trees, I began to feel sad and lonely for them. In a way I could say I felt their frustration of exclusivity from surrounding natural interactions. Anthropogenic activity has bred these crape myrtles specifically for aesthetic pleasure without any consideration for natural rituals among different species of plants, trees, and wildlife. These trees were designed to repel nature, rather than invite it. As weeks went by, I truly began to wonder what these trees thought or felt or if they even could. I even began to wonder what they would wish for if they had the chance, or at least if there was a culture among their species similar to that of our species.

 Disappointingly, I could not find many articles discussing the true culture of crape myrtles. It’s as if the trees descended from another planet rather than having co-evolved in an earthly landscape.  Well, I did find that they are from China, as well as other parts of Asia, but that did not seem enough, at least not for me, to develop my own conclusions about that other world in which these trees are indigenous and actually play a significant biological role in the landscape as well as the human culture emerging from that landscape.  

But Crape myrtles here and there have found new cultural niches in their new-found home: it turns out that an annual crape myrtle parade is held annually in South Carolina hosted for and by the gay community of that region. I found this to be quite interesting. Could it be that the gay community felt inspired by crape myrtles? I suppose it makes sense that they would choose a colorful, extravagant, and flamboyant species of tree to identify with. Perhaps it even captivated the gay community how segregated these trees may feel at times, similar to themselves. Maybe I should think about interviewing a South Carolinian regarding this parade to further investigate this culture that associates with crape myrtles.

Another very interesting detail of this ongoing exploration has been the slow transition of the buds at the peak of the branches. Yes, of course the weather has made it easy for us all to be confused, but other trees have bloomed beautifully, leaving more to be desired from those suspicious crape myrtles. Nonetheless, their mystery and placidity might also be another reason to choose these trees as part of one’s landscape design. Since the crape myrtle species tend to bloom later in the year nearing halfway through the summer, it gives to some a much-anticipated prequel to the fall. To others however, the timing leads to much disappointment. Bee enthusiasts might think the timing of the crape myrtles is perfect due to the high necessity of nectar and pollen sources during that time of year, but unfortunately crape myrtles repel nature rather than invite it.

Nonetheless, no matter how gradual and detached these crape myrtles might seem from the natural world, they sure do create a picturesque display, much like the exhibit of cherry blossoms that demanded notice all of last week. Needless to say, the cherry blossoms longed to finally welcome the spring. Their light pink and white petals lay across the roads in bounteous fashion, almost as one would visualize in a fairy tale. These cherry blossoms light up the neighborhood by filling it with liveliness and lavish color. Only can only hope the crape myrtles will do just that, once the time is right…

It has now been several days since my last visit to my spot filled with crape myrtles. I was rather surprised to see they were eager to update me on their new leaves and abundant color. Their small leaves had now the shape of small, round leaves with a strong hint of lime green. Some of the crape myrtles have more leaves than others, which make me wonder if they are competing with each other. They all have the same access to the sun. Could they be competing for another source? Also, as part of my ongoing investigation on these crape myrtles, I have reached out to Sposato Landscape. This landscape company provided my apartment community with a beautiful landscape design. Sposato’s landscape design artists, whom I have reached out to for information and input, were responsible for choosing the crape myrtles. At least that was the information I could gather from the men working on them yesterday. These workers were comforting the crape myrtles with new mulch, giving them a small makeover by trimming some branches, and cutting the grass that surrounds them.

As my observations come to an end, this experience truly does fill my mind with wonder. I wonder about the relationships of living organisms with each other. I wonder about the relationships between people and the natural world, especially the variety of relationships based on different cultures. I also wonder if our relationships to the natural world can be emphasized or at least encouraged to avoid destroying the beauty and intricate systems within it. I suppose only time will tell.

- Dinah Meraz

How Natural is Nature

            That ever so repetitive song rang out from a distance; so distinct I could identify it yet so faint I could not pin point it. I sat very still waiting to get a glimpse of that magnificent bright white cheek stenciled between that dark black cap and bib. There he landed on a long slender branch at the mid-section of a large white oak, with a ruffled dusty white underbelly and those steel grey wings that seemed to sit so uniformly as if they were painted on. As I watched his head turn from side to side so frantically I became captivated by every movement that he made. Trading from branch to branch of the tree until he reached the very top and then taking off to a nearby bird feeder to pick the perfect seed to return with. After finishing each seed was that high pitched sequenced trill, almost like a subtle chuckle. The Carolina chickadee, like many birds I have observed, has such subtle color and is so small that one may not its presence without actually looking for it.

