“Maybe you are searching among the branches for what only appears in the roots” Rumi

Exposed roots cascading down steep cliffs, snaking above the desert, peeping out of the muck, or clinging to rocky ledges – when I come across a tree in the wild, its exposed roots holding onto some precarious perch, parts of me feel absolutely lit up. Witnessing the ingenious and hard-fought ways trees create stability and longevity despite their circumstances is so inspiring to me. 

When I began my pilgrimage, I first went to the southwestern deserts of America. There, I frequently saw junipers and their roots. To survive where water is so scarce and firm ground even scarcer, junipers stretch their roots out as deep as they are tall, and often four times as wide as that (both above and below the ground). Their reach gives them access to multiple points of stability (in case one part of the ground gives way), and also ensures they can suck up the rare moisture they need, whenever and wherever it appears (rain and dew alike). Moreover, juniper roots are helping hold the soil together, stitching the layers together and preventing the top soil eroding away. Because of all of this, a healthy juniper can live a staggering 700 years in the arid desert. 

At a time when I felt so desolate and lonely, seeing juniper’s indomitable roots clawing their way to such long life comforted and encouraged me to not only hold on, but keep growing even when I felt like giving up. You sometimes hear people talk about their spirit animal, an avatar of their soul. Those first months of my journey I thought of the juniper as my “spirit tree”. 

Roots are evocative of so many aspects of the human condition. There are many examples, but two of my favorite are the ideas of: “discovering your roots” and “are your root deep?” When spiritual teachers use these phrases I believe they are inviting us to ask: “Do I understand the forces beneath me that are shaping my lived experience today?” and, “What am I doing to create greater resilience for tomorrow?” 

Thinking about our lives in terms of these metaphors encourages us to do the hard work that will connect us to enduring sources of stability and nourishment (habits, relationships, and spirituality alike). They remind us that future storms and droughts are certain, but by tending to our roots today, our odds of survival tomorrow are much higher.

I imagine you’ve heard all of this before. 

But, what I’m about to tell you next might surprise you.

Redwoods are the tallest trees in the world, a single trunk can live 2,000 years and grow up to 375 feet tall. That is 12x as tall as junipers and 3x as old. The largest redwood in the world is a staggering 1.6 million (!) pounds. (That’s not the surprising part.)

Since they are 12x as tall as junipers, you might imagine their roots would also grow 12x as deep. Surely, massively deep roots would be needed to hold 1.6 million pounds of wood aloft. But, no. In fact, a full grown Redwood’s roots are only dig 6 feet deep!

How is this possible? There are a variety of reasons, but many tie back to a single truth: junipers grow alone, redwoods grow together. (Redwoods growing outside of forests do not grow nearly as tall or nearly live as long as ones that grow together).

One reason growing together is so beneficial for redwoods is because it allows them to interlock their roots. When a violent wind blows, the most exposed trees can lean into the strength of the whole forest. Together, many redwoods bend a little so that a redwood under duress doesn't snap in half. 

Displacing the wind is just one-way redwoods’ interconnected roots help them be more resilient. They also help them “talk”. 

Yes, you read that right. Trees “talk” to each other through their roots.

Let me explain.

Redwoods (and many other species of plants and trees) communicate directly by locking their own roots, and also by harnessing the even further reach of fungal networks. Specifically, they accomplish this by letting fungi grow into their root tips. A single fungal network can be vast (covering many acres), creating a direct means by which faraway trees can send and receive electrical signals amongst each other.

What do trees talk about through their roots? To name a few topics: some announce they’ve been hit by lightning (to let neighbors know they are in distress), others announce when an insect is trying to eat their leaves (so nearby trees can prepare their defenses), while others have even been shown to coordinate the precise time to drop their cones.

As remarkable as this is, it turns out connected trees do a lot more than just “talk” through their roots. Researchers have observed that trees redistribute the sugars they produce with neighboring trees (sometimes even to trees of different species)!

Is this an accident? Or, if not, do stronger trees bully weak ones into giving them their lunch? No, it’s just the opposite. Resources are redirected through the forest based on need, thereby helping keep struggling trees alive far longer than they would otherwise if they grew alone. In some cases, connected trees will even keep sending nutrients to stumps for hundreds of years (!) until a new trunk can sprout.

Why would trees behave this way, alerting others to incoming dangers when they are weak and freely giving away the food they labored so hard to make when they are strong? 

When we think about nature, we often talk about it being “dog eat dog,” “survival or the fittest,” and “every man for himself.” Maybe it’s because deep down we fear that’s what our fellow humans will do to us when times get really tough. So much of American life and political discourse is structured notions of individualistic (or tribal) competition and scarcity.

But the forest logic is different. It says: “no matter how tall I grow, when my neighbor is in danger, I am less safe. When my neighbor is struggling, I am made poorer. When my neighbor and I depend upon each other, we both experience more abundance.”

The biggest and tallest trees in the world all grow in vibrant, interconnected forests. 

Why? The reasons are myriad. A forest creates its own microclimate. It traps moisture in the soil and humidity in the air. It moderates temperature swings. It utilizes the Sun's energy to create the most possible sugars in its leaves, while blocking the Sun’s rays from drying out the soil. A forest keeps out many of the strongest winds, and gives trees a way to ease the force when they get in. In a forest, trees get early warnings about incoming threats and have a source of support when they need extra fuel. 

With no forest, these benefits are lost. If there are too many openings in the canopy, the ground will be drier and the winds fiercer. If connections between trees are severed, each will be less prepared when predators arrive, and will have no support but themselves after a disaster strikes.  

In a forest, it's in a tall tree’s self-interest to care passionately about the health and well-being of all its neighbors. Trees are healthier and live longer when they are interdependent with each other and their environment. 

