How “reading trees” can unlock many mysteriesAncient trees have deep roots in culture
Twelve Trees. By Daniel Lewis. Simon & Schuster; 304 pages; $30 and £22
IT WAS just a seedling when Egypt’s great pyramids were built. By the time the Roman empire fell its trunk was gnarled and auburn, stretching up more than ten metres. The ancient bristlecone pine (pictured) has witnessed human history for millennia, including “epochs of turbulence and calm”. It is one of 12 trees chronicled by Daniel Lewis, a historian at the Huntington Library in California, in a marvellous new book. This arboreal adventure takes you up the trunk of the mighty ceiba tree in Peru and into the blazing forest fires America’s longleaf pines need to thrive. The dozen species show how much the lives of trees are entwined with people.
The world has lost around half its trees since the emergence of agriculture 12,000 years ago. Despite this decline, there are still 3trn trees on Earth—400 for every living person. Each year they absorb more carbon than is emitted by America and Britain combined. Trees populate humans’ landscapes and language: five of the 20 most common street names in America are trees (oak, pine, maple, cedar, elm). Their branches reach science, trade and literature, Mr Lewis shows.
Clues about the past lives of trees are buried inside their trunks. Some have been scorched by lightning; others have old bullets stuck in their side. Rings of light spring wood and dark summer wood tell scientists the age of trees, and hint at environmental changes over the course of their lives. Mr Lewis compares this to reading a book. For the researchers who “read” its rings, the bristlecone pine is a tome older than the Bible.
Trade has shaped the tales of trees. Central African forest ebony has been coveted by string musicians for centuries: its density elevates the sound of violins and guitars. The arboreal equivalent of “blood diamonds”, this tree has long been pillaged and illegally harvested. But Taylor Guitars, a company in California that supplies guitars to stars such as Taylor Swift, is spearheading its conservation. From seedling to six-string, the firm monitors the supply chain. Traditionally only the darkest heartwood—about 10% of each tree—is harvested for instruments. To reduce waste, Taylor Guitars has started using lighter, mottled wood for its most expensive guitars. (The tonal qualities are identical.)
Although dangers lurk, from loggers to climate change, the book introduces a network of people who protect trees and their inhabitants. In America farmers set forests ablaze to help pines germinate. In Europe artisan olive growers pick fruits by hand instead of using automated harvesting machines, which suck up millions of songbirds a year.
Great writers, from Dante to Pablo Neruda, have extolled trees’ splendour. John Clare, an English poet, wrote an ode to an elm in 1830, calling it “the sweetest anthem autumn ever made”. Today prosaic tributes abound. Melbourne’s 70,000 trees have email addresses so people can report problems to the council; thousands write love letters instead. In the spirit of Clare, a fan wrote to an elm: “I was struck, not by a branch, but by your radiant beauty”.
This article appeared in the Culture section of the print edition under the headline “Trees of life” (Aug 29th 2024)
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