I never knew how much I would appreciate growing up in a rural area on a farm. My childhood was spent exploring a nearby old growth forests and sifting through streams to find bugs, frogs, or anything living I could get my hands on. Those deep winding ridges covered in understory moss and decomposing leaves from the oak trees that towered above made me feel like I was in an impenetrable fortress that I never wanted to leave. Being outside with all of the flora and fauna of the living world has never been a hard thing for me to do; it was almost like instinct to me. I fell further and further in love with nature when picking up outdoor sports like hunting and fishing. Growing up doing all of these things made me appreciate the land and what it has to offer: valuable life lessons, stories to tell, and a feeling of belonging. But spite of all these experiences, engaging in natural history observation has revealed a completely different side of nature than I had heretofore known.

            Sitting still in one area while paying close attention to the details of what is happening in the moment and trying identify all the things that are going on was very eye opening. I was no longer running through a forest seeing things as I passed by; rather, I was sitting in one place and watching as nature passed me by. Small details of birds like the magnificent red of a northern cardinal against the fresh fallen snow became as captivation as overturning a rock near the stream and finding an adolescent red backed salamander as a child. Experiencing everything from snow, rain, to beautiful sunshine filled days brought a new adventure and something new to marvel at every single day. In choosing an empty lot in a neighborhood I found myself wondering what type of nature could I really observe there? A lot is not this

            Observing at the natural history level allows one to apply a deeper thinking to what is seen by the eye. Applying my feelings evoked by what I saw, in a way, helped me to see it better. Rather than just identify a bird like I used to, noticing its actions and reactions to the environment around it. The flora and fauna present in this lot found a way to adapt to it and use it for their certain ecosystem services; whether it is for food, protection, or shelter. A great example of this was a small tufted titmouse that I had seen at a distance feeding on a bird feeder in the yard adjacent to this lot. The titmouse, after spotting a car in the street, flew directly over into the lot and took cover in the top of a very dense holly tree. As the cat made its way back into its owner’s yard, and eventually into the garage, the titmouse flew out of the holly tree and into the very top of the white oak tree. A few moments later he returned to the bird feeder to begin eating once again. Putting this entire scene of events together had me in awe. Birds like this titmouse that have frequented more developed neighborhoods have identified new found predators and adjusted to these areas in order to live and provide for themselves.

            While the natural world that I had been used to be one vastly larger than the one the empty lot, there was still plenty of activity to be observed all around. This opportunity to sit and observe nature became both relaxing and eye opening at the same time. Nature does not have to be restricted to untouched parts of woodlands or vast amounts of forest. Nature happens even on the smallest level with the smallest organisms whether it is in a scenic park, an empty lot, or a drainage ditch on the side of the road. Ironically enough this small parcel of land is where I found myself week in and out learning more and more about natural history and what it meant to me.

            The idea of secondary nature, that is, nature that has been affected by humans in some way; was not so off putting but more so an entirely new study within itself. Animals like the titmouse becoming aware of its surroundings helped me to become more aware and more alert of my own. Secondary nature is an idea that while alterations may come, nature has a mysterious way of adapting and dealing with them. Observations in that lot became more detailed and carried on long after I had left the area. In my note taking of the things I had seen and what they were doing I began asking myself why they may have been doing them in that way. At that point I knew that I was thinking like a natural historian would; posing questions about why things were happening more and more.     

            The experience of having a class where making your own experiences happens and learning how to share them through natural history has been challenging and exciting to do. This empty lot in a way has grown on me and taught me how natural history is a valuable tool for us as humans to better understand nature. Understanding is no longer something that has to been done through various books, readings, and assignments; rather through physical observation and personal reflection. The great part about natural history is that it does not work in the same direction as most sciences where developing a hypothesis leads to an observation; instead, the observation leads to ask new questions. Natural history requires you’re first hand experiences to enable you to pose questions about why things work the way they do. The answers themselves can sometimes be the challenging part because they are not so cut and dry as a question and a direct answer, nor are they structured in a formatted way. Natural history then becomes something not so natural to me at all.

