by Bethany Davey
I’m mourning the death of a tree.
Two weeks ago, one of our neighborhood trees unexpectedly fell victim to an impending gas line project. Though we had received numerous notices about the project—always slated for the ambiguous future—we had not been informed that trees would be removed. Anna, our middle child, and perhaps our most Earth-attuned, alerted us of the news in deep distress: they had watched as a chainsaw roared through the tree’s center. Eventually, even the remaining stump was taken. The children bore witness, as a tree with whom they played for years abruptly and unexpectedly died.
And so, we found ourselves at a tree funeral. Anna and a friend gathered neighbors to honor the life and death of this particular tree. We stood in a semi-circle, many of us still dazed and tender from the recent election results. Though there was (and is!) so much to grieve locally and globally, it was this tree—and these children—that brought us together for a particular grieving. With the offering of snacks and drinks, we were invited to write notes to the tree. Each person was invited to share our reflections.
When it was my turn, I knelt down, touched my palms to the wet, cool mulch of the tree’s remains. In that moment, I felt profoundly connected to each tree and each human in our midst. I looked at the neighbors gathered, and was reminded of the mycorrhizal networks of mycelia below our feet: this fungal underground webbing transmits communication between trees. The network alerts tree fellows when a one of their community is in trouble. Nutrients are sent through the mycelia in a collective effort to sustain the individual tree and thus, the forest itself.
It occurred to me, as I looked into the faces of neighbors, that we are one another’s mycorrhizal network, deeply reliant upon one another (and our tree siblings). This interconnectedness has always been, but I felt more acutely aware of it in that moment. It occurs to me that our CMC community, too, is a mycorrhizal network, sending and receiving messages and sustaining nutrients within and beyond ourselves. We are reliant upon one another for our survival and collective thriving.
I initially wondered if a tree funeral might be frivolous in a time of such widespread human and Earth devastation. And yet, in mourning this particular tree, I am reminded that each being is divinely created, worthy of our celebration and worthy of our heartache. And, in allowing my grief for this particular death, I notice that I can better access both my broader griefs and my sense of interconnectedness--to this tree, and beyond.
We are likely to send and receive many mycelial messages in the coming season. It comforts me to know that these underground networks of care are already in existence, and will continue long after our lifetimes. May we nourish the rooted, earthy interconnectedness that binds us. May we mourn and celebrate along the way.
And, may we collaborate for the survival of each tree, which is, ultimately, the survival of the forest.
