A little boy grows up watching his older brothers climbing trees, hanging upside down from branches, swinging on ropes, playing Tarzan and wishes desperately he could do the same. As a toddler his mother takes him on walks, they look at trees and she explains about their leaves, roots and how they work with each other to breathe, drink and feed. He examines the bark, how it feels, how it heals around wounds and takes note of the variety in shape, texture, size and appearance. The difference in leaves is amazing to him. They come in different sizes, shapes, colors, shades, and details. He loves playing with found leaves, tracing their shapes, feeling their ribs, dissecting the parts, even crushing them to see if he can squeeze anything out of them.
As he gets stronger, he starts trying to climb some of the smaller trees in his yard. A Plumeria tree with its low branches and multiple forks is his first climb. Every day he gets stronger as he climbs higher than before. The long leaves that break off easily, oozing a milky sap, become his quills for drawing on the adjacent brick wall. Fragrant flowers that grow in abundance attract busily aggressive hummingbirds with brilliant blue green plumage. Later, caterpillars with clown like stripes of green and black and a long "horn" on their back-end munch on the leaves with their orange red heads. These are fat and velvety and don't sting when brushed against, unlike the hairy ones that appear on the avocado tree.
This boy is still too young and small to climb the Ficus trees that line the avenue, but has found an easier challenge in the Mango tree. It has one fork in the trunk, low enough for him to wedge his foot in and pull himself up. After learning to loosen his foot from the tree's grip, he figures out how to scoot his butt up one side of the fork, with his feet against the other, till he reaches the next branches. Once there, the branches become ladder like. In the dark shade he finds that the inside of the tree is a wonderland! Leaves are confined to the outermost layer of the branches where they reach the sunlight, forming a covering for the boy's jungle gym. The shade is luxurious and concealing, making for a perfect hideout. Finding an opening in the crown, he has a small "window" with a discreet view of the house. Within a short time this growing "monkey" manages to work a couple of boards up to the branches just below the opening. Wedging them into the branches, this small platform becomes his first tree house where he can be alone and contemplate the wonders around him. Even his brothers don't know about it or have such "castles" in the sky.
Friends come to play and these trees are shared. Sometimes he has to teach others how to climb. He learns a lesson about showing off and panic at his neighbor's yard, climbing a Cashew tree with new friends. Falling on his back, the wind is knocked out of him. The other kids run away in panic and he is sure he will die, unable to breathe. Somehow, this dying boy manages to climb the brick wall separating their yards and into the window of his room, where he collapses on his bed still gasping for air. Fortunately, he does not die and lives to climb many more trees.
It is not long before he can climb the Ficus trees in front of his home. Mimicking his older brothers, he gets up on the front wall and, with a small hop, reaches a branch, swinging his legs to grab the branch in an embrace that helps him up onto the branch. From there, his determination helps him master the tricks his brothers can do.
As he gets older, certain things must be done "on the sly." The countryside offers trees that form perfect hideouts in low lying places. These trees have menacing thorns and interwoven branches where hidden tunnels can be shaped into entrances and escape routes, should his brothers or "spies" come looking. Here he and friends can smoke cigarettes and be "bad boys."
In his teens, he becomes interested in camping, as a way to gain independence. His camping gear is meager, so he and a friend build shelter out of bushes and weeds in fields and on the edge of a forest. The more they enjoy getting away on their own, they decide to build a tree house in the woods, as a more permanent place to camp out. Enlisting another friend, the search is on for a tree with forks suitable for building a platform. Eventually they find a Pau D'arco tree growing at a slight angle with a four feet wide trunk rising to thirty feet before branching into two forks whose branches form a tight crown. For several months these friends make the trip to the forest on weekends to build their getaway. First, pole trees are cut and used to make a ladder, two logs are hoisted to the forks to form a base with cross poles across them to complete the platform, including a trap door. Low sides made of horizontal poles will keep them from rolling off the platform when sleeping and they make a roof frame which is covered with thatch made from palm leaves. When complete, this platform can sleep four on the floor with the trapdoor closed and two more can sleep in hammocks strung above. The area around the base of the tree is cleared and arranged with log benches, a campfire and a keg of water. These guys have never experienced anything this grand. As others learn of the tree house, close friends are invited on picnics and camp outs. This is a magical place of their own, swaying in the tree top, on a moon lit night, with a light breeze, is beyond description. A special bond is formed and a love of this tree and place becomes legendary.
In time, this young man who loves trees finds himself in a new country to finish high school and go to college. It is flat, dry and mostly treeless, very different from the land he grew up in. His uncle lives in the mountains. This becomes his occasional escape to see trees and variation in landscape. His sense of loss is tremendous, not fully understanding how profoundly he misses trees until later in life. In college he decides to study art, develop his manual skills and love of sculpture. Craving more, he moves East where he believes a career as an artist is more attainable. He works with an artist as a welding assistant and ventures into his own studio. Naively, he thinks "if I make good artwork, people will buy my work." Life teaches him that making a living is not that simple. Bar-tending for a stretch segues into a job as goldsmith. This sculpting in miniature becomes a useful way to support himself and continue creating as an artist. Settling down near The Potomac River, he falls in love, has two children and learns how much trees mean to him.
