“The hidden life of trees” by Peter Wohlleben

Wohlleben’s book was originally published in German in 2015 and then translated and published in English in 2016. The book attracted a lot of mainstream interest due to Wohlleben’s “wood wide web” description of trees communicating with each other and sharing nutrients. I was aware of this at the time and I must admit the way he presented it all put me off. But I’ve now read the book and that’s only a small part of the wide range of topics he covers.

Peter Wohlleben began his career as a forester for the state of Rhineland-Palatinate in Germany but became disillusioned with the “big forestry” style of management and began managing a beechwood for the local council of Hummel. He published several successful books about forests, nature, and threats to the environment, before “The hidden life of trees”.

Working in woodland owned by the local council, Wohlleben gave guided tours and has described the necessity of translating the language of scientists into words other people can understand. This is mentioned in this nine minute interview by Fredrik Skavlan, which summarises the most well-known points of the book.

I believe it is this “translation” process which led Wohlleben to adopt some very anthropomorphic language, giving trees human characteristics. Trees “feel pain”, “learn”, and “remember”. This language is easier for people to relate to and provides excellent sound bites for press releases and interviews. But feeling pain, learning, and remembering are more than just responding to stimuli and changing state. They all require a level of awareness not just response. There is no evidence that trees have that, and it is misleading to talk as if they do.

“Learning” in particular requires the ability to absorb new information. A thermostat does not “learn” that the room is too hot. It just responds to that stimulus in a way determined by its design. The design already embodies the state of being “too hot”. The device does not learn about being too hot: its pre-existing response to that pre-defined stimulus is just triggered when it happens. This is equally true of organisms like trees which are designed by natural selection rather than electrical engineers. It’s true of biological thermostats in humans too for that matter: I didn’t “learn” when to sweat. My ancestors evolved it as a response to the stimulus of being too hot. I did learn how to use a smartphone though, by absorbing information that none of my ancestors had the chance to acquire.

As I mentioned, all this anthropomorphic language really put me off the book. There was a dose of it in an episode of “Start the week” which I caught on Radio 4 in 2018. It’s still available (and also features Ruth Pavey pitching her book “A wood of one’s own” which I reviewed last week.) It prompted another listener to buy me a paper copy. But but but, now I have actually read it, the anthropomorphic stuff falls away and we quickly get down to the substance.

The book is 250 pages of main text and an easy read: I read it in about four hours in two sittings. There are 36 short chapters, with few even 10 pages long. This creates a very episodic feel, almost like reading the collected articles of a regular newspaper column. Each chapter is focussed on one topic and although they are grouped together in broad themes, you could easily read a single chapter in isolation.

Chapter by chapter, Wohlleben displays his breadth of experience with forests and trees. I say both because his central thesis is that trees form a forest not just by standing in a group but by cooperating. Forests create microclimates and trees benefit from that, and so they have some interest in the survival of their neighbours. In the right circumstances, they will even help neighbours of other species. So a forest can act as a superorganism, rather like an ant colony.

Prof. Suzanne Simard

One dramatic example was established by Suzanne Simand at the University of British Columbia in Canada, who wrote an afterward to the book and whose research provides a lot of its scientific foundation. She tagged sugars with trace amounts of radioactive carbon and discovered that adjacent deciduous birch and evergreen Douglas fir trees pass sugars back and forth during the year depending on who has what and who needs what. Some “mother trees” use the same mechanisms to feed the saplings growing in the shade around their bases, and so they can wait until the parent trees eventually die.

It was Simand who coined the term “wood wide web” as a catchy name for the
mycorrhizal network of fungi which form underground alliances with trees. It has long been known that fungi can convert nitrogen from the air into compounds which plants need, and are able to pass them to trees via the thin fibres on their roots and in return receive sugars produced by photosynthesis up in the sunlight. Subsequent research revealed that a single fungal organism can be exchanging nutrients with multiple trees, perhaps even of different species. Since fungi are able to grow very long filaments through the soil, these networks can cover hundreds of metres.

There’s a TED talk describing her first experiments on this and then the wider picture:

As well as chapters devoted to trees themselves, some other animals are represented in Wohlleben’s book. There are some pages about beavers, with this important observation about why they build dams:

Because water levels can fluctuate wildly with the seasons, many beavers also build dams, blocking streams and turning them into large ponds. Beaver ponds slow the flow of water from the forest, and extensive wetlands form in the areas around the dams. Alders and willows like to grow here; beeches, which cannot stand having wet feet, die off. But the upstart trees in the feeding zone around the lodge don’t get to grow old, for they are the beavers’ living larder. Although beavers damage the forest around them, they exert a positive influence overall by regulating water supplies.

There are a few mistakes that I noticed. Coppice wasn’t a favoured management style because the medieval poor couldn’t wait for trees to grow: it was favoured because pole sized stems are easier to work, especially without powered machinery. That sort of thing. Compare that with the breadth of knowledge beyond the immediate practice and ecology of forestry displayed by a figure like Oliver Rackham.

