Finding the Mother Tree: Discovering the Wisdom of the Forest

by Suzanne Simard

I wished I had someone to talk to out here in the forest, to debate my growing sense that the fungus might be a trustworthy helper to the seedlings. Did the yellow fungus contain some secret ingredient that I—and everyone—had somehow missed? If I didn’t find an answer, I’d be haunted by turning this clear-cut into a killing field, a graveyard of tree bones. A brush field of rhododendrons and huckleberries instead of a new forest, a burgeoning problem, one plantation dying after another. I couldn’t let this happen. I had seen forests grow back naturally after my family had logged near my home and knew it was possible for a forest to recover from a harvest. Perhaps it was because my grandparents had cut only a few trees in a stand, opening gaps where nearby cedars and hemlocks and firs could readily seed in, the new plants easily connecting to the soil. I squinted to spot the timber edge, but it was too distant. These clear-cuts were huge, and perhaps their size was part of the problem. If they had healthy roots, surely trees could regenerate in this expanse. So far, though, my job consisted of overseeing plantations with little chance of turning into anything resembling the towering cathedrals once here.