tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84483006427886775972024-03-21T11:37:41.377-05:00The Leaf, the Blossom and the Bole: A Tree BlogO chestnut tree, great rooted blossomer,
Are you the leaf, the blossom or the bole? O body swayed to music, O brightening glance,
How can we know the dancer from the dance?
-W. B. Yeats.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448300642788677597.post-86978820288098172492012-09-21T11:33:00.002-05:002012-09-21T11:37:37.455-05:00Baume for the Soul<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEgBLaKU1Z_X3AWaDOwxo_TSoqRyM6TXQov63dCXGLR975_MkufAEB-rNxIjJUyIik_1hww3dUxvrjTA7Tajb5YqrGA3FEO922F4SovftLTMzlTYUIOv7NHmTCzR0m9H4rCUei01wJye7x/s1600/Siddhartha.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEgBLaKU1Z_X3AWaDOwxo_TSoqRyM6TXQov63dCXGLR975_MkufAEB-rNxIjJUyIik_1hww3dUxvrjTA7Tajb5YqrGA3FEO922F4SovftLTMzlTYUIOv7NHmTCzR0m9H4rCUei01wJye7x/s1600/Siddhartha.png" /></a><a href="http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2012/09/21/hermann-hesse-trees/">Brain Pickings</a> has a lovely post about Herman Hesse and trees. Go to Brainpickings to check out a longer passage from Hesse's <a href="http://www.amazon.com/B%C3%A4ume-Betrachtungen-Gedichte-Hermann-Hesse/dp/3458321551/?tag=braipick-20" target="_blank"><b><i>"Bäume: Betrachtungen und Gedichte</i></b></a> [<i>Trees: Reflections and Poems</i>] (<a href="http://www.worldcat.org/title/baume-betrachtungen-und-gedichte/oclc/611772922&referer=brief_results" target="_blank"><i>public library</i></a>)": <br />
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<i>“When we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and
the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an
incomparable joy.”</i></blockquote>
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No wonder Hesse was fascinated with Siddhartha, the man who found enlightenment under the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bodhi_Tree">Bodhi Tree</a>. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448300642788677597.post-45706587925894769122010-04-22T15:42:00.000-05:002010-04-22T15:42:30.974-05:00I Left my Heart of Redwood in San Francisco<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihx1Xo7NAjO8-MjTEod2DUpyaZ7sA2hnyeQ4A7b5i3k4g8ORn6XulzUVlrFOLaoHrj40cx1tgIE7R_tVZNu9pxwDgyEwjrZPwo5F48SkrkKZE2B7ajob1-EXoqLlkcmRCriIrqznGD5f3B/s1600/hometree-660x467_v2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihx1Xo7NAjO8-MjTEod2DUpyaZ7sA2hnyeQ4A7b5i3k4g8ORn6XulzUVlrFOLaoHrj40cx1tgIE7R_tVZNu9pxwDgyEwjrZPwo5F48SkrkKZE2B7ajob1-EXoqLlkcmRCriIrqznGD5f3B/s200/hometree-660x467_v2.png" width="200" /></a></div>An incredible project out of San Francisco: Citizens are asked to count and "map" every tree in the city. One of my favorite smells is that of astringent Eucalyptus and Redwood covered in fog as one drives down Park Presidio. <sigh>. So, my San Franciscans, map your trees! </sigh><br />
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From Wired.com: <br />
<blockquote>Every tree in San Francisco will soon be accounted for online, thanks to a new, Wikified project that aims to plot them all.<br />
The <a href="http://www.urbanforestmap.org/">Urban Forest Map</a> will officially launch Wednesday, drawing on tree information collected by the city of San Francisco and Friends of the Urban Forest, a non-profit group. Though the project is getting its start in the Bay Area, the site will head to other major cities in the coming months.<br />
“We’re going to publish the most up-to-date data from our data sources. Then, from that point on, we’re going to allow the community to add and edit and update that information,” said Amber Bieg, the project manager of the Urban Forest Map project. “It’ll become a tree census from the community and function like a Wiki.”</blockquote><div id="TixyyLink" style="background-color: transparent; border: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><br />
Read More <a href="http://www.wired.com/wiredscience/2010/04/urban-forest-mapping/#ixzz0lraqDxQ2">http://www.wired.com/wiredscience/2010/04/urban-forest-mapping/#ixzz0lraqDxQ2</a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448300642788677597.post-62124810635038744362010-04-09T13:55:00.006-05:002010-04-09T14:28:27.159-05:00Trees in James Joyce's Ulysses<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcgqluoi4SuQPGE_GMfRiAl-NaGC14bW1Ss_j_vFmROEcvMTVZHz8c5zoR2mQCubs2m6mPcH_olypKzkRVB-N9NLjfVBAfqkOKabxgX0Lt9-wsGWAT0NmlYSF1HzesAlKJj9KlcjVu51vi/s1600/Ulysses" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcgqluoi4SuQPGE_GMfRiAl-NaGC14bW1Ss_j_vFmROEcvMTVZHz8c5zoR2mQCubs2m6mPcH_olypKzkRVB-N9NLjfVBAfqkOKabxgX0Lt9-wsGWAT0NmlYSF1HzesAlKJj9KlcjVu51vi/s200/Ulysses" width="166" /></a></div><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span> had the pleasure of teaching the "Cyclops" episode from <i>Ulysses </i>this week, and I was delighted to find an entire passage dedicated to trees:<br />
