After a couple of comments I made on Tai Haku's post about the captive Wollemi pine I started thinking, which is never a good thing.
I mentioned that I liked to touch the plants I see, to feel the bark and the leaves. I walk around my garden running my fingers through the ferns, stroking the conifer needles and rubbing the herbs. And of course it wouldn't be an evening in the garden without impaling my calf on one of José's spikes. But what I actually do, to the embarrassment of Hubster and any friends who happen to be in the vicinity, is to hug trees.
I don't do it to feel at one with the tree. And in the grounds of stately homes and botanical gardens I'm unlikely to need to do so to prevent the tree being cut down. And I don't do it to embarrass anyone with me, although Hubster and my friend Sarah, who have both been with me and photographed me doing so, may disagree. I do it to get a feel for the size of the thing. By putting my chin to the bark and looking up the tree I get a view that is impossible to recreate any other way. Hugging Sequoiadendron is also a unique experience because the bark is squishy.
Geologists all get taught that the best way of telling the difference between a mudstone and a siltstone in the field is to nibble a bit, because the tongue is very sensitive to subtle differences in grain size. All geologists have done it, some still do it, hardly any of them will admit to it in polite company. And I suspect it's similar with gardeners and tree-hugging.
Come on - how many of you will admit to it?
I mentioned that I liked to touch the plants I see, to feel the bark and the leaves. I walk around my garden running my fingers through the ferns, stroking the conifer needles and rubbing the herbs. And of course it wouldn't be an evening in the garden without impaling my calf on one of José's spikes. But what I actually do, to the embarrassment of Hubster and any friends who happen to be in the vicinity, is to hug trees.
I don't do it to feel at one with the tree. And in the grounds of stately homes and botanical gardens I'm unlikely to need to do so to prevent the tree being cut down. And I don't do it to embarrass anyone with me, although Hubster and my friend Sarah, who have both been with me and photographed me doing so, may disagree. I do it to get a feel for the size of the thing. By putting my chin to the bark and looking up the tree I get a view that is impossible to recreate any other way. Hugging Sequoiadendron is also a unique experience because the bark is squishy.
Geologists all get taught that the best way of telling the difference between a mudstone and a siltstone in the field is to nibble a bit, because the tongue is very sensitive to subtle differences in grain size. All geologists have done it, some still do it, hardly any of them will admit to it in polite company. And I suspect it's similar with gardeners and tree-hugging.
Come on - how many of you will admit to it?
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