Tree talk

7 June 2008

Jeremy Clarke on his Low Life

We gathered in a small car park down by the river. The leader, called Iris, wrote down our names and email addresses as we arrived and took our money. Then she asked us to introduce ourselves to the group and to explain in a few words why we’d come along.

‘I like how big and strong and amazing trees are, and I want to learn more about them and I’d like to ask for their forgiveness,’ said a woman, I’d guess in her sixties, called Ruth.

‘I adore trees. I’m a late starter with things spiritual but I have a hunger,’ said middle-aged Tom.

Shimako, a young Japanese woman, said that she loved trees because of all living beings it seemed to her that trees were the most resigned to the way they live.

In Frazer’s seminal study of magic and religion The Golden Bough, the eminent Victorian says this:

To the savage world in general is animate, and trees and plants are no exception to the rule. He thinks that they have souls like his own, and he treats them accordingly.

It’s strange to think that fewer than 100 years ago animism was seen as a classic symptom of a primitive mind and today it is the height of European middle-class sophistication. Of the eight of us, six made statements that one way or another conformed to the animist view that trees had souls. The two exceptions were myself — I said I wanted to learn how to identify a few native species — and a horrid little boy called Esben, who said he hated trees just to upset his doting parents.

Introductions over, Iris led us along the towpath until we came to our first tree. We gathered around. One of the animists began stroking the leaves and making cooing noises. ‘Can anyone tell me what this tree is?’ said Iris. We couldn’t. But then neither could Iris at first. ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘I’m not sure what this is myself.’ She stretched her neck out this way and that looking for clues. It was a smallish tree, 20-feet high at most, with a trunk no thicker than a flag pole.

And then somebody pointed to a lone, insect-ravaged apple still clinging to one of the upper branches and wondered whether this meant we were looking at an apple tree. ‘Of course. Of course,’ said Iris, somewhat rattled. ‘Sorry, folks. I couldn’t get my head around that one for a second. It just shows you, tree identification is not always a simple matter, even for the tree specialist.’

I took a lot of comfort from Iris saying that.