<blockquote>The fashionable international world attended en masse this afternoon at the wedding of the chevalier Jean Wyse de Neaulan, grand high chief ranger of the Irish National Foresters, with Miss Fir Conifer of Pine Valley. Lady Sylvester Elmshade, Mrs Barbara Lovebirch, Mrs Poll Ash, Mrs Holly Hazeleyes, Miss Daphne Bays, Miss Dorothy Canebrake, Mrs Clyde Twelvetrees, Mrs Rowan Greene, Mrs Helen Vinegadding, Miss Virginia Creeper, Miss Gladys Beech, Miss Olive Garth, Miss Blanche Maple, Mrs Maud Mahogany, Miss Myra Myrtle, Miss Priscilla Elderflower, Miss Bee Honeysuckle, Miss Grace Poplar, Miss O. Mimosa San, Miss Rachel Cedarfrond, the Misses Lilian and Viola Lilac, Miss Timidity Aspenall, Mrs Kitty Dewey-Mosse, Miss May Hawthorne, Mrs Gloriana Palme, Mrs Liana Forrest, Mrs Arabella Blackwood and Mrs Norma Holyoake of Oakholme Regis graced the ceremony by their presence. The bride who was given away by her father, the M'Conifer of the Glands, looked exquisitely charming in a creation carried out in green mercerised silk, moulded on an underslip of gloaming grey, sashed with a yoke of broad emerald and finished with a triple flounce of darkerhued fringe, the scheme being relieved by bretelles and hip insertions of acorn bronze. The maids of honour, Miss Larch Conifer and Miss Spruce Conifer, sisters of the bride, wore very becoming costumes in the same tone, a dainty motif of plume rose being worked into the pleats in a pinstripe and repeated capriciously in the jadegreen toques in the form of heron feathers of paletinted coral. Senhor Enrique Flor presided at the organ with his wellknown ability and, in addition to the prescribed numbers of the nuptial mass, played a new and striking arrangement of Woodman, spare that tree at the conclusion of the service. On leaving the church of Saint Fiacre in Horto after the papal blessing the happy pair were subjected to a playful crossfire of hazelnuts, beechmast, bayleaves, catkins of willow, ivytod, hollyberries, mistletoe sprigs and quicken shoots. Mr and Mrs Wyse Conifer Neaulan will spend a quiet honeymoon in the Black Forest. (<i>Ulysses</i> 268)</blockquote>Let's hope the <a href="http://onthecommons.org/content.php?id=891">Joyce Estate</a> doesn't make me take down that excerpt. Don Gifford notes that this particular section "parodies newspaper accounts of important social events" and "alludes to the catalogue of trees in Spenser's <i>The Faerie Queene</i>, a catalogue that has, in its turn, literary forebears in Chaucer's <i>Parliament of Fowls</i> and in Ovid's <i>Metamorphosis</i>" (<i>Ulysses Annotated</i> 352). Each tree name corresponds to its trait in the language of flowers (Pine is philosophical, Ash grandeur, etc.). This particular section tells the story of Redcrosse and Una who must avoid the suffocating fingers of "Dragon-Error (false doctrine)" as they traverse the "ambiguous realm" of this seemingly delightful forest (Gifford 352). Indeed, the protagonist of <i>Ulysses</i>, Mr. Leopold Bloom, faces his own danger in this episode as he confronts the racist and hyper-nationalist, "the Citizen," who hates the Irish-born Bloom for being a Jew, a trait that according to the Citizen, excludes Bloom from being a <i>true</i> Irishman. Bloom asks, "What is a nation?" before he declares that "love" should be the true goal of personal identity (273). Fortunately for us who love the indomitable Bloom, he escapes the Cyclops' violence unscathed.<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Ulysses-Gabler-James-Joyce/dp/0394743121?ie=UTF8&tag=jmhuculak&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Ulysses on Amazon.com</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=jmhuculak&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=0394743121" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important;" width="1" /><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Ulysses-Annotated-Notes-James-Joyces/dp/0520253973?ie=UTF8&tag=jmhuculak&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Ulysses Annotated on Amazon.com</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=jmhuculak&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=0520253973" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important;" width="1" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448300642788677597.post-39568592888579140672010-03-24T08:58:00.002-05:002010-04-09T14:20:57.134-05:00a man in Provence<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtpLtWkQp2j27GS0IPizpVrqoJrL-IEpRHGGAMo0nzIG4nmh7gF7d61ojGpevx5y6Tc8Act0B1W-k7IMSRjQ2lznVpBCvWdDcJzn8iZLve6E3yxFIRFlWXw0IfM5AuIRRrNJuvu5gsdEMC/s1600/great-pine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtpLtWkQp2j27GS0IPizpVrqoJrL-IEpRHGGAMo0nzIG4nmh7gF7d61ojGpevx5y6Tc8Act0B1W-k7IMSRjQ2lznVpBCvWdDcJzn8iZLve6E3yxFIRFlWXw0IfM5AuIRRrNJuvu5gsdEMC/s200/great-pine.jpg" width="200" /></a>Well, it turns out I have a tree-doppelganger named Meara O'Reilly over at <a href="http://www.boingboing.net/2010/03/23/the-incredible-anima.html">Boingboing</a>. She's posted TWO great stories about tree planting in the last week, and I continue to unabashedly use her posts. If you know me, you know how important Provence is to me. So, it is with great pleasure that I share the (fictional) story of one man who decided to replant a desolate valley one pip at a time. His story has just been animated, and you can read up on it here:<br />
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<blockquote>With each frame hand-drawn in pencil and smudged into the next, Oscar-winning animator <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fr%C3%A9d%C3%A9ric_Back">Frédéric Back</a> tells the story of Elzéard Bouffier, a lone shepherd in the Alps near Provence who boldly decides to single-handedly reforest the desolate valley where he lives, one acorn at a time. Not only is the story defiantly romantic, I'm in love with the way Back's patient devotion to each drawing mimics the methodical tree-planting of his main character. [<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Man-Who-Planted-Trees-DVD/dp/B0006UF7NY?ie=UTF8&tag=jmhuculak&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">amazon link</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=jmhuculak&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B0006UF7NY" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important;" width="1" />]</blockquote><br />
