Trees planted by human hand are blown down more often by strong winds than those that grow according to their own method. Humanity clings to the cultural ideal of deep roots, a metaphor that it has derived from its travails with land clearance - and trees would seem to have deep roots if you had to dig them out so as to make way for the plough to come. The deep root as a point of orientation has found analogies throughout human experience, and in critical moments it is readily called upon as a decisive image. However, when it is applied back to its original source, and to the practical task of re-planting the forests, the ideal of the deep root is found to be based on a mistaken perception. Wild trees resist strong winds by shedding stress over a wide surface area: they plant themselves shallowly from where their root system develops outwards rather than downwards. By contrast, plantation trees are grown close together, and their rootstock, although buried deeply, are also narrowly contained - strong winds blow them over like skittles. I sometimes like to picture to myself, as an example of countervailing force, flocks of jays inadvertantly drawing out the thread of oaks through the cold lines of silver birch, as if they are garlanding the end of the ice age. Next!
Ears/Hear!
