We are in a cabin up North.  Those are two great words if you live in Michigan, aren’t they - up North?  Every window contains forest. We are surrounded by towering White Pines, stout Oaks crusted with sage colored Lichen, and Beeches still holding onto their pink-orange leaves.  The snow, falling softly an hour ago, is now horizontal and carries oak leaves it has pulled from the forest. These are leaves that will never suffer the humiliation of being raked, or heaven forbid, blown. Yeesh. Forests are places that teach us that we don’t have to rake the leaves.  Alas, I’ll save that sentiment for another rambling post.  

What is a forest?  Think about it for a minute.  I sincerely wish I could hear your answer.   I think of it as a place where trees have planted themselves.  As a tree planter, I especially notice the relief, the calm, the peace I feel when I sit in a forest.  Of course, part of this stems from the obvious realization that I have no work to do here. There are few corners of my life in which I have no work.  The greater calm comes from being in a perfect landscape, one in which there is no human hand in evidence. There is a supreme order in what might seem like chaos to us who dwell in human-constructed landscapes.  Here in the forest there is no tree “planted,” no decisions made about species, number, or placement. What a relief. Every line, every color, every form here is placed by the hand of nature. The supreme force of this planet is manifest to the senses here.  

The forest is a true home - this is the home that mankind erases to build his. I feel much more at home in the forest than I do in my house in the city.  My impulse in the city is to constantly plant trees in remediation of what is missing. I am essentially building a fortress (isn’t that interesting - forest and fortress?) to protect me from ecological anxiety that’s been brewing for a couple hundred years.  It is more acute than ever as we point with precision to its causes and solutions. Climate challenges and eco-anxiety is another tendril of this conversation to be pursued later.  

I noticed myself planting trees like crazy all around my childhood home, and around the first house I owned, spilling out into the neighborhood.  That was 25 years ago. It was actually the filling of these yards and vicinities with trees that precipitated our move to the East side over a decade ago.  The house I speak of is very close to Clark Park. When I moved from this house I decided that I would not mow, prune, or tamper with the landscape there. It has been interesting to watch the dozens of trees mature on that little lot and a half.  

I am recounting all this to express my delight at finding, in this yard, trees that have planted themselves.  There now exists a grove of Paw Paws where I struggled to keep 3 alive in their first years. Now that the Birches, White Pines, Cedars, and Maples have grown up the Paw Paws have the understory that they love.  The best discovery of recent years has been a couple of Sycamores that planted themselves. They are now eight feet tall and thriving in a way that I have not seen from transplants. There is no doubt that these came from the majestic Sycamores of Clark Park. 

This is delightful for several reasons: the first is that this is nature making the decisions, which are far wiser than what my 25-year-old self could have conceived, about what trees to plant in my yard.  It is funny and slightly embarrassing to admit that I planted a Crimson King Maple and some Blue Spruces as my first trees in this barren yard. We all grow. Those trees are still there, but here come the wise Sycamores.  Because they planted themselves, they can grow a strong natural root structure that will never be compromised or abbreviated by cutting for transplant. Most trees we know have at one time undergone this serious surgery. Of course, this means that all their primary roots were chopped, forcing them to split and branch into smaller ones, and maybe even taking the shape of the container into which they were placed during the move.  So, the first delight is looking at trees that I know are free, natural, and not repressed.  

The second delight is that since they planted themselves, they obviously found a place that they consider hospitable; there was no human guessing at whether they would like it here, or if it was an aesthetically suitable place.  Now, when I walk through this yard, I am reminded not of a naive decision I made or an action I took, but of nature’s supreme wisdom.  

The third delight is that these trees contain the genetics of Sycamores planted over one hundred years ago in one Detroit’s oldest, grandest parks.  These are not the latest hybrids or clones of some tree deemed worthy of mass replication; these are very old varieties that cross-pollinated naturally, producing healthy seedlings, and now saplings.  This is key because, as you probably realize, we tend to mow our parks religiously, which prohibits any trees from reproducing, or at least producing offspring that live much past germination. Parks are usually places created by human hands and where wilderness is not welcome.  How do we value both the forest and the park at the same time?

This brings me back to the work we do planting trees.  A big part of our mission at Arb Detroit is creating spaces for trees to grow in perpetuity.  Are we creating parks? Forests? Something in between? We hope to create landscapes that give trees everything they need to grow to maturity, and where there is little need to mow and manicure.  Isn’t it amazing in Detroit how forest have moved into any area that has not been mowed for five or ten years? We asked the question recently whether we would allow the offspring of trees in the arboretum to grow.  I think that the answer is yes, but ask me again when I’m 90.  