This looks like a lovely film, and I can't wait to see it. There are days I catch the brief aroma of sun-bitten pine dust on the wind, and for a brief moment I am back in chalky valleys of France surrounded by pine-scrub and that strange blue light of the Provencal sun. There is something stubborn about these pines--craggly, bent, beaten, blown, but still reaching skyward and releasing a sweet perfume, like the wimple of a woman's scarf in a slight wind.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448300642788677597.post-87482972227288960872010-03-21T10:39:00.000-05:002010-03-21T10:39:54.458-05:00The One Million Tree March<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_alWd9S0weLyjlmR3QPSY6oQCn5dMeiUkagKuWFao8v66_pgFdpGCZQPHYZFmMtiphQlPYKc7Vbh7OUeNrw2ttz0KU0PINQUjdty3IBkFa22oogDHc0kbGLr7wlCNApaZWPUg6k8Qlywo/s1600-h/s-GASHAW-TAHIR-large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_alWd9S0weLyjlmR3QPSY6oQCn5dMeiUkagKuWFao8v66_pgFdpGCZQPHYZFmMtiphQlPYKc7Vbh7OUeNrw2ttz0KU0PINQUjdty3IBkFa22oogDHc0kbGLr7wlCNApaZWPUg6k8Qlywo/s200/s-GASHAW-TAHIR-large.jpg" width="200" /></a>The Huffpost, via America.gov, has a great article and video on Gashaw Tahir, who has made it his life's mission to reforest Ethiopia and thus heal the land. I posit that there is a strong connection between the mass deforestation of a land and the freedom/health of its people. The exploitation that occurred under colonialism was matched by that of warlords and those seeking only financial gain. When peoples are robbed of their trees, they are robbed of themselves. This person, is fixing that:<br />
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<blockquote>Rivers have dried, mountains have been deforested, and rising temperatures due to climate change are making plant life more difficult to maintain. Tahir decided that something had to be done. His story is told in <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qa69MVyGNkA">a new video</a> from <a href="http://www.america.gov/">America.gov</a>.<br />
"My ultimate vision is making Africa green again," he says. "That inspires me, touches me, and moves me into action." He gathered young people from his hometown -- only a few dozen at first -- but those young people recruited their friends and family until there were hundreds. On only two acres of land they planted thousands of seedlings. Now, Tahir owns 11,000 acres of Ethiopian land on which his group has planted one million trees.</blockquote>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448300642788677597.post-26828851212420422802010-03-19T09:24:00.002-05:002010-03-19T10:23:26.319-05:00The Sound of Thirsty Trees<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo_6_lEdbCx3N9IfzsD4LUwvOEg5ZMRQEZc5GuCN5XAFpdUILrnzAPKljuXhg_xSIOEbPvm2PK2CT_eu9_zaNw8Cnx424TduAUfVzsWbsy4UdfAGJjD2rJoF3G895bAWg0U6u-n4PqsoeG/s1600-h/ako+trees+shot+small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo_6_lEdbCx3N9IfzsD4LUwvOEg5ZMRQEZc5GuCN5XAFpdUILrnzAPKljuXhg_xSIOEbPvm2PK2CT_eu9_zaNw8Cnx424TduAUfVzsWbsy4UdfAGJjD2rJoF3G895bAWg0U6u-n4PqsoeG/s200/ako+trees+shot+small.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>My friend Sara B. posted this amazing link from <a href="http://www.boingboing.net/2010/03/18/bioacoustician-berni.html">BoingBoing</a> on the sound of thirsty trees. I'm excited to share this for many reasons (first, I've never heard of a Bioacoustician), including the fact that I'm a proud subscriber of <a href="http://makezine.com/">Make Magazine</a>. From the Boing:<br />
<blockquote>Bioacoustician <a href="http://www.wildsanctuary.com/">Bernie Krause</a> has recorded the amazingly rhythmic vascular systems of thirsty trees. He discovered that the cells in the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Xylem">xylem</a> and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phloem">phloem</a> of the tree fill with air to try to maintain the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Osmotic_pressure">osmotic pressure</a> that's usually produced by the sucking of water up through the roots. At a certain point the cells burst. Krause adds "When they pop, they make a noise: we can't hear it, but insects can. And when insects hear multiple cells popping, they're drawn to the tree because certain ones are programmed to expect sap. </blockquote> To hear the trees, follow the link in today's title. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448300642788677597.post-25088028345459326962010-03-18T19:35:00.002-05:002010-03-18T19:38:35.611-05:00The Oldest Trees on the Planet (might not be discovered)WiredScience has a great write-up on trees, along with a gallery of the oldest known trees on the planet. It looks like we have our first tourist's checklist. Check it out here: http://www.wired.com/wiredscience/2010/03/old-tree-gallery/Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448300642788677597.post-6588849509393135332010-03-11T12:22:00.001-06:002010-03-11T12:25:25.603-06:00Victorian Tree Poem<span class="h1 small"></span> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS2xtCZJMlyEh_lYWvbNJBg0IBy-4WXEayvTbQ3tD3DIJr7itvdyUfbFCL5LRI_NWAllSZ5Rv1kz-OLU0RMLZoUDmThkWcbLbbLC1YufT4xrpW08HaXWjfSITUCXtqtzkz075WK_33YCs0/s1600-h/poplars" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS2xtCZJMlyEh_lYWvbNJBg0IBy-4WXEayvTbQ3tD3DIJr7itvdyUfbFCL5LRI_NWAllSZ5Rv1kz-OLU0RMLZoUDmThkWcbLbbLC1YufT4xrpW08HaXWjfSITUCXtqtzkz075WK_33YCs0/s320/poplars" /></a></div><h2><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">I had the pleasure of teaching Gerard Manley Hopkins recently, a poet who stands among one of the greats in English literature (he even coined his own poetic term: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sprung_rhythm">Sprung Rhythm</a>). We honor Hopkins today for his deep-hewed tree poem: Binsey Poplars. This poem is not only a meditation on what is lost in nature when we allow instrumentalism to determine our way of being in the world, but also what we lose within ourselves. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Binsey Poplars<br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;">by Gerard Manley Hopkins </span></span></h2><div class="epigraph"><i>felled 1879<br />