             My life of schooling has taught me structure and organization and natural history has given me a capacity that I had been longing for. This connection between freedom and learning is what I have truly found. Allowing me to change over time and think in these ways has not been easy at all. Natural history requires you encompass many different ways of thinking rather focusing on something from one perspective. While admiring the beauty of an old growth forest had been what shaped my childhood; the experience in this lot it was helped me further shape my understanding of nature and the different ways in which we interact with it as well as manipulate it. Natural history was not some easily memorized formula or a simple set of directions that I had to follow it is a learning capacity that continues on as long as you allow yourself to open up and experience what is going on around you.

- Brennan Tarleton

The Living World Through an Audible Lens

       Sound is not the sense most often associated with empirical observation. Why have we forgotten about this important tool of experiencing our world? Many of us rely on this sense every day for communicating not to mention our very human and undying love for music. On the other hand, often we are bombarded with sound, noise really, that overwhelms our very senses and leaves us looking for any quiet corner of creation. Here’s a thought: What if we were able to stick solely to our sense of sound and see, no hear, what comes of this? This spring I decided to do just this and found huge complexities in the sounds of the natural world I otherwise would have let pass unnoticed.

            Sounds and noises greatly influence our moods from relaxed to happy to stressful. We are unknowingly exposed to noises all day long. Distinguishing between sounds and noises is vital in addressing them. I will define a sound as a positive and enjoyable detection by the ears, one that in one way or another is expressive or communicative. Conversely a noise is an unwanted and repulsive sound that is drained of expressive or communicative life. However, defining a specific noise is subjective to the ears of the listener. There are often noises such as squeaking brakes and ambulance sirens that we can generally agree are far from pleasant and purely mechanical. These piercing noises spill into the natural world and can ruin human experience of that world, not to mention disrupt its many workings. Thoreau writes, “You couldn’t even hear the whistle! I doubt if there is such a place in Massachusetts now” (Walden; or, Life in the Woods). Train whistles may have become obsolete, but we now have more constant and deeper penetrating sounds of helicopters and airplanes. I myself am guilty of producing and participating in these noises, as is most every other human on the face of the earth. Driving a car, flying in a plane or helicopter, ringing of an alarm clock, the beep of a horn. The human noisescape has grown to become nearly endless. These noises are almost impossible to get away from and will ruin or negatively impact our minute and shrinking experiences of pure nature. It can also lead to the blocking of our thoughts. On the other hand a voice or sound can promote and progress our thinking and ability to hear our own thinking.    

            It’s a brisk Friday afternoon at the Hazel Outdoor Discovery Center in a light rain… I reach the area around the pond and shut my eyes in hopes of enhancing my hearing and allowing me to better focus on this single sense. First thing my ears pick up is rain. This is an unmistakable sound with varying rhythm too offbeat to be confused with the sound of a showerhead. This sound of rain is fully encompassing me, something I cannot get away from. This has led me to become completely still and fully absorbing my world through sounds. Bam! There it is. I knew it would come, but so quickly after intently listening? Neeaaowww! It is the awful and easily recognizable thundering of an airplane shooting across the sky above, visibly hidden by the clouds but nonetheless disruptively making itself heard. The sound of the airplane lingers nearly a minute after. The farther away it gets, the more it’s starting to sound like faint thunder. Could animals possibly confuse these two?
          I have come to understand that human noises can affect the lives of other creatures all across the wildlife spectrum. It has been found that helicopter noises can lead longhorn sheep to “a forty-three percent reduction in foraging efficiency” (Radle 7). The Desert Kangaroo Rat has its defenses ruined by the rumbling of dune buggy engines. They rely on acute hearing to alert them of the preying Sidewinder Rattlesnakes. The dune buggies’ “engine noise deafens the rat and virtually eliminates its defensive hearing” leaving them extremely vulnerable (Radle 8). The Bald Eagle, a native species to Maryland, will avoid nesting in areas where airplane noises are too intense. Near a Denver airport “the noise of the aircraft was effectively driving up to thirty bald eagles from their roosting site” (Radle 8). These are only a few known negative effects, but I imagine there to be many unknown. Although I realize that noise impact is a difficult aspect to study, I believe it should be taken more seriously into account.

            I open my eyes briefly and then, closing them, become immersed in sounds again. Patters on the leaf litter from the water falling off branches are the most prominent sounds. The drops of rain tapping the pond are much softer and more dynamic. This is not merely one sound but at least two. The first comes as the rain hits the waters surface. And another follows as the pond welcomes the rain past the surface and absorbs it into itself.

