It was the worst of times, it was the best of times

I have said it before but I've always hated winter, and this winter was a particularly tough one. The normal chaos of family life seemed less normal and more chaotic than ever: poor health, poor decisions and poor finances to name a few. However, we had earlier in the year resolved to get out and do stuff this winter and were determined to follow through despite everything that was going on. Nothing too demanding mind. This meant lots of short walks on level ground in places we would never usually go. Forests.

Like everyone, I vaguely understand the importance of trees as nature’s air purifiers but for the most part I have regarded them as merely the place I’m most likely find a bird. Most birds have the good sense to migrate in winter, I wish I could do that. Flowers and leaves also disappear from sight - so what’s left to enjoy? All that remains is barren landscapes of bare-naked trees, but I have lately grown to love them.

Whether small and shrubby or big and gnarly, in winter trees appear more open and honest than the opulence of spring and summer permits. Their ancient trunks and skeletal branches tell stories of times of hardship and times of plenty and times of change but it’s what we don’t see that is truly remarkable. They care for each other, for example, through networks of connected roots and fungi that share nutrients with neighbours who are deficient, diseased or dying. Sometimes even stumps seem to thrive as a result, take a closer look and see. They communicate with each other too; when attacked by pests, trees emit a scent to warn others of the impending danger. Those downwind then pump toxins to their leaves which said pests find unpalatable and even deadly. They are courteous. There is only so much space in a forest and the touch of another tree’s branch gently signals 'thus far and no further'. The young saplings too must be patient as they wait, sometimes for decades, for a space to open in the canopy. Then and only then can they grow and fill the void left by the felled or fallen elders.

I may be a little guilty of anthropomorphism here but trees provide an object lesson in how to live... and, dare I say it, die.

Nature’s X-ray. Stark and beautiful, troubling and truthful. I have never said this before, but I will really miss winter.