</i></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> My aspens dear, whose airy cages quelled, </div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> Quelled or quenched in leaves the leaping sun, </div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> All felled, felled, are all felled; </div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> Of a fresh and following folded rank </div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> Not spared, not one </div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> That dandled a sandalled </div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> Shadow that swam or sank </div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">On meadow and river and wind-wandering weed-winding bank. </div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> </div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> O if we but knew what we do </div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> When we delve or hew — </div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> Hack and rack the growing green! </div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> Since country is so tender </div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> To touch, her being só slender, </div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> That, like this sleek and seeing ball </div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> But a prick will make no eye at all, </div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> Where we, even where we mean </div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> To mend her we end her, </div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> When we hew or delve: </div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">After-comers cannot guess the beauty been. </div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> Ten or twelve, only ten or twelve </div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> Strokes of havoc unselve </div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> The sweet especial scene, </div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> Rural scene, a rural scene, </div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> Sweet especial rural scene. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448300642788677597.post-90656770372470772462010-01-22T17:00:00.002-06:002010-04-09T14:22:50.335-05:00Joanna Baillie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4-HwtI3CwPB2fFVKxRmFm-C3cmqvspZht7TVpOKTSKKTJekUPqny8iiEe7ouUZOhACMIdz2-pbZdkjxIISDm9SzxJHO5Hpa8UMmYvFKBO76VfMz_czIuN4E7tU5_DtfOmuWABAnJ7uiZT/s1600-h/BailliePortrait.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4-HwtI3CwPB2fFVKxRmFm-C3cmqvspZht7TVpOKTSKKTJekUPqny8iiEe7ouUZOhACMIdz2-pbZdkjxIISDm9SzxJHO5Hpa8UMmYvFKBO76VfMz_czIuN4E7tU5_DtfOmuWABAnJ7uiZT/s200/BailliePortrait.jpg" width="158" /></a></div>I apologize for the sporadic posting of late. The school term is started, and I've had to prepare my courses. I taught a little-known poet today, one who has finally made the canonical leap into the Norton Anthology of British Literature. She wasn't there when I was student so many years ago, and thus she remained a mystery to me until recently. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joanna_Baillie"></a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/?ie=UTF8&tag=jmhuculak&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&search-alias=aps&field-keywords=Joanna%20Baillie" target="_blank">Joanna Baillie</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=jmhuculak&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important;" width="1" />, a Scottish poet and writer, represents a figure immensely popular in her time, but is someone lost to history and the male-dominated canon-making of the early twentieth century. She writes wonderfully about domestic life (much like Marie Caillbotte painting in the Impressionist era) and what it was like to see the first steam-ships throwing off the chains of wind and nature's whim. She also wrote about trees. I taught my class an "<a href="http://books.google.com/books?id=IHJAAAAAIAAJ&pg=PA816&dq=%22address+to+a+steamvessel%22&ei=ri1aS_nOLZ7UNOnG2LII&client=safari&cd=1#v=onepage&q=%22address%20to%20a%20steamvessel%22&f=false">Address to a Steamvesse</a>l" today (well worth reading), but for you, I give you Baillie's (bay leaf's?) meditation on a leaf:<br />
