Those who read this blog may assume that they know which trees I am talking about, but they are mistaken in this case, as there is a story I have in mind that is of a different origin entirely. Recently I was having a chat with a friend of mine and the friend showed me a look at a garden that contained two trees next to each other, one of them an evergreen tree and the other a deciduous tree that, as it is winter, was nearly bereft of any leaves whatsoever. Most people might see such a scene and not think it noteworthy at all, but for me looking at the scene prompted me to ponder what to me are a set of obvious questions: What do these trees think or feel about each other? Does the evergreen encourage the deciduous tree in the winter when he is without leaves, and barren and lonely? How do these things change when spring brings new life in the form of green shoots?
Not everyone would see trees as being the subjects of conversation and potentially even drama. Trees, after all, are rooted into place and are famously uncommunicative. Most people would think that trees are far too simple of organisms to have psychology, but even if it is hard to know why this is the case, there are studies that have found that trees respond positively to music as well as verbal encouragement, presumably because of the vibrations of sound involved [1]. What I found most striking was how easily and how naturally I saw two trees and from the scene imbued them with something of my own nature and personality in thinking about a story involving them.
Narratives are something that seem particularly human and natural to make. People look at the supposed passage of different geological eras and feel compelled to tell narratives of these ages, even though little survives most of these periods. Where there is not enough evidence to understand the truth, the human tendency to create narrative fills in the gaps with what seems plausible, or makes what we know about one area as an explanation for what was going on at all places during that time. When we look at the sort of wild narratives that people come up with to deal with the most mundane of situations, or the most speculative of endeavors, it is perhaps not surprising at all that someone like myself would think to make a story about two trees that seem so different but find themselves put together.
What were the circumstances of this? Who made the garden in the first place, and pondered what trees to plant there in the midst of all the apartment buildings around the terrace? Were these two different types of trees planted together deliberately? What was the intent of them being placed near each other despite being so different? Was there any intent at all invovled? As human beings we tend to ascribe motive to such a thing, as if the trees were deliberately planted there for some sort of purpose and plan, but it is possible that a bird dropped a seed and it germinated and sprang up into a tree that happened to be placed near one that had been previously planted. It is hard to say, and the trees aren’t talking.
Edge Induced Cohesion 