Gratitude for Trees
There are no Truffula trees around here, but I am particularly thankful this season for the trees in my yard, neighborhood, parks, down along the river trail, and out in the forest. Over the past months, the value of trees keeps coming up in conferences, conversations, my Toastmasters club, and books and articles. You don’t have to be knocked in the head by a black walnut to realize how fortunate we are to be accompanied on life’s journey by trees.
The ancient alchemists attempted to transform base metals into gold and silver, endeavoring to enrich low-value materials. Today, there are modern-day alchemists out there working diligently and largely under the radar to transform many materials upon which our society places very little value: stuff otherwise headed to our landfills for disposal.
Dispatches from the Cryosphere
For the majority of us in the Chesapeake Bay Watershed (with the exception of New Yorkers and those from northeastern PA), we will likely not encounter moraines, fjords, drumlins, eskers, or kettles on our watershed ramblings. These are just a few of the landscapes left behind by the massive Laurentide Ice Sheet that dredged its way across Canada and the northern tier of the U,S, 100,000 to 11,000 years ago.
However, there are still places on this remarkable planet that are covered with ice – the Cryosphere.
The Cryosphere is the part of Earth that is frozen. Think ice sheets, glaciers, permafrost. The “cry” in Cryosphere is derived from the Greek krios, meaning cold, but I can’t help think of the double meaning here as these fragile systems melt away.
I’ve walked this way many times – the route down to the river trail. I walk further downhill along narrow sidewalks, along a utility substation with buzzing machinery, down a gravel road. For some reason, it feels different on this day in an oddly menacing way. I spot a utility pole and can barely see the pole for the vine that is using it as a trellis. I quicken my pace, not knowing exactly why. As I draw closer, I notice that the vine – I recognize it now as kudzu – is not only creeping up the pole but also laterally along the ground, and has in fact covered an area several hundred feet in diameter.
It was fifteen years ago, and the meeting conference center meeting room was standing-room only. I took one of the remaining standing spots at the back of the room. Everyone looked expectantly towards the front of room, note books and pens at the ready to write down whatever secret watershed code was to be transmitted from. . .some type of watershed guru? The person who occupied the speaking position happened to be my boss at the time – Tom Schueler. Tom’s demeanor gave me the impression that he would rather be in one of many other places (probably a wooded trail along the Patapsco River) than standing there with a crowd holding onto his every word.