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</div><div style="font: 13px Arial; margin: 0px;">The Last Leaf</div><div style="font: 13px Arial; margin: 0px;">Thou last pale relic from yon widow'd tree,</div><div style="font: 13px Arial; margin: 0px;">Hovering awhile in air, as if to leave</div><div style="font: 13px Arial; margin: 0px;">Thy native sprig reluctant, how I grieve,</div><div style="font: 13px Arial; margin: 0px;">And heave the sigh of kindred sympathy,</div><div style="font: 13px Arial; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 13px Arial; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;">That thou art fall'n!--for I too whilom play'd</div><div style="font: 13px Arial; margin: 0px;">Upon the topmost bough of youth's gay spring;</div><div style="font: 13px Arial; margin: 0px;">Have sported blithe on summer's golden wing;</div><div style="font: 13px Arial; margin: 0px;">And now I see my fleeting autumn fade.</div><div style="font: 13px Arial; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 13px Arial; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;">Yet, "sear and yellow leaf," though thou and I</div><div style="font: 13px Arial; margin: 0px;">Thus far resemble, and this frame, like thee,</div><div style="font: 13px Arial; margin: 0px;">In the cold silent ground be doom'd to lie,</div><div style="font: 13px Arial; margin: 0px;">Thou never more will climb thy parent tree;</div><div style="font: 13px Arial; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 13px Arial; margin: 0px;">But I, through faith in my Redeemer, trust,</div><div style="font: 13px Arial; margin: 0px;">That I shall rise again, ev'n from the dust.<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/?ie=UTF8&tag=jmhuculak&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&search-alias=aps&field-keywords=Joanna%20Baillie" target="_blank">Baillie on amazon.com</a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448300642788677597.post-47270572121530640542010-01-06T09:36:00.001-06:002010-01-06T14:05:17.391-06:00Avatar and The Road: Hollywood's TreesSorry for the sporadic posting of late--I'm trying to finish up my syllabi before the start of term next week. I have found time to watch two films lately: James Cameron's <i>Avatar</i> and Cormac McCarthy's <i>The Road</i>--both of which feature trees as main characters.<br />
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<b><i>Avatar </i></b><br />
I'm at the age now where I was completely impressed with Cameron's digital effects ( I feel like my parents describing the first time they saw <i>Star Wars</i>)--but I was even more impressed with his treatment of trees in the film. If you haven't seen the film yet, the Na'vi live in a "home tree," an ancient arbor that is networked, through its roots, to the other trees on the planet, creating a sort of neural network more complicated than the human brain.<br />
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</div>I'm not the first to notice the environmental message in this film. <i>Mother Nature Network</i> recently ran a piece on the <a href="http://www.mnn.com/technology/research-innovations/blogs/is-avatar-radical-environmental-propaganda">radical conservation message</a> in Avatar. I'm unable to find a picture of this beautiful, imaginative tree, so here's the best I can do. <br />
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Let's not forget that trees are one of the oldest species on the planet, and their evolution over millions of years have created the conditions that led to our own evolutionary track. To disrupt this complicated network of oxygen- producing beings is to complicate, and perhaps destroy, our own future in this symbiotic network on life.<br />
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I have to say, you must see this film in 3D if you see it. I often felt myself connecting with those first film viewers who (apocryphally?) hid under their chairs when they saw the train approaching from the screen for the first time. And, it's all about trees. <br />
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<b><i>The Road</i></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2jdP0QrmUZCXRLOUx1f5IMGDEpEB6FQU-t4pmhTH_3WHuQIC29A7T0qADFKNjfBqRKFuimcAmMKCqT5Yt9kjFeyLoq3A8sKZwuWT5tSUr3GYk_7jS91WBF2J3YMDpYa5o1iar8QbJXSBj/s1600-h/theroad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2jdP0QrmUZCXRLOUx1f5IMGDEpEB6FQU-t4pmhTH_3WHuQIC29A7T0qADFKNjfBqRKFuimcAmMKCqT5Yt9kjFeyLoq3A8sKZwuWT5tSUr3GYk_7jS91WBF2J3YMDpYa5o1iar8QbJXSBj/s320/theroad.jpg" /></a>This film also has an underlying environmental message. The director (and author) do not say why the world has ended (including the life of all trees, birds, animals, etc.), we only know the event created the horrific conditions humanity faces to survive (which in this text, means feasting on other humans). We follow a father and son (unnamed) on their journey south along "the road." There aren't a lot of human characters (or at least characters we want to know), but there are a ton of wooded characters. Throughout the entire film, the sound of dead trees create an eerie atmosphere as they crackle, whine and collapse in the background. It is the ultimate sound of despair--and one of the only natural sounds in this dead world. It reminded me of the Tulsa ice-storm two years ago and the saddest sound I've ever heard--the sound of branches and trees moaning (it was haunting) in the dead night before cracking and collapsing. <br />
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I don't want to give the film all the credit of making the trees such a central character. The publishers chose an image for the book cover that sums up the despair and desolation of the film. We see no humans, only their traces of the "scar" carved through a dead forest. <br />
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Again, we must realize (pace creationists) that life on this planet is a complicated network of living beings that evolved over millions of years. The trees came before us, and are thus are foundational to the conditions whence we evolved. To remove the bricks from this foundation--even only a few--will weaken the entire structure. You don't have to be an environmentalist to see the chain reaction that will occur should we continue our current economic trends that exploit important tree belts.<br />