Just before his son is born, he and his wife live in an apartment with a picture window facing a hill covered with a forest of old Oaks, Poplar, Maple, and Sweet gum. It is a view that gives him peace and a changing palette with the seasons. Tall and majestic, these trees remind him of the forest of his youth where he and friends built a tree house. The trees are close enough that on stormy days he can see the sway and strain of their tall trunks and the bristling of their crowns as the wind rushes through them. These living creatures give him a connection to Nature he thought he might have lost. Then one day he comes home from work and opens the door to a great shock! The hill is a wound of orange, no trees, just raw clay where bulldozers, in one day, shaved the hill bare. His wife comes out of the kitchen, also in disbelief, confirming the truth of this nightmare. A new development is going up and the trees are destroyed to make way for construction. His sense of loss is devastating, like the sudden death of a close friend.
Soon, they move to a house near a protected forest park. Large Penn Oaks grow in the yard and surrounding neighborhood. Large roots seem to say "we are here to stay," giving him a sense of connection and healing. A daughter is born and in time, he and his little boy are taking her into the woods watching and listening to birds, feeling the majesty of these old trees, walking on a carpet of leaves giving nutrients back to the soil. As his children grow, he builds them tree houses, takes them camping, fishing, hiking and he can never resist pointing out wildlife on their family trips. His wife and kids take to teasing him, calling him "Nature Boy," on these occasions. He doesn't mind, his love of Nature is a legacy to share with them.
Once his children reach middle school age, he and his wife are able to buy a house closer to the Potomac River, with old growth trees in the yard and neighborhood. It is no surprise that their homes feature large established trees with deep roots and sheltering crowns. The children grow and start lives of their own as their father spends more time making his artwork. Living ten minutes from the river, he becomes a frequent visitor enjoying the water and the trees along the shore. A particular pebble beach becomes his favorite haunt, where driftwood, stones, shells, and beach glass are regularly deposited by the tides and floods. At low tide the beach stretches for about a mile. Driftwood washes up in many forms and shapes, some traveling for many miles down a watershed lined with forests. Anything from huge logs, trees recently toppled over by erosion, branches, roots, to smaller pieces are left on this beach. This artist is seduced by certain shapes of wood and looks for hardwoods that have gone through a longer aging process, eroding the softer wood. Some of these may have been at the bottom of the river for many years, waterlogged and no longer floating. These are hardier wood grains with more character and history and they speak to him in a secret language he tries to understand. Sometimes, on the beach or back in his backyard studio, he can see how two or more pieces of wood might go together. Trying different orientations, he discovers what seems like the natural relationship between these pieces. It is as if they are showing him how they are related. This is an exciting discovery and a life changing way of making his artwork. Through this experience, he learns the importance and meaning of trees in his life. This boy is now a man of some age, an artist who loves and listens to trees, he is me, Marcos Smyth.
Sometimes the assembled pieces of wood form an abstract shape, sometimes a creature or figure. I am connected to trees through this wood provided by the river. There is a history to this material and this place on the river where indigenous people lived, fished, worshiped and communed with Nature. Channeling the spirits and essence attached to this stretch of river and its gifts is my endeavor. Remaining open and receptive to what these materials and place reveal to me is my practice. The little boy learning to climb trees is still with me, in wonder of trees and what they mean to us.
After reading Finding the Mother Tree: Discovering the Wisdom of the Forest, by Suzanne Simard, I discover the ground breaking research that reveals the vast inter connection of trees, underground, through their roots and fungi living symbiotically. These are ancient beings of great wisdom worth learning from. Trees are not just pieces of wood that grow, live, and die, furnishing building materials and fuel. They are magnificent, transformative, lifesaving members of this world dependent on such a delicate balance to sustain life. The Overstory, by Richard Powers is another book, more easily read as a novel, that brings trees and their meaning for ordinary people into focus. It is a call to activism, asking us to work towards valuing trees as revered beings in need of saving and protecting, lest we destroy ourselves.
As climate change threatens our habitat and life itself, trees are also the "canaries in the mine." I've seen in my own life here and overseas how cutting down forests and their devastation by disease or pests changes the weather perceptibly. As a boy, the state capital where I lived had a legendary way of telling time. Business was conducted "before the rain" or "after the rain," as such was the constancy of the daily rains. As I grew up, the forests were cut down around the city to make way for development and large industrial plants. Now the weather patterns follow no discernible cycle. This has been multiplied worldwide, and climatic changes are growing worse. Scientists say there is no one solution, that there are many factors. It is apparent to me that most of these factors are connected or consequential to the disappearance of trees. If we can help others understand the value of trees, stop their destruction, and help reestablish forests, I believe we have a good chance of saving our world for future generations. Indigenous peoples understand the sacred nature of trees. We need to carry on the first people's tradition of being trees' stewards, worthy of their gifts, protecting them and helping them thrive, or suffer the hubris of over exploitation.
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