Finding the Mother Tree: Uncovering the Wisdom and Intelligence of the Forest

by Suzanne Simard

Mary Thomas’s grandmother Macrit showed her how to peel the bark so as not to hurt the tree, as her grandmother had shown her, and as Mary would show her own grandchildren. Teaching them how to leave the pulpy cambium intact so it would be primed to heal over, to ensure the tree seeded new generations. They used the bark to make baskets of all sizes, some for thimbleberries, cranberries, and strawberries. The impermeable bark of the bigger birches down by the river would be perfect for canoes, the luxuriant leaves for soap and shampoo, the sap for tonics and medicines, the best wood for bowls and toboggans. With care—planted in rich soil, with good neighbors, in proper numbers, and with roots unrestrained—even these upland birches could become prominent providers in the forest. Woven among the birches, the firs were also a little bigger than where we’d trenched between them, and they were in prime condition. In the early years, the mycorrhizal connections with birch had helped the fir saplings grow taller, and in adulthood, this head start still mattered. Two decades later, firs performed better in the neighborhood of birches than where they’d been cut off from their neighbors or where they’d grown only among other firs.