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Does anyone else have some contributions to Hollywood and trees? I'm sure there are quite a few out there. Let me know in the comments' section.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448300642788677597.post-81798720296575475152009-12-17T09:32:00.000-06:002009-12-17T09:32:38.716-06:00The Wild Trees at CooleCoole Park is remembered in W. B. Yeats' poem "The Wild Swans at Coole," which, if you don't mind me saying, has a lot to do about trees too. Swans. Sheesh.<br />
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I had the pleasure of visiting Coole in 1997 while at the International Yeats Summer School in Sligo, and I must say that park is absolutely magical. I don't know what it is about Ireland, but I did feel a strange mystical presence about this island. Coole park is no exception. The woods are quiet and contemplative, perhaps still echoing the murmurings of the poets of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Celtic_Twilight"><b>Celtic Twilight</b></a> hosted by Lady Gregory (on whose estate the park is located). <br />
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The most unique tree, however, is the "autograph tree," on which now famous writers, including Yeats, carved their initials when visiting the park. The tree has grown, and many of the autographs are warped, so the caretakers have erected a plaque with the list of those who left a mark on this tree's bark (thus, the numbers).<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjnsz8PIMe_LE7tIxbDUx_hyphenhyphen4K_CcmM5rBzO7AnPalKjN7qIFV1l45SUXazdOT4v1yuaWqxssbD2VMW1G7OJTTpn5yDuyrPGsCAfh3TtBfsoV3VbuYowtQW3_0_vRnkKvK-JqllpoNA0m4/s1600-h/GalwayCoolParkTreeBark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjnsz8PIMe_LE7tIxbDUx_hyphenhyphen4K_CcmM5rBzO7AnPalKjN7qIFV1l45SUXazdOT4v1yuaWqxssbD2VMW1G7OJTTpn5yDuyrPGsCAfh3TtBfsoV3VbuYowtQW3_0_vRnkKvK-JqllpoNA0m4/s320/GalwayCoolParkTreeBark.jpg" /></a><br />
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<span style="color: #9c9c63;"><span>From Bartleby.com: 1.</span> <span><b>The Wild Swans at Coole</b></span></span> <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody>
<tr><td align="left">T<span>HE TREES</span> are in their autumn beauty,</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="1"> </a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">The woodland paths are dry,</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="2"> </a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">Under the October twilight the water</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="3"> </a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">Mirrors a still sky;</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="4"> </a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">Upon the brimming water among the stones</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="5"><i> 5</i></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">Are nine and fifty swans.</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="6"> </a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"> </td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">The nineteenth Autumn has come upon me</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="7"> </a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">Since I first made my count;</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="8"> </a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">I saw, before I had well finished,</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="9"> </a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">All suddenly mount</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="10"><i> 10</i></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">And scatter wheeling in great broken rings</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="11"> </a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">Upon their clamorous wings.</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="12"> </a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"> </td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="13"> </a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">And now my heart is sore.</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="14"> </a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">All’s changed since I, hearing at twilight,</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="15"><i> 15</i></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">The first time on this shore,</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="16"> </a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">The bell-beat of their wings above my head,</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="17"> </a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">Trod with a lighter tread.</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="18"> </a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"> </td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">Unwearied still, lover by lover,</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="19"> </a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">They paddle in the cold,</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="20"><i> 20</i></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">Companionable streams or climb the air;</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="21"> </a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">Their hearts have not grown old;</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="22"> </a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">Passion or conquest, wander where they will,</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="23"> </a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">Attend upon them still.