Springtime Gardening: Begin by Listening to Trees
A biologist and author shows how open senses and lively curiosity can guide our work in the landscape and garden
David Haskell
28 April 2017
Guest Contributor. David George Haskell is the author of “The Songs of Trees,” an exploration of science and ethics through the lives of a dozen trees around the world. He is also a professor of biology at The University of the South and author of “The Forest Unseen,” winner of the 2013 National Academies’ Best Book Award and Pulitzer finalist. https://dghaskell.com/
Guest Contributor. David George Haskell is the author of “The Songs of Trees,” an... More
Author David George Haskell, shown here, is a professor of biology at The University of the South. His book, “The Songs of Trees,” explores science and ethics through the lives of a dozen trees around the world.
Trees Are Full of Sound
I spent several years listening to trees, opening my ears to them, paying attention to their voices. I found that trees were full of sound. Each sound tells a story about the tree’s life and its home. These stories are about interconnection: Trees are made of relationships.
A tree is not, despite appearances, a biological “individual.” Instead, it is a community of thousands of species all interacting in and around the tree. We can hear some of this conversation.
Regardless of where you are in the world, dawn arrives with a surge of sound from trees. This acoustic exultation is extraordinarily loud in the Amazon rainforest, a melding of the sounds of insects, birds, monkeys and wind in leaves. In Manhattan, the sylvan dawn chorus is of sparrows squabbling over nesting sites, the sound of passing subways and the voices of people greeting each other on the street.
These sounds are a manifestation of the inner nature of trees. Take away the connections between trees and their “social network,” and the trees wither and die. This is no metaphor or mystical fantasy. Every leaf is made not only of plant cells, but also of dozens of microscopic bacteria and fungi. Without these internal companions, the leaf is vulnerable to disease and drought. A leaf is a living community, dependent on connections.
The same is true in roots. The growing root tip is haloed by a glow of life, microbes and fungi in constant chemical communication with plant cells. The plant sends food to its companions, who respond with minerals and water.
Trees Are Full of Sound
I spent several years listening to trees, opening my ears to them, paying attention to their voices. I found that trees were full of sound. Each sound tells a story about the tree’s life and its home. These stories are about interconnection: Trees are made of relationships.
A tree is not, despite appearances, a biological “individual.” Instead, it is a community of thousands of species all interacting in and around the tree. We can hear some of this conversation.
Regardless of where you are in the world, dawn arrives with a surge of sound from trees. This acoustic exultation is extraordinarily loud in the Amazon rainforest, a melding of the sounds of insects, birds, monkeys and wind in leaves. In Manhattan, the sylvan dawn chorus is of sparrows squabbling over nesting sites, the sound of passing subways and the voices of people greeting each other on the street.
These sounds are a manifestation of the inner nature of trees. Take away the connections between trees and their “social network,” and the trees wither and die. This is no metaphor or mystical fantasy. Every leaf is made not only of plant cells, but also of dozens of microscopic bacteria and fungi. Without these internal companions, the leaf is vulnerable to disease and drought. A leaf is a living community, dependent on connections.
The same is true in roots. The growing root tip is haloed by a glow of life, microbes and fungi in constant chemical communication with plant cells. The plant sends food to its companions, who respond with minerals and water.
Information, too, moves through this web of interconnection. When insects attack a plant, neighboring plants learn of the attack through these underground links and by sniffing the air to detect chemicals wafting from the damaged plant. Alerted, the neighbors then prepare their defenses, suffusing their cells with chemicals that deter the leaf-munching insects. Both humans and trees can hear some of these insect attacks. Lean your head to a feeding caterpillar, and you’ll hear munching sounds from its maw. Press your ear to the bark of a tree infested with beetle larvae for the sounds of their jaws grinding wood.
These same sounds evoke chemical defenses in a tree: The plant cells pick up vibrations and respond. The trees are, in their own earless way, listening. A plant is like a newsroom: filled with chatter about the state of the neighborhood, connected to multiple sources of information.
These same sounds evoke chemical defenses in a tree: The plant cells pick up vibrations and respond. The trees are, in their own earless way, listening. A plant is like a newsroom: filled with chatter about the state of the neighborhood, connected to multiple sources of information.
In addition to my ears, I use electronic equipment to detect sounds too quiet for human ears. On a dry, sunny day, the water supply from roots dwindles, starving the twigs of water. Inside twigs, thin columns of water that connect root to leaf break apart, releasing ultrasonic snaps. To hear these high-pitched sounds, I pressed a sensor to a twig of ponderosa pine and followed these sounds of thirst through the day. They rose as the dry afternoon wore on, a crescendo of distress.
Too much drought makes forests more vulnerable to insect attack and fire, so these microscopic sounds are indicators of much larger patterns: Globally, in the first dozen years of this century, 0.9 million square miles (2.3 million square kilometers) of forest were lost to fire, logging, drought and insects, but only 0.3 million square miles (0.8 million square kilometers) regrew. Forests need our help just as much as we need them for water, oxygen and wood products.
