The calls of the male Redwing Blackbirds echo in arpeggios, weaving an arrhythmic melody within the steady percussion of the Western Chorus Frogs as my daughter and I walk through the wetlands near our home on a recent overcast morning. The blanket of sound, which if recorded might be titled, “Silence,” here is so all-encompassing that it draws every bit of consciousness to the present moment. The masses of dormant Cattails on either side of the trail rustle in the breeze, and the Blackbird calls seem to follow overhead. The Chorus Frogs wax and wane in perfect accompaniment to the ensemble, and it is so perfect a soundscape that I imagine at any moment Lyle Mays is about to enter the track. His watercolor shades of piano cut gently in, playfully mimicking the natural trio of performers, and dances with the updraft; giving new dimension to the piece. His solo flickers tastefully at the upper register and settles back down with the Chorus Frogs, where it seems it always was, waiting to be heard.
I live many moments with this augmented reality, often projecting music or intentional geometry onto natural phenomena. This is something we all do – think naming the clouds or finding faces within geologic formations, or mythologizing star patterns staring at the night sky. People project humanity and intent onto trees; seeing trees as threatening or protective, or even imagining them as having entity in a human way. Being an urban forester is almost as much about navigating the relationship people have to their trees as it is about addressing the tree’s health. Much of the time, unfortunately for the tree, the former has the greatest impact on the latter. A tragedy I see over and over on a daily basis are operations performed on trees deemed threatening that actually make the tree a hazard over time, like over-pruning. But isn’t that the most powerful and fundamental human ability, to project and then manifest? To label a thing, and force it into the label? This is apparently well studied in quantum mechanics; particles in physics behave differently under observation. I spend a lot of time inviting people to widen their perspectives when making observations. Is the tree whose roots push up the sidewalk a nuisance? Or, in a world in which terrestrial life is not possible without trees, where trees in cities are critical for capturing water, moderating climate, reducing crime rates, increasing birth rates, lengthening lifespans, and cleaning air- should the ground always be perfectly flat in every instance? Observation and projection are powerful things, and they can be misguided without perspective. A deeper human question for me is, are we projecting our own definitions, or are we defined by what we have wrought?
As my daughter and I pass quietly on the trail, she points out a Bluejay flying above and I feel a slight sting of remorse, which breaks me from my daydream. I sigh as I look down at my left arm in its sling, thinking of the many months of recovery to come. I mentally kick myself, thinking of how I created my injury- overtraining for a tree climbing competition. I am an all or nothing competitor- even if it is just for fun. In addition to my normal production duties for our company as a climbing arborist, I was doing hours of drills and workouts- rope ascension sprints, flipping a four hundred pound tractor tire, and extensions to try and rehabilitate the injury that took me out of competitive swimming when I was younger. I was so worried about that injury that I didn’t notice a new one developing, and now I get to go to this year’s TCC (Tree Climbing Championships) and watch from the ground with my sling. Having to leave swimming had a profound effect on my life- the only way I felt value at that time was through my physical performance, and I floundered for a long period after before realizing I was relevant in other ways. Perhaps value is another important component in the machinery of projection, perspective, and manifestation- we give meaning to that which we value or see value in. Now in a different chapter in life, my entire self is not bound to this one thing I am good at. If everything happens for a reason, it couldn’t have happened at a better time- our crew is flourishing in their own skills as arborists, and we have recently hired one of the most experienced production arborists in the region. I needed to focus more on other facets of our business, and there was often figurative kicking and screaming involved in removing me from the tree to attend to them.
I do long to be back up there, though. Physically interacting with trees is an important component of happiness for me. There is something so connecting about it- so visceral, yet engaging. It is something I wish everyone could experience, and maybe it is time for me to take a break and give others the chance. I won’t be gone for long- the doctors say I can recover and become stronger than before. Maybe, with a few lessons learned, I will look to compete next year- and fly again when my feathers have regrown.