The passage below also stood out, in contrast to the emerging consensus that herbivores and their predators have a huge rule in shaping forest ecosystems over time. Wohlleben seems unaware of this idea which motivates many of the moves towards rewilding and the reestablishment of these dynamic ecosystems:

A forest would have no problem doing without its larger inhabitants. Deer, wild boar, carnivores, and even most birds wouldn’t leave any yawning gaps in the ecosystem. Even if they were all to disappear at once, the forest would simply go on growing without many adverse effects. Things are completely different when it comes to the tiny creatures under their feet.

In 2018 an illustrated edition of the book was published, with less of the original text but lavish and beautiful photographs of tree and forests. A coffee table book, but one with more substance to its text than a lot of large format books of tree pictures. So perhaps a good choice as a carefully chosen gift to entice someone into the subject once they want to explore beyond the photographs.

All in all, once I got past my initial issues with the anthropomorphic language, I enjoyed the full, unillustrated edition of “The hidden life of trees”. It’s a book with a particular message about the importance of the mycorrhizal network and all its various consequences, but it’s also a worthwhile collection of forestry facts and experiences.

 

“A wood of our own” by Julian Evans

I read “A wood of our own” by Julian Evans before I bought Century Wood, way back in 2007. I was already pretty sure I wanted to own a woodland, and Evans’ book helped confirm it. It’s become the book I compare other woodland owners’ books against, and I’ve looked through it again after reading and reviewing “A wood of one’s own” by Ruth Pavey.

Back in 2007 I had already read Evans’ book “Badgers, beeches, and blisters”, which is out of print but still available as a free PDF from woodlands.co.uk. That is very much a How To book with a lot of practical advice. At the same time as “A wood of our own”, I bought Chris Starr’s “Woodland management: a practical guide” and Ken Broad’s “Caring for small woods”. Both of these are more formal (very formal in Starr’s case: it’s a textbook) How To books in the vein of “Badgers, beeches, and blisters”, whereas “A wood of our own” is autobiographical. A first person account of Evans and his wife and her brother purchasing and managing the wood.

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Renaturing vs rewilding

For several years rewilding has been one of the influences on how I manage Century Wood. It’s never been an entirely comfortable fit though, since “wild” is quite an extreme goal. I’ve contented myself with encouraging elements of wildness but now I think it would be more productive for me to talk about “renaturing”, and I imagine a spectrum with wildwood at one end and very controlled plantation forests at the other.

Rewilding started to enter the public consciousness in Britain about the time I bought Century Wood in 2008, and in 2013 George Monbiot’s book “Feral” gave it a lot of publicity and provided a popular manifesto. I was already thinking about ways to encourage large scale reforestation, and Monbiot’s book crystallized the way in which British uplands are kept bare by sheep, deer, and EU Common Agricultural Policy basic payments.

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After the Flood

Earlier this week I visited Century Wood for the first time after the flooding at the end of October. There has been a lot of rain since, but the water level on the ground was down significantly. I didn’t see any standing water inside the wood and the level in the ditch was well down. The first photo shows the current situation, compared to the usual low level and at the height of the flood last week.

I spent most of the time cutting up dead trees and branches that either threatened to fall on the rides or already had. I normally encourage deadwood, but when it threatens to fall across a ride I sort it out. Some of this standing deadwood was still usable as firewood, and I piled logs from a dead hazel loosely in the Barn for now and I intend to restack it properly in a frame with the ends all exposed. I didn’t set aside any wood for drying last winter, and so this was the first wood to start drying in the Drying Barn.

One trunk I didn’t save had fingers of fungal growth right into the wood, and I also photographed fungi on standing dead poplars which I have left alone for now.

 

Concord and Walden in late summer

In September I was in Boston again and went back to Concord and Walden Pond that I first visited in March: ‘In 1845 Henry David Thoreau built himself a cabin in the woods beside Walden Pond in Massachusetts and started the process which led to “Walden; or, Life in the Woods” in 1854.’  In that post I talk about what Thoreau said and did, and here I’m just adding more photos and videos from September with enough of a description to identify them.

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Thoreau on Staten Island

I’ve done a lot of travelling this year and last month this included New York. Henry David Thoreau lived there for most of 1843, a year and a bit before he went to live in the cabin in the woods by Walden Pond that I wrote about in April. Naturally, I made time to retrace some of his steps and photograph one of the woods he probably knew.

Before we get on to my visit in August, I should explain the context. Thoreau’s mentor was Ralph Waldo Emerson, who had established himself in Thoreau’s native Concord in Massacheusetts, writing and giving popular public lectures in a world before television and film. The town of Concord had a good road to the city and port of Boston via Cambridge, the location of Harvard College. So Emerson and Thoreau were able to get around and enjoy a cosmopolitan environment, whilst living within sight of fields and woods.

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Bagley Wood

This week I spent a couple of hours in the early morning at Bagley Wood near Oxford. The wood has been owned by St. John’s College since the aftermath of the dissolution of the monasteries, and before that it was owned by Abingdon Abbey since 955 AD. It is managed as a nature reserve, for research, and with some areas as plantations. I took a lot of phone camera pictures, as I didn’t have my DSLR with me. I saw a few deer, Bluebells, log stacks, standing dead trees, Leyland Cypress, Oak, Hazel, Larch, and Scots Pine. There were quite a few areas of planting with tree shelters, including one with Oak that I photographed as shown below.

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