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When I started this journey, I was committed to being a juniper. I didn’t want any more painful entanglements in my life that ended badly (romantic, professional, or otherwise). It’s not that I wanted to become a hermit. My greatest moments of joy early on were times I spent connecting deeply with old friends and strangers. I loved anonymously helping people out. But again, and again, as soon it seemed like someone was about to put demands on me, I’d saddle up (and ride away!). Similarly, when I was really struggling, I often hid that until long after the crisis passed. I believed it was my responsibility to figure out my problems alone. It’d be selfish to do otherwise I told myself.

I justified this in a number of ways, maybe you’ll recognize some of these behaviors. I didn’t want to disappoint anyone – so better not promise anything. I didn’t want to be disappointed – so I didn’t ask for anything. I didn’t want to look stupid – so I didn’t say anything until I had crafted the perfect thing to say. I didn’t want to get trapped – so made sure exits were always nearby and plentiful.

These strategies “worked” for much of 2019. I even got myself out of a near scrape with death on a mountain, alone. 

But the universe got tired of trying to teach me the same lesson again and again without effect. It decided it needed make the point that “forests are more resilient” much, much louder. 

When an accident nearly took my life (a second time) in 2020, it was only because I was traveling with a friend that my life was saved (I haven’t written about this yet in detail – but plan too). When Covid struck and we were all locked down in March, I decided to live alone at first. After three weeks, my parents invited me to move back home with them and my brother. My life and relationships with them are unquestionably better because I got over my fears of being trapped and moved in. In April and May, I helped create and co-lead a nightly meditation and story sharing community online. It was hard and vulnerable work. It didn’t always go well. But it saved me mentally, and I came to love and care deeply about every single one of the people who regularly showed up. Once I headed back on the road this summer, I set the itinerary, but I frequently planned sections of my travels with others (only if they tested negative for COVID first). This deepened so many relationships, opened up so many unique opportunities, and created profound memories. Lastly, I started dating again. It’s been terrifying at times. I’ve made some truly epic mistakes. But, it’s also been joyful and has helped me heal in ways that would have been impossible had I tried to do that work alone.

Junipers are beautiful and inspiring trees. Their deep roots attest to what’s possible when we live with grit. But redwoods show us connected roots are even stronger still. Interdependence offers far more abundance than rugged individualism ever can alone. 

I’m preemptively (and aspirationally) changing my spirit tree from juniper to redwood ahead of 2021. 

Reflection Questions 

1. What forests am I living in and who shares my soil?

2. What have I done to care for my forest this year? 

3. Who in my forest is facing an especially hard time right now? What resources are available to me that could help support them?

4. What challenges in my life have I been trying to deal with alone? What would be possible if I allowed others to help me face them?

Invitation: input your answers online by using this link or emailing me directly at tim@thiswalkinglife.com. Whether you’ve known me forever, or were forwarded this, your participation is welcome. I will share a selection of your answers (anonymously unless you request otherwise) when I publish part three of this series next week. Below you will find a selection of your responses from last week’s post.

This article is the second part of my series: “Learning from Trees.” Throughout December, I will be publishing a number of short reflections on how my experiences with old trees in our National Parks have shaped my journey, and the questions they are leading me to ask today as I take stock of where I am. You can read part one (on seeds) on my website, or by clicking this link.

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From the mail bag:

Thank you to everyone who sent in your responses to the prompts last week on seeds. Below are a few selections.

In response to the first prompt: “where in your life are you being broken open”,

• One person wrote: “There have been too many funerals and health scares this year that have broken me open. But it has also made me view the world differently. Rationally, I have always known time is limited. But I feel like I "know" this now and it has changed who I am and how I view the world.”

In response to the prompt “What tiny seeds of possibility within you have been waiting for a moment like this to be released”

• A second person wrote: “When I think about learning from trees what come to mind is Lynching, because these landscapes are hallow ground. The seed that's stirring in me is to reclaim these sacred places… The other seed is having some time for restoration and renewal for myself. I have been homeless and spent over 20 years living with other people.  Now I have a space (own place) just to rest and relax a little and take care of me for a change.”

• A third responded: “The pandemic has forced me to fulfill my calling in new ways--to innovate and pivot or else give up and close down. In the process, I'm finally starting to think bigger and to face some of the fears that have been holding me back and keeping me "smaller" than I need and want to be.”

In response to the last prompt “what unseen nourishments are waiting for you, already close, within reach, and plentiful”?

• “The soil feels a bit depleted after 2020 without nourishment nearby - or the nourishment that we are used to receiving. But it does remind me that we can survive a lot more than we think we can and we may have to change to grow in the new soil but we become stronger because of it (the new soil in reality has way more nourishment than we think it does).” 

One person wrote about a relationship with colleague that was long standing and sometimes challenging. She wrote that one day an image came her that helped her reach a breakthrough:

• “I envisioned us as trees standing next to each other in a grove. My leaves were shimmering in the light, limbs out-stretched wide. His tree was an elegant pine, taller than mine. I noticed that we were mature trees, perhaps nearing the end of our time together. When I created more space between our trunks, my branches no longer interfered with his, and it created more room for us to play together at the base of our trunks. It was an image that helped me in a profound way.”

Lastly, Bob K. turned the post into a short poem: 

Fueled by small trees and bushes

the fire burned furiously

reaching the crown of the giant sequoia

some 250 feet above its roots

where cones waited patiently

for the beneficent flames and heat

to break them open and

free the tiny seeds

to fall to the nurturing soil

where an element of grace

nudges those tiny, helpless seeds

to grow into another giant tree.

Thank you for all your responses. I hope you all get many moments to sit with and admire the trees near you this weekend. Until soon, wishing you all a safe and healthy week ahead.