            I then hear a steady wall of sound, almost like it is coming after me. First behind me and then passes and continues in front while trailing off. The gentle but firm push of wind comes curving and twisting through trees. Pushing branches and pine needles out of its way and wrapping around the sturdier tree trunks. The forest is absorbing the power of the wind. I wonder if the trees enjoy the wind, surely they wouldn’t like sitting still all the time. But then a tree might have a view on this matter altogether different than my own mammalian take on it.  I also begin to wonder about the difference in wind sound from a coniferous dominated forest to a forest dominated by more broad-leafed trees. I would imagine these would be two very different sounds. Each of these sounds representing the life of something significant.

            I reflect: I am my own noise pollution. I remember the sounds of my boots clumsily breaking twigs and squashing the soft ground as I arrived. I was unknowingly creating noise that I had previously taken no care to halt. I’m sure I alerted the animals of my presence long ago. I wish I were more… There it is again. Interrupted by the unruly sound of an airplane, reminding me I am not far enough from the clumsy and thoughtless human civilization. Reminding me I can hardly get away from these industrious noises ruining my interaction with the living world for more than 15 minutes, a tough realization.

            Tap! Tap! Tap! I then hear the echoing repeated tap of a Pileated Woodpecker (Hylatomus pileatus). These are large crow-sized woodpeckers, the big ones of the clan, who create a more forceful and penetrating tapping sound than any of the smaller woodpecker species. I enjoy this sound affirming the existence of its creator and giving me confirmation that I have been in the presence of a Pileated Woodpecker. Brooks Onley states that these birds listen intently to decomposing trees. What would they be listening for? He answers that they are attempting to locate the grubs and insects inside the tree eating and foraging around. I was blown away by this fact. The tiny sound of the grubs led me to think about the scale of sounds. An airplane produces a massive sound heard for miles while these grubs produce such a tiny sound that the woodpeckers must have their ears as close as possible to detect them.  What happens to a woodpecker, then, when his acute sensitivity to sound encounters the noisy excesses of human machines?

            Woody Woodpecker is a well-known cartoon character audibly symbolized by his laugh. He shares many characteristics with the Pileated Woodpecker. This “laugh” is a distinct voice that I frequently hear and now assures me in its very arrival that I am in environs of this bird. The voice of a creature is important to discern from the general sounds such as flying and flapping its wings. Living creatures create a massive amount of sounds yet their voices are so greatly distinct. An interesting thought because both Woody and the Pileated have identifiable and distinct sounds allowing someone to know who either is solely from a sound, a voice really. I am intrigued by the translation of the Pileated Woodpeckers laugh to the laugh that now symbolizes Woody Woodpecker. I have come to realize the importance of sounds and constants within the sound realm allowing for identification.   

            Back to listening… I then notice changes in the heaviness of the rain. Not by sight or feel, but by the quickening of it’s repeated audible tapping. I am soaking wet and freezing from the constantly falling drops of water. However, I find myself more relaxed now than I have been on my other six adventures here. The mesmerizing powers of the rain’s sound has pulled me away from these physical discomforts and left me with relaxation and a dampening on stresses. Despite the full cup of coffee I just had, I find myself completely calm and gentle in the presence of the soft sound of rain. I think of the rain as a voice speaking for the earth itself. Wind and other elemental sounds verbalize the earth’s processes that create and sustain this vast world of sounds.

            The planes keep sounding every 10-15 minutes, each overflight lasting around one minute. Each plane seems to be louder and stronger than the last. Maybe I am just growing more aware of this unfitting sound. It does not blend in. It sticks out like a sore thumb. Or like a red barn in a field of green grass. My ears are immediately drawn to this sound just as eyes would be to a red barn in a grassy green field. However a red barn is probably a bad comparison, as a barn belongs in a field… or does it not? This noise however, I can assure you, does not belong among these sounds of nature holding meaning and purpose in a way the airplane’s mechanism could never embody.

            I find myself a half hour later still standing in the same exact place right on the pond’s bank. My eyes had been blinking yet staying shut much longer than a normal flick of the eyelids. I reluctantly came back to the visible reality of the world. This mindfulness to the audible world of nature has allowed me to connect with living things in an entirely new dimension. I now hear the beauty in the voices of living creatures. I feel as though I can speak for these voices by understanding the importance. I now appreciate the value of sounds versus noise. I previously felt the visible world had left and that I was in a completely new dimension of pure sound. A dimension, I find, that I really know little about. Hearing is a sense that is sadly often overlooked and unaccounted for.

