Plants and People United

Today I went out to play my role as crew leader for Friends of Trees, the group in Portland whose mission is spreading woody vegetation throughout the city.  There are so many reasons why this is a good idea, but today rain was constant for the entire time, testing our resolve and waterproof clothing.  With excessive precipitation in the northwest and blizzards in the midwest and Europe, I wonder if this is the increased intensity of weather that is promised by global warming.  If so, it seems like it will be tough to adjust to, but buying shares of GoreTex, or at least plenty of articles of clothing of that miracle fabric might be a first step.

A neighborhood treeplanting appears to operate on the exact opposite premise of the old movie, Field of Dreams.  In the movie the catch phrase was “If you build it, they will come,” referring to a magical baseball game that would happen when a baseball field is created.  For a treeplanting, it seems like the adage should be “If they come, we will build it,” because the trees just can’t get planted unless the volunteers show up with their trucks and muscles and willingness. Every time it comes together, and every time it is a magical thing.
In reality of course, volunteers and the paid staff have spent months getting all the parts together so that  we can’t help but rise early, don our raincoats and go out to get very wet and dirty and put some trees in the ground.   Today, two dozen crews planted 250 trees.

My crew were all homeowners who had signed up to get a tree in their planting strip by the curb.  City inspectors had previously inspected for the placement and size of tree, probationers had come and dug the holes, utilities had marked the placement of their lines, and neighborhood association volunteers had solicited donations from local eateries so that the planters could be fed both breakfast and lunch.  Other volunteers had coordinated the ordering of the trees, the operation of the food preparation, and the all important sign-up of trucks and truck drivers.  In the city, people who own pickups are always beseeched by their neighbors, and this is one of those times.

Because of the torrents of rain I didn’t expect a lot of manpower, but we had what we needed, including a chef, two teachers and a social service provider.  There was also the nine year old son of the chef, who assisted at the site of the first tree, but rather wisely retreated to the truck and his book for the remainder of the exercise.

Maybe because we were all skilled at working with others, after I gave the demonstration on planting, everyone literally dug in and worked great together.   I’m sure it also helped that we were all quickly sopping wet and on the verge of being cold if we didn’t keep moving, but we got the work done and were back for lunch by 12:30 PM.  After stripping off at least one layer of wetness, we were spooning into homemade soup and bread and exchanging business cards and email addresses.  Each and every time I plant trees, in the perhaps vain hope of making a dent in carbon dioxide levels of the world, I coincidentally  gain a palpable sense of goodwill towards my fellow humans.   For whatever reason, it always works!

Getting Warmer

Ribbon of Highway

Trees, rivers, clouds, mountains;
elements repeat in random combination
next to slippery lines of vehicles
following each other at furious speed
up and down the Northwest corridor.

There are big and little boxes of humanity
crowded around nodes of population, but the blur
of the drive between Portland and Vancouver
is still the leafy comforter of nature.

I calculate my carbon dioxide production
to be five hundred pounds there and back,
for reasons I call necessary, but I feel guilt.
It seems like plants will save us from ourselves
right up to the moment they can’t.

9/11/10

Up On the Mountain

At 6:30 PM the sun slipped behind the shoulder of Mount Hood, and immediately the air cooled. A reminder that we depend on that star for everything. I put on a second layer of clothes and turn to making dinner, which here on Gnarl Ridge, a rib of volcanic gravel above treeline, means heating water to soak precooked food from town. The next two hours we watch the layers of hills between us and Mount Jefferson to the south, turn from green to orange to gray and finally disappear into twilight haze. A crescent moon emerges briefly and then sets behind the steep canyon carved by the Newton glacier snowmelt.

In the city, I notice the pieces of nature close at hand: whether the garden needs watering, and the crows flapping quietly to the mysterious place they all go in the last light. But here there is the collection of Clark’s nutcrackers saying their last throaty goodnights and then, almost immediately, the whole Milky Way appears. The sky seems both vast and too close over my head. For added punctuation, there are the exclamations of the Perseid meteor shower.

I do not sleep straight through the night as a certain amount of tossing and turning is expected on the ground. It is noisy as gusts of cold air rush down the mountain into the hotter valleys below. But at about five in the morning it starts getting light and I begin to enjoy sleeping in, drowsing from one hour to the next. At six the mountain turns pink. At seven the nutcrackers collect again for morning chatter. At eight o’clock it is starting to get warm and finally at nine Robert coaxes me out of the tent with coffee. I am never so lazy at home.

Because we are camped right off the Timberline trail, which circumnavigates the entire girth of the mountain, I expect to see fellow hikers on this weekend day. But I am surprised to hear quick footsteps outside the tent at 8:00AM. These are the first of several groups of folks running the entire trail. I am in awe of such prowess, but I am not so sure it is the best way to see the mountain.

Mount Hood is a young volcano and its upper reaches maintain snow year round. It is good to live close to a place that is still geologically new. It gives proof that the planet will wax and wane regardless of us and what we might do. There are plenty of people using the trails of Mount Hood, even on this far side from Portland, and I don’t think that can be a bad thing. But can we hold the awe of this geography as we go back to town in our carbon spitting machines? Just being here will not stop the glacier from melting. We will have to do more than keep a good thought.