I imagine a small forest of Ginkgoes where we first planted 3, a Paper Birch forest where we planted 3, a Beech forest, a Dawn Redwood grove.  Aren’t 12 trees better than 3? What we will watch out for are trees deemed invasive. Because we aim for the arboretum to exhibit the form and diversity of trees it would not be in our interest to just allow any tree that germinates to grow in the arb.  For example, we would prevent Siberian Elm and Ailanthus proliferation. If they want to grow up in a field across the street that goes unmowed I’d be happy to assist in their protection- more trees, more better.  

I’m not trying to be a tree snob- I’m trying to bring more diversity to our treescape.  And we already have lots of Elms, Poplars, Box Alders, Silver Maples, Mulberry, Ailanthus, and Sumac doing their thing, and doing it well.  That’s because they planted themselves in places where they thrive. Part of our project is building these existing forests into the arboretum and protecting them too.  We are not just transplanting trees into new spaces; we are looking for existing stands of trees to clean up just a little to make them friendly and inviting to neighbors.  

I think many a tree planter is delighting in staying indoors and catching a respite from digging. That wouldn’t be me, however. I found myself out there planting some of my tiny Redbud saplings and moving some potted nursery trees into safer spots. Little breaks in the weather allow us to take care of some last minute details. One thing this above-freezing window allowed us to do is pour the footings for our nursery shelter. Our fine carpenter, tree lover, neighbor and friend Kevin Hood motivated all aspects of this shelter that will be a permanent fixture in the nursery. This week Kevin poured the footings for the beefy 6x6 posts that will raise the asymmetrical roof of his design. Getting these posts in now will allow us to build through the winter. We hope to have a metal roof up there with gutters that catch rain into 2 separate 300 gallon totes by spring. This is all in the name of watering our babies in the hot summer months. This structure will also be a place to sit and learn about trees, swap perennials, trade seeds, pot saplings, write poetry, get out of the rain, and many other yet to be discovered activities. This drawing just shows the basics, but it will actually be a convertible; we’re building in benches and a table that can get out of the way quick when Paul is coming through with the tractor or bobcat. That’s also why the roof will be close to 10 feet tall. Keep your eye on the progress and get in touch if you want to help build. We’re so excited to be creating new spaces out of mostly unnoticed occasionally mowed lots. Thanks, Detroit.

I love people who love trees. We’re a special breed aren’t we? What a joy to get a couple dozen tree people together to do what we love. Planting a tree is always such a satisfying experience. I’m sure you know the feelings - deliberation about placement, digging a perfect hole, filling it with goodies for the tree, setting the tree into a home you expect it to thrive in long after you are off planet, then you step back and look at what you have done. You have planted a tree. Then you look at it from the other side and get the same satisfaction all over again. Then you step across the street to look at it. It’s there. It’s home. You can’t wait until you next walk the dog or drive by. You can’t wait till fall to see the colors change. You can’t wait till spring to see the flowers and new leaves. And on it goes for the rest of your life. There is nothing like it. I’m so happy for you to have planted a tree.

Now, take these feelings and amplify them one-hundred times. We got to jam over a hundred trees into three city lots in neat rows- all types of exquisite forms and colors mingling there as a family, just like the volunteers who came out to do the work. I am filled with gratitude and joy for all the friends, neighbors, and tree kin who spent the weekend out there materializing dreams, stepping through ourselves and time into the future. It’s like that. You know, this is what tree planting is - tree life and tree time are ways for us to connect to a past and a future that are way beyond our little nows and concepts of self.

It’s perfect how Paul kept saying when people were stressing over details of placement, “come on, we’re not building a cathedral.” That’s coming from the guy who spent about 70 hours on the tractor just prepping the ground before a tree ever showed up. It helped me realize how much we were building a cathedral. His point, I think, was that while we are doing something so grand and spiritual for most of us, actually there is no wrong way to do it. I like this kind of cathedral. The trees will take care of themselves if we just get them into the ground.

Trees, in fact , will take care of themselves if we just let them. When we stop mowing for a season here they come. It’s really all we need to do; they throw their seeds far and wide and suddenly there’s a forest. Trees always do way better when they plant themselves. I don’t believe that they like to be dug up necessarily, or travel at 70 miles per hour on the freeway. However, in the name of diversity and aesthetics we bring the trees together in this formation. Some people are not ready for the beautiful chaos of a million trees planting themselves. The tree nursery and the arboretum are a gateway into the love of a forest. And for people who have or have ever had any problem with trees we have to step gently and paint beautiful landscapes with the trees so that they can see them. These trees are the paint box for Poletown. They will move out into the streets and arbs over the next few years and be the brush strokes of a future that is ours and those yet to come. Don’t ever be the againstest, be the forest.