            I had the pleasure of enjoying a second experience in the forest during a session of rain: Before I can feel or see that it’s raining, I am able to hear the gentle tap of tiny and infrequent raindrops hitting the leaves. Then, the symphony begins. The conductor lifts his wand indicating a crescendo and the rain gets louder and heavier, picking up pace. The booming of the rain has engulfed the entire forest. Another distinctive flick of his wand and the winds begin whooshing through the trees, filling the silences between each drop of rain. The birds continue singing with various tenors and altos among their chirps. This has become a concert performance. The rain is the rhythm, the wind is the brass section and the birds undeniably the choir. No one sound is overpowering, they all seem to work in synchronicity. I am addicted to this relaxing music hoping every second that it is not ruined by the fierce noises of human interference.   

- Dominic DeMarco

                                                                        Bibliography

Thoreau, Henry David, and Edwin Way Teale. Walden; Or, Life in the Woods. New York:            Dodd, Mead, 1946. Print.

Autumn, Radle L. "The Effect of Noise on Wildlife: A Literature Review." (2007): 1-16. Web. 1   May 2015.

Onley, Brooks. Conversation held in March 2015. 

Winds of Change

Winds of Change

As the breeze brushes through the Eastern Peninsula of Maryland, it brings with it a bit of gentler weather that has been lost to this forest patch now for about a month. But this moment is not here to stay. The warmer winds pass through, bringing in their aftermath a storm rattles through the forest. Still the ice crystals that once adorned the ground and trees are now soft puddles of leaves and muck. There is no longer any crunch to the forest floor, just the eminent damp after a long rain storm. The air is still cold on my face as my winter jacket flaps while I walk through the trees, leaves rustling in the chill.

Mind sharp and breath steady, I close the car door and look up to the sky spitting tiny drops of rain through the naked canopy. This is my second week in the forest, and I am curious to see if there will be any notable changes in its northern section. I have chosen this area with great care. A great Loblolly Pine rests to the Northeastern portion of the wood, and it is the largest that I have ever seen. If it is not at least 100 years old, then it must be getting close. (Samuelson) The bark on the bottom of the tree is a deep brown, heavily scarred and battered; it sheaths in a thick crust a massive trunk that I can’t even begin to try to fit my arms around. If not for the distinct shape and size of the chunks of bark, so many armored platelets interwoven about the tree, along with the length of the needles paired in threes, I would have never been able to identify this tree as a Loblolly. (Aborday.org) I have never seen another quite like it, since Loblollies this old and large on the Eastern Shore are considered a waste of good wood.  Younger versions of this tree are quickly dispatched by the owners of woodlots before any disease can set in and spoil the pristine grain of the lumber. I am thankful this great pine somehow remains. The elevated patch of dirt under it has become my first observation spot, a comfortable, dry and good vantage point to observe some of the other trees sprinkled throughout this area, American Hollies by the hundreds, Maples both Red and Sugar, Eastern Red Cedars, Oaks of both Red and White and Gum Trees. The forest is a myriad of different colors, barks and leaves. In the age of widespread suburbs and industrial forestry, these woods are indeed a special exception when it comes to tree diversity. Here it is not just all about the pines.

Upon entering the Southwest section of the forest, I dip and weave underneath Holly leaves, slowly moving eastward towards the road that marks the edge of the forest. Then I abruptly turn north as the elevation begins to drop. Leaves and dirt mesh into mud as I walk down the hill towards the great Loblolly Pine I sat under the week before.

My steps quicken as I pass forest landmarks like the gnarled roots of a Maple which let me know that I am getting close. But puzzlingly I don’t see it. I can’t seem to find my pine. Frustrated I start twisting and turning my head, praying that my vision is momentarily betraying me. Then, something new catches my eye. It all begins to make sense. Looking over my right shoulder, I realize that the base of my gigantic pine has been lost in the displaced canopy of a freshly fallen Red Maple tree. I rush up to the fallen tree to investigate. The red maple’s branches are torn and cracked, with smaller holly trees crushed under the sheer girth of the massive maple. I walk away from the canopy and towards the root system. The base of the maple tree is half torn with roots cracked and split on the site which it had fallen away from. This leaves a chasm at least a few feet deep, now beginning to collect a basin of water from the rain storm, evolving into its own micro ecosystem. It looks like the wind knocked this one over, splitting with its sheer force the great tree’s roots. I take a step back, amazed. There is no way that I could have expected that within the first week of my observation an event such as this would come to pass, especially in the exact spot that I chose to sit in my first visit to the forest. After returning home from this observation, I think I have already found a suitable name for this unique place. Calling it “observation area,” seems a bit tacky, and bears no resemblance of my relationship to this place. A place such as this deserves a name. I do not claim to be the person best for this task, but part of doing Natural History is giving a voice to something that can’t speak for itself. So, I decided to give the forest as honest a name as possible, so that I might not fall too far into the pathetic fallacy and claim to have the wisdom to name such a place, when it cannot create a name for itself. I have decided to call it Maple Landing, for that is the most honest name that I could think of

.