A Social Network
Trees and humans: We’re in this together, just as we have been since the first time a human ancestor made a fire or built a lean-to from branches. Trees form gathering places for people, serving as hubs around which our social networks and culture grow. Traveling to trees around the world, I found that this is as true on the sidewalk of a big city as it is in the olive groves of the Middle East or the gardens of Japan.
Trees unite us. Even the sound of a wood fire acts as a social catalyst for people. Hearing the gentle crackle of flame, our minds relax and the conversation turns away from the everyday into the realm of the imagination.
This is a reciprocal relationship. A tree planted along a city street has only a 60 percent chance of survival if it is planted as a lonely, unnoticed object. But this survival probability jumps to nearly 100 percent if the tree is planted by the people who live in its neighborhood and if the tree has a tag with simple information about its species’ name and needs.
The same is true in the Middle East, where olive trees thrive only when they are tended and irrigated by people. In other words, a tree lives well when it is given a place within the human social network, when it is connected to the people who live around it.
Too much drought makes forests more vulnerable to insect attack and fire, so these microscopic sounds are indicators of much larger patterns: Globally, in the first dozen years of this century, 0.9 million square miles (2.3 million square kilometers) of forest were lost to fire, logging, drought and insects, but only 0.3 million square miles (0.8 million square kilometers) regrew. Forests need our help just as much as we need them for water, oxygen and wood products.
A Social Network
Trees and humans: We’re in this together, just as we have been since the first time a human ancestor made a fire or built a lean-to from branches. Trees form gathering places for people, serving as hubs around which our social networks and culture grow. Traveling to trees around the world, I found that this is as true on the sidewalk of a big city as it is in the olive groves of the Middle East or the gardens of Japan.
Trees unite us. Even the sound of a wood fire acts as a social catalyst for people. Hearing the gentle crackle of flame, our minds relax and the conversation turns away from the everyday into the realm of the imagination.
This is a reciprocal relationship. A tree planted along a city street has only a 60 percent chance of survival if it is planted as a lonely, unnoticed object. But this survival probability jumps to nearly 100 percent if the tree is planted by the people who live in its neighborhood and if the tree has a tag with simple information about its species’ name and needs.
The same is true in the Middle East, where olive trees thrive only when they are tended and irrigated by people. In other words, a tree lives well when it is given a place within the human social network, when it is connected to the people who live around it.
Trees are made from connections. So to care for them, we need to hear and understand these life-giving relationships. Listen, smell, feel, look! Turn on the senses: This is the foundation of the art and science of gardening and landscape design.
Before we take pen to paper to sketch our garden plan, or shovels in hand to loosen the soil for new plantings, let’s slow down and pay attention to what our surroundings are telling us. What ecological stories are present around our homes? How might our work as planters and caretakers of trees and other plants make these stories more vibrant and beautiful?
Trees and other plants thrive when their networks of connections are rich and healthy. Learning about these networks is as simple as taking the time to listen, engaging first our senses and then our curiosity. Whether you’re establishing a new landscaped area or working with an established garden, the first step is to sit and turn on your senses. Literally listen to the trees and their surroundings.
How does wind move through and around the space you’re in? Are some corners quieter than others? Does vibration of passing traffic murmur through the soil? How will plants feel — yes, feel through the motion sensors in their cells — in each location? Then move on to other senses: How does the aroma of soil differ as you move around the garden? You’ll look crazy as you cup and sniff the soil, but you’ll learn which parts are most fertile, damp or sandy. You’re a sommelier of soils.
Next attend to the light and its changing character through the day. This is the plants’ food, yet each species has a different preference for light and heat. Our hands also reveal the stories of our homes. Is soil sticky and heavy with clay, spongy with organic matter or friable and dusty? Your hands will soon think like roots, understanding the physical dimensions of your garden, drawing your imagination into the plants’ world.
Conversation with people is an essential part of these explorations. Horticultural knowledge dwells as much in the memories of neighbors and local master gardeners as it does in the pages of books. These living memories are exquisitely tuned to the variegations of the landscape.
Before we take pen to paper to sketch our garden plan, or shovels in hand to loosen the soil for new plantings, let’s slow down and pay attention to what our surroundings are telling us. What ecological stories are present around our homes? How might our work as planters and caretakers of trees and other plants make these stories more vibrant and beautiful?
Trees and other plants thrive when their networks of connections are rich and healthy. Learning about these networks is as simple as taking the time to listen, engaging first our senses and then our curiosity. Whether you’re establishing a new landscaped area or working with an established garden, the first step is to sit and turn on your senses. Literally listen to the trees and their surroundings.
How does wind move through and around the space you’re in? Are some corners quieter than others? Does vibration of passing traffic murmur through the soil? How will plants feel — yes, feel through the motion sensors in their cells — in each location? Then move on to other senses: How does the aroma of soil differ as you move around the garden? You’ll look crazy as you cup and sniff the soil, but you’ll learn which parts are most fertile, damp or sandy. You’re a sommelier of soils.
Next attend to the light and its changing character through the day. This is the plants’ food, yet each species has a different preference for light and heat. Our hands also reveal the stories of our homes. Is soil sticky and heavy with clay, spongy with organic matter or friable and dusty? Your hands will soon think like roots, understanding the physical dimensions of your garden, drawing your imagination into the plants’ world.
