photograph by sharon murtaugh
How do you measure a new year in the life of a redwood tree? I found myself walking under this thought bubble last month as I explored northern California’s towering rock stars (wood stars?) for the first time. A redwood can live as many as 2,000 years, growing continuously to heights as tall as 350 feet.
The diameter of the famous “Boy Scout Tree” in Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park measures more than 23 feet. That gargantuan organism began as a tiny, solitary sprout … many, many new years ago. What can we humans learn from such age, size, and beauty? Three redwood qualities will stick with me.
Redwoods are dignified.
“Tall” and “proud” tend to be descriptive partners, to the point of cliché. If a redwood could articulate its feelings, would it tell us it’s proud? In some circles, pride is considered sinful, so I don’t associate the term with the tallest living being on the planet. But dignified? You could measure true vertical with the vast majority of redwoods. It’s as though they’re competing to reach the sky first, however long it takes. Quickest route between two points, remember, is a straight line. Or straight tree. It’s ironic that a human being must bend — bend backward — to gaze up and attempt to see the top of a redwood from its base. There are “slanting” redwoods, but they are rare, as disorienting as the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Redwoods are comfortable in their height, in the space they occupy, among their many siblings and ancestors. It’s a dignity formed over centuries. And it can be felt along the trails of a redwood forest.
photograph by sharon murtaugh
Redwoods are resilient.
Ever seen or heard of a “nurse log”? There are trees growing — tall and dignified — from the fallen trunk of a “dead” redwood. It’s an incredible form of rebirth, an arboricultural attempt at immortality. And these are merely the most visible forms of life that spring from a fallen redwood. Lush, green vegetation near the top of what was once a redwood’s root system, now 20 feet above the ground (remember the diameter of these giants). And the mushrooms. More than you can count on some logs, particularly near running water, where the ground system remains wet year-round. Perhaps most astounding, redwoods have sprung to life from root systems after fire destroys the parent tree. They are determined to live. How inspiring is that?
Redwoods are quiet.
I can “hear” the quiet of the Grand Canyon three years after visiting Arizona’s natural wonder. It’s a different form of silence, deep below the rim. As though sound would be cheating if it reached your ears. A redwood forest has that form of silence. There is life high above in the canopy, including birds of course, nature’s most elegant noise-makers. But they are so high as to be inaudible, unless they choose to descend, to pay a visit to the earth-bound. Walking through the redwoods with my wife and daughter, we would pause now and then. No chatter, no sound of our footsteps. If I held my breath, I’d swear my sense of hearing had been muted. This, I believe, is related to the redwoods’ grand dignity. If shallow creeks run the loudest, as the wise know, towering trees “speak” most quietly. In our age of mechanical devices that ping, chirp, and dictate, this silent quality of the redwoods is purely therapeutic. My wish for your new year is that you find its form … somewhere.
In his book The Wild Trees, Richard Preston writes, “Placed against the backdrop of redwood time, a human lifetime shrinks into a compressed flicker.” What can we each do with our flicker? Watching my daughter stroll through a redwood forest, knowing her great-grandchildren could walk the same trail and see the same trees made me feel ever so small — in a temporal sense — but connected to something as close to timeless as our planet will likely know. Might my new, 300-foot friends recognize my great-great-grandchild? In some form, I’m convinced they will.
Make your new year count. Because you count … a lot. And we humans don’t grow as many rings as a redwood. Be dignified in your carriage, as you stand unique among the rest of us. Be strong, resilient when tough days hit. And find comfort in silence when you can. Sometimes, just being here is enough.
