Acts of Recycling

If you pay attention in the woods, you learn that the systems present within it change constantly. I've always had an affinity for trees, and love no place more than a forest.

Even though I've spent sixty years tramping in the woods, I am simultaneously amazed and reassured by the way Lady Natures wastes nothing. And her acts of recycling are works of beauty.

When I put recycling at the curb for pick up, it's junky looking—bottles, paper, cardboard, cans. Yeah, I wash everything before I put it out but let's face it, there is absolutely nothing pretty about human garbage.

But when a tree falls to the ground, nothing is wasted. Insects bore trails through the timber. Birds eat the bugs. The trunk eventually sheds its bark like a stripper in slow motion.

Then the branches become brittle, littering the ground. Plants than inhabit the forest floor crowd close, and eventually, the wood grows soft and punky. That's when the moss and fungi show up. That's the beautiful part.

Here on the river, our accumulation of dead fall is at varying stages of decay. Over the years, we've watched a number of logs become "mother logs," hosting a wide variety of moss and fungi. The next step is soil, rich loam that fertilizes the earth so that the next generation of trees have a good start.

To me, these silent circles of life are the great promise of life, the reassurance that it can and will all begin anew.