I want to believe

Beech forest and ravine in the Forsakar natural reserve in Skåne, Sweden.

I learned that trees communicate with each other. In fact, through intricate underground networks, some even nourish individuals that have less. I'm not ready to accept that this happens only in an exchange of chemicals or electric energy, though. It would be such a waste of imagination, wouldn’t it?

"I want to believe there are mythical creatures in the woods, it would make so much sense", a student of mine said once at a break in my spinning course. She looked toward the edge of the forest with longing in her eyes and a half-full spindle in her hand. I too want to believe there is something more. I want to believe in the souls of trees, fern and moss, in the whisper in the wind and the joys, desires and mischiefs of rocks and tree stumps. I want to believe in the selfless generosity of trees. Even after it has lain its trunk to die on the forest floor, I want to believe the tree enjoys the company of the myriads of tenants who move in and thrive its shelter and increasing murkiness.

I want to believe moss and lichen have tea with the rocks upon which they sit down to rest. Wouldn't it be awkward if they didn't? Sit there side by side, day by day without having a chat once in a while, without wishing each other a good morning or exchanging the latest gossip from the underground web, so generously provided by those trees?

I want to believe nettles welcome the first hatching butterflies on an early spring morning. Perhaps blow them a gush of wind to dry their wonky wings. I want to believe the apple tree in the allotment leans forward every time it rains, to protect the newly feathered blue tit chicks that have hatched in a hole in its trunk. And that they in turn sing to the tree in gratitude once they learn to fly.

I want to believe earth worms, woodlice and ground beetles keep daily meetings to monitor the state of the soil. Perhaps they create a board on a piece of oak leaf with plant litter sticky notes to keep track of what needs to be done in the soil factory. Then again perhaps they are smart enough not to need one.

I want to believe the rain creates puddles for tadpoles to swim in, and that the moss underneath it giggles when the newly grown frog feet tickle its leaves. I want to believe the birch smiles as it swings its wisps in a dance with the wind, back and forth, to the rhythm of the heartbeat of the earth.

I want to believe the mother trees, the matriarchs of the forest, wave their children goodbye as they go off to Forest School, that they shed a tear of joy and pride on graduation day, confident that the young will carry the wisdom to the future. I want to believe the great oak hears me when I thank it for supporting my back as I sit down at its roots to write.

Wherever I look in the forest I see signs of generosity, of giving in abundance without asking for anything in return. I want to believe all species realize the strength of the community they have developed through the billions of years they have inhabited the earth. I want to believe we can learn from them.

I want to believe in the beauty of the world. And so, I do. Come with me, believe with me that we can create a community of beauty, where we give without asking for anything in return, where we learn from the members who have been here longer than us and from those who will outlive us. And so, we will.

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Source: Simard, Suzanne. Finding the mother tree: Uncovering the wisdom and intelligence of the forest.  Dublin: Allen Lane, 2021.