</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="24"> </a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"> </td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">But now they drift on the still water</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="25"><i> 25</i></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">Mysterious, beautiful;</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="26"> </a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">Among what rushes will they build,</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="27"> </a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">By what lake’s edge or pool</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="28"> </a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">Delight men’s eyes, when I awake some day</td><td align="right" valign="top"><span><a href="" name="29"> </a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left">To find they have flown away?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448300642788677597.post-59426841166242330732009-12-15T17:30:00.001-06:002010-04-09T14:25:27.601-05:00Canadian Tree BloggingThe <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Group_of_Seven_%28artists%29">Group of Seven</a> are, at least this side of the parallel, an underrepresented coterie of North American painters. Today's post is in honour of the Group of Seven, who never shied away from painting dignified trees. Here is one from Tom Thomson, who happens to have one of those lovely names that slip off the tongue. [<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Group-Seven-Tom-Thomson/dp/1554071542?ie=UTF8&tag=jmhuculak&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">amazon</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=jmhuculak&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1554071542" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important;" width="1" /> link]<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI8CCu5vlM7QAL46x0aXTRlKpxBhBSod0ZCzKeQ2GSCA-m7eVhDnuLqCfbOAxVXdZXIA4JAnVNOdPu12EBSXORXl29yw5Ae68AcTYLVIxa9FHuF9Eox4QNA0bW_pRQynWq7sSuUCPv8_Fm/s1600-h/image001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI8CCu5vlM7QAL46x0aXTRlKpxBhBSod0ZCzKeQ2GSCA-m7eVhDnuLqCfbOAxVXdZXIA4JAnVNOdPu12EBSXORXl29yw5Ae68AcTYLVIxa9FHuF9Eox4QNA0bW_pRQynWq7sSuUCPv8_Fm/s320/image001.jpg" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448300642788677597.post-78675286877489353882009-12-12T08:38:00.003-06:002009-12-15T17:26:33.204-06:00Tree Crime: Rare Tree StolenLittle did I know I would wake up this morning and be able to post a breaking story on a tree theft. Someone probably wanted a cheap Christmas tree for the family and ended up cutting down an endangered species. <br />
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Cutting down a Christmas tree is my favorite part of the season (at sustainable, local tree farms), notwithstanding the time we decided to drive out to a Sebastopol tree farm (40 minutes away) and my appendix decided to burst. I think I got a lot of mercy presents under the tree that year. Read the whole story (linked) below:<br />
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By <a href="http://search.nwsource.com/search?searchtype=cq&sort=date&from=ST&byline=Sandi%20Doughton">Sandi Doughton</a> <br />
Seattle Times science reporter<br />
A Keteleeria evelyniana tree, like this one, was sawed off and stolen sometime Tuesday night or Wednesday morning at the Washington Park Arboretum. The 7-foot-tall tree was one of only a pair at the park. The tree, which is native to southwestern China, Laos and Vietnam, is rare. When they spotted the stump Wednesday, staffers at the Washington Park Arboretum had little doubt what happened: Someone seeking a free Christmas tree had chopped down a likely candidate.<br />
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But even the Grinch wouldn't have targeted that particular tree. The 7-foot conifer was one of the park's rarest specimens, an imperiled species collected from the mountainous Yunnan province in China.<br />
<a href="http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/localnews/2010468121_tree10m.html"></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448300642788677597.post-39909155880398538022009-12-11T12:29:00.001-06:002009-12-11T12:30:55.956-06:00The Giving TreeShel Silverstein's <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Giving_Tree">The Giving Tree</a> was one of my favorite books as a child (yes, I believe we can have more than one favorite). As a child, I had a sense the human character wrongly took more than he received, but I still marveled at the tree's generosity. My environmental reading is that humans have for too long ignored the greater consequences of exploiting resources beyond natural sustainability. We are part of an intricate web of organisms, and trees are but one greatly overused resource 'at our disposal.' The lesson from this book, I suppose, is to see the tree and not the man as the protagonist, for it is the tree who has the inner wisdom of knowing there is no "I" and "thou"--there is only "we."<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7tv7Bo8Aq1u6EpT8DMYG0mf1YH4qQVj4Mw8-QNe8IIAUiX4aYKzDdeQW6JyERBr_VInnFkkSJLO3Qxn_xEfsedCXs_AD4uIpaXX4aaeonrTwlXXCZLB_K-f_v_U4IDH_hKsrwVB_bXsow/s1600-h/180px-The_Giving_Tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7tv7Bo8Aq1u6EpT8DMYG0mf1YH4qQVj4Mw8-QNe8IIAUiX4aYKzDdeQW6JyERBr_VInnFkkSJLO3Qxn_xEfsedCXs_AD4uIpaXX4aaeonrTwlXXCZLB_K-f_v_U4IDH_hKsrwVB_bXsow/s320/180px-The_Giving_Tree.