Conversation with people is an essential part of these explorations. Horticultural knowledge dwells as much in the memories of neighbors and local master gardeners as it does in the pages of books. These living memories are exquisitely tuned to the variegations of the landscape.
Shukkei-en garden in Hiroshima, Japan, dates from 1620 and carefully integrates the sensory experience of plants, water, rocks and built structures. The garden was leveled by the 1945 Hiroshima bomb, then rebuilt. Today it is a popular oasis in the midst of a busy city.
A Foundation for Garden Design
These are not newfangled practices. Sakuteiki, the 11th-century Japanese manual of gardening, possibly the oldest written record of landscape design, exhorts people to open themselves to the disposition of mountain streams, to wind and emotion.
The author, probably Tachibana no Toshitsuna, son of an imperial regent, urged gardeners to open their minds and pay attention to “wild nature,” the sensory experience of plants, rocks and water. He believed that both direct experience of the world and contemplation of the work of past master gardeners were necessary, a humble awareness of the knowledge of both humans and nonhumans in the garden. The garden is not an escape into domineering control of nature; rather it requires sustained attention to the interconnections of life.
This philosophy continues in later Japanese horticultural treatises. Shingen’s 15th-century writings and sketches on landscape design, sometimes attributed to the 11th-century priest Zōen, tell us that a gardener must pay “full attention” within the garden to the orientation of rocks, the movements of birds and the form of tree limbs. Reverence, respect and attention are the foundation of landscape and garden design, not control of nature without first listening.
Before sketching out your springtime garden plan or heading to the tree nursery, step outside and start a notebook of the senses, a diary of your observations.
Continued over many weeks, this becomes your knowledge of home. Return often, and see where your ears lead you, guided by your awareness and curiosity. The trees will teach you.
Hear the Songs of Trees
To hear recordings of trees and their communities, click the four links below.
A Foundation for Garden Design
These are not newfangled practices. Sakuteiki, the 11th-century Japanese manual of gardening, possibly the oldest written record of landscape design, exhorts people to open themselves to the disposition of mountain streams, to wind and emotion.
The author, probably Tachibana no Toshitsuna, son of an imperial regent, urged gardeners to open their minds and pay attention to “wild nature,” the sensory experience of plants, rocks and water. He believed that both direct experience of the world and contemplation of the work of past master gardeners were necessary, a humble awareness of the knowledge of both humans and nonhumans in the garden. The garden is not an escape into domineering control of nature; rather it requires sustained attention to the interconnections of life.
This philosophy continues in later Japanese horticultural treatises. Shingen’s 15th-century writings and sketches on landscape design, sometimes attributed to the 11th-century priest Zōen, tell us that a gardener must pay “full attention” within the garden to the orientation of rocks, the movements of birds and the form of tree limbs. Reverence, respect and attention are the foundation of landscape and garden design, not control of nature without first listening.
Before sketching out your springtime garden plan or heading to the tree nursery, step outside and start a notebook of the senses, a diary of your observations.
Continued over many weeks, this becomes your knowledge of home. Return often, and see where your ears lead you, guided by your awareness and curiosity. The trees will teach you.
Hear the Songs of Trees
To hear recordings of trees and their communities, click the four links below.
1. Hear dawn break over the Amazon rainforest in Ecuador. Recorded with a microphone from the top of a ceibo tree.
2. Listen to a pear tree on Broadway in Manhattan. Recorded with an accelerometer picking up vibrations in the tree’s bark.
3. Hear 12 hours of ultrasonic clicks from one ponderosa pine twig compressed into 40 seconds. The rate of “clicking” reveals the number of ultrasonic pops coming from the twig. The ponderosa pine grows behind a petrified redwood stump in Florissant Fossil Beds National Monument in Colorado. Recorded with an ultrasound sensor pressed against a twig.
4. Listen to a beetle chew wood inside this dead green ash tree log in Shakerag Hollow, Cumberland Plateau, Tennessee. Recorded with a microphone held next to the bark.
The cover photograph of Haskell’s book, published in April 2017, shows the young, pink leaves of monkey pot tree (Lecythis pisonis) in Yasuní Biosphere Reserve, Ecuador. More info about the book and where to get it
More
Why, When and How to Plant a Tree
‘Terroir’ Brings a Sense of Place to Your Landscape
5 Ways to Stop Chasing the ‘Perfect’ Garden
Houzz guides to growing trees
More
Why, When and How to Plant a Tree
‘Terroir’ Brings a Sense of Place to Your Landscape
5 Ways to Stop Chasing the ‘Perfect’ Garden
Houzz guides to growing trees
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Breathing in …and breathing out gratitude for your article and our magnificent trees.
What a wonderful article and thank you for including the sounds from the trees!! We live in FL but surround by trees instead of water. We've tried to leave a lot of natural growth in our woods, it's not tidy but it is teaming with life. The ocean relaxes me, but the woods own me!
Reading about your statement: Trees are full of sound, that is really something new and exciting.