Pals Through Thick and Thin
“A friend is one soul abiding in two bodies.” — Aristotle
As the breeze drifted our canoe towards a small rock island, I noticed an unlikely grove, a trio of white cedars growing impossibly out of the isle. As we got closer, I stopped paying attention to the tip of my fishing rod. I was drawn to the miracle of trees growing out of a barren, whale-shaped rock backlit by a hazy sunset.
The huddle of trees was no taller than the length of our canoe, yet the girth of the co-joined cedars was thicker than my waist. Walleyes be damned, at least for a few minutes. I reeled in my jig and we paddled to the edge of this most ancient garden for a closer look.
For roughly 10,000 years this small island of solid rock has felt the wrath and wash of the seesaw of seasons. Water expands when it freezes, so a minute fracture will expand into a larger and larger crack over time. This fissure of fertility catches any organic material that drifts or falls into it. Such a fracture exists on this rounded rock. It was the anchor point for these pals.
The crack, about eight inches wide, zig-zagged below the cedars. Here the tree roots were thickest and wedged tightly into the dirt-filled crack. It was no wonder these trees were unshakeable from this mostly barren outcrop.
This example is not all that unique in canoe country. There are many rock outcroppings on water bodies that host a small collection of trees and other flora. It always amazes me that nicks, cracks and pockets on the rock can become the most humble of vessels to collect dust, dead leaves, conifer needles, dead insects and even gull or otter feces. Miraculously, grasses, trees and blooming flowers like harebell, pale corydalis, ox-eye daisy can take root in these most humble and scant of seed beds. In the case of this pair of cedars, two seeds washed in and managed to take hold.
Lichens are my favorite beacons that illuminate the bare rocks. I am partial to the dazzling common orange lichen. This nitrophilous (nitrogen-loving) lichen, often called a sunburst lichen (Xanthoria sp.)is often found on exposed boulders, especially where gulls or raptors perch and defecate. I prefer the descriptive name that some Innuit in the far north use: sunian anak or “excrement of the sun.” A perfect name.
Judging by the size and stature of the stoic grove of trees anchored here they have known good times and tough times. Shearing wind, snow and ice crystals have limited the height of these island-bound trees. Instead of growing high, their energies were put into the thick trunks that have allowed the two cedar pals to form a common base. The thick exposed roots encircle each other like a muscular python. I can’t help but think this strategy of entangled tree bases is a partnered act in solidity.
I wondered if the roots, with their hairlike rootlets were both absorbing nutrients and sharing communications. Several years ago, I was mesmorized by Suzanne Simard, Professor of Forest Ecology at the University of British Columbia and author of the highly acclaimed book Finding the Mother Tree:Discovering the Wisdom of the Forest. She was a speaker at the annual Nobel Conference at Gustavus Adolphus College. Her work has pioneered the relatively new arena of plant communication and intelligence. Through her technical and innovative research she has discovered that some trees share their excess carbon and nitrogen through the mycorrhizal network. In other words, trees can actually take care of their own kind in ways that increase their survival.
We drifted away to resume the quest for walleyes. But it was hard to concentrate as the sun dropped into the jagged spruce and pine horizon line. I kept glancing over at the embracing cedars in the waning golden light. I wanted to engage in their communication and listen to rustling tales of past seasons. What have the psalms of summer silence taught them? And how did those frigid northwest winds hone their inner toughness?
I left those questions to simmer. We paddled quietly back in the twilight to our campsite with an empty stringer. I glanced back to acknowledge the mid lake monument of pals.
“Hold tight friends, don’t let that love knot loosen its hold.”