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448300642788677597.post-24388764858181731102009-12-10T16:51:00.001-06:002009-12-10T16:52:29.607-06:00The Tree of Life by Gustav Klimt<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8MzDzT4xPd5xPMBU5Jl3A2reSLvZEDNegeUhFwjzRY24xqeZnPhfbpA8xr8_GGWc9aBMY-OMyaPc_boPU2DEiBNsOZBYH47PKJb0pnoO_FeNQhuQsCXiZGZx6hW3TTxoQcZDvflta1Rgh/s1600-h/klimttreeoflife.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8MzDzT4xPd5xPMBU5Jl3A2reSLvZEDNegeUhFwjzRY24xqeZnPhfbpA8xr8_GGWc9aBMY-OMyaPc_boPU2DEiBNsOZBYH47PKJb0pnoO_FeNQhuQsCXiZGZx6hW3TTxoQcZDvflta1Rgh/s320/klimttreeoflife.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448300642788677597.post-50439601741848003892009-12-09T15:49:00.002-06:002009-12-09T15:49:35.116-06:00Wednesday Tree PoemMy friend Liisa gets first accolades for sending me our first tree poem. Please enjoy. <br />
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The Sound of Trees by Robert Frost<br />
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I wonder about the trees.<br />
Why do we wish to bear<br />
Forever the noise of these<br />
More than another noise<br />
So close to our dwelling place?<br />
We suffer them by the day<br />
Till we lose all measure of pace,<br />
And fixity in our joys,<br />
And acquire a listening air.<br />
They are that that talks of going<br />
But never gets away;<br />
And that talks no less for knowing,<br />
As it grows wiser and older,<br />
That now it means to stay.<br />
My feet tug at the floor<br />
And my head sways to my shoulder<br />
Sometimes when I watch trees sway,<br />
From the window or the door.<br />
I shall set forth for somewhere,<br />
I shall make the reckless choice<br />
Some day when they are in voice<br />
And tossing so as to scare<br />
The white clouds over them on.<br />
I shall have less to say,<br />
But I shall be gone.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8448300642788677597.post-4003029888524409532009-12-09T13:44:00.002-06:002009-12-09T13:49:23.148-06:00Welcome, A Sociology of Trees needs your help!Welcome to my first blog. A Sociology of Trees has grown out of the fertile soil of post-dissertation glee. Gardening has always been a part of my family (you should see my grandmother's roses or my grandfather's gardens), but I've always felt a special kinship with trees--particularly the majestic redwoods of my home state. Walking through an old-growth redwood forest is probably one the last magical activities on Earth--and it cannot quite be explained in words (which probably just adds to the woody magic).<br />
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Well, one thing I realized about finishing a dissertation is that I'm still poor. I suppose finishing one's PhD in the worst economic downturn since the depression adds to this parsimonious predicament; the net result of it being I've canceled all of magazine subscriptions (and the trees rejoiced).<br />
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I am an insatiable reader, and my magazines filled a little void in my life, especially in the morning after my breakfast and coffee when I sought the solace of a quiet, private room. With no reading material at hand, I felt myself blocked, mentally and physically, so I ran downstairs and grabbed the first book I could find: <i>The Guide to American Trees</i>. I was in love again. I realized trees are a beautiful metaphor for the human condition. Give them enough time, space and adequate water and heat, they will take over every inch of land and choke off most life below them. I thought, "hey, trees are evolutionary a**holes, just like humans--they spread and cover everything available inch in front of them. Ferns are the pigeons of the forests! We are a lot alike. Sure, there's also a more beautiful image of a delicate root system, that subconscious existence that affects our outward appearance--at times nourishing, at times strangling our conscious lives. The Buddhists cherish the Lotus plant--the symbol of compassion--since its beautiful flower depends upon a root system that descends into the muck and mire of the swamp. In Western culture, the tree is our lotus--we know its visible beauty is supported by an invisible network of roots in the dirt. <br />
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Enough of my ramblings. This blog needs you. This blog is about the interaction of humans with trees, or, how humans represent trees in history and art. That means I need your help. Sure, I know where the oldest trees on Earth are, as well as were the tallest ones are (they're both in California, by the way), but I'm also looking for those idiosyncratic trees. Perhaps there is a tree that has special meaning in your town or city. I want to document that. Just think, one of the earliest surviving poems in English is about a tree (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dream_of_the_Rood">The Dream of the Rood</a>); Billie Holiday evokes the "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Strange_Fruit">Strange Fruit</a>" growing on trees to capture a chillingly shameful epoch in United States history. In short, trees are always around us in our visible lives and imaginations. In the comments section, tell me where your trees are and what stories you know (please give a specific location, if you can) and help this blog grow.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4