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A blossom is a strange thing. Flowers can have such an astounding effect on the human psyche. They can inspire poems and songs. They can represent love and commitment. One of my favorite movies (The Last Samurai) features a line that says, “You can spend your whole life searching for the perfect blossom and it would not be a wasted life.” I entertain that thought as I slowly twist a newly formed red maple blossom, fallen from the heights to position itself within easy reach of my human frame, through the crease of my fingers. As winter has subsided, spring has swept through Maple Landing. The fallen red maple, not yet realizing its winter demise, is blooming for the last time on the forest floor, putting on one final and spectacular show before it begins to slowly dissipate into the soil.

As I smell the deep red blossoms, I ponder the purpose of human life; all of those things that we have created and altered to make this world that we live in now. I can’t help but wonder if we have lost our way as we have slowly evolved from hunters and gatherers to farmers and scholars, then monotonously degraded ourselves from laborers to pencil pushers. Each step along this path has further removåed us from any true connection with Mother Earth. Too few of us now are farmers, or even recreational foresters. We are no longer the nature lovers equal to the caliber of Thoreau or champions of wildlife like Theodore Roosevelt. We are the desk workers and the disconnected, the uncontended and the silent, the consumers and the complacent. More and more we relish our concrete and plastic cages which we have so elegantly built for ourselves, ever avoiding the realization that we have become trapped in our own fantasy. When did we ever imagine that we could completely separate ourselves from nature without any consequences? Now, to be perfectly clear, I am not saying that we should all be farmers and nature writers, or professional foresters. I understand the glamour of a modern lifestyle and the hardship of a globally conscious one. However, we have become so far removed from the rhythms of nature that we can no longer recognize when things are too far out of balance. We have completely distorted the idea of time. The fallen maple desperately clutches to its rhythms, knowing perfectly well when it is time for its grand finale as my hour in the forest comes to an end, reminding me that I have my own time to attend to.

I know that this may seem like a sad story where this fallen maple will wither away at nature’s touch for years to come, but this is not the tragedy upon which I focus. In fact, this death is not a tragedy at all. This grand maple will slowly decompose, bringing with it a host of fungi, bacteria, insects and red-backed salamanders, which will inevitably provide for more life in this forest. Some of this maple will even decompose underneath the great Loblolly Pine, providing a new wealth of healthy soil and nutrients. The real tragedy that I have come to understand is the increasing separation from the realm of the “human” to the realm of the “natural.” As I witness the rhythms of this forest, with its changes from winter to spring and where death and booming life surround me all at once, I realize that there is a time here that is totally foreign to our generation of humanity. As a human population we have forgotten the truest sense of time: ecological time. (Kulikov) We have replaced the ideas of natural rhythms and patterns with that of chronological time. We have our set calendar, with our set schedules as we learn to abide by the monochromatic lull of our watches and cell phones, as opposed to the beck and call of nature. We wake up and drive in our metal boxes, to go sit in our plastic cages, to afford to live in our sealed off houses, all the while completely ignoring the world happening around us. We have forgotten what it means to understand the rhythms of Mother Earth, so we are incapable of understanding the extent to which she suffers.

Over beyond the maple tree

that is where you might find me.

Don’t hustle and bustle,

for there you will find at peace,

Ryan David Russell.

- Ryan Russell

Works Cited

Kulikov, Sergey B. "Who Creates The Time: Nature Or Human?." Interdisciplinary

Description Of Complex Systems 13.1 (2015): 167-172. Academic Search

Complete. Web. 6 Apr. 2015.

Maloof, Joan. Among the Ancients: Adventures in the Eastern Old-growth Forests. Washington,DC: Ruka, 2011. Print.

Samuelson, Lisa J., et al. "Maximum Growth Potential In Loblolly Pine: Results From A

47-Year-Old Spacing Study In Hawaii." Canadian Journal Of Forest Research

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