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The Ecological Kinship of Trees and Humans

Autumn skies on our farm glow with the burnished leaves of cottonwoods, alders, and willows that provide refuge for the deer taking up residence here as winter approaches. Some over a century old along our irrigation ditches, these beautiful trees shelter squirrels, owls, red-tail hawks, and smaller birds of all kinds, as they also shelter us, creating the beneficial ecosystem in which we grow our food, find haven in our home, and thrive in the splendor of their exuberant growth.

In ecobiography, a sense of affiliation between cross-species inhabitants of shared or differing ecosystems can be called an “ecological kinship” in which connection to an aspect of the natural world imitates or even replaces the human bonds of family, friend, teacher, or mentor. Ecobiography can explore such kinship relations by considering mutual needs, common behaviors, reciprocal actions, and joint survival strategies that cross biological, geological, or geographical differences to create a union of diverse species.

In my latest essay, “Bones Beneath Bark: The Ecological Kinship of Trees and Humans” (featured here in Hawk and Handsaw: The Journal of Creative Sustainability), I discuss the importance of trees to human existence, particularly regarding health, and describe several of my own foundational experiences with trees. I hope you’ll read the essay here and view the wonderful photographs by internationally renowned photographer Joyce Tennyson with which it is paired.

Writing Exploration: I’ll explore the concept of ecological kinship in further blog posts, but, to start thinking about your own ecological kinships, write about an animal, plant, element, or landscape with which you feel a particularly deep or meaningful connection. What characteristics attract you to this non-human being or place? What role does it play in your life? What do you have in common? What differences must you cross to form a connection? How is reciprocity manifested between you? And how far would you go for this relationship not only to thrive, but survive?

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Alaska, August 2018

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Alaska is a vast land of deep forests and wild oceans that provide habitat for some of the world’s most charismatic creatures and livelihood for humans rugged enough to weather its harsh climatic and economic conditions. On a nine-day cruise of the Alaskan Inside Passage with family to celebrate my parents’ 60th wedding anniversary, I was continually struck by the disjunction between the fierce beauty of the natural environment and the manufactured consumerism of the gigantic ship on which we traveled. Like all tourism to areas of ecological preservation, Alaskan cruises are paradoxical in that the boat is invasive and even destructive of the very thing upon which it depends: Alaska’s wildness.

I call this picture “What are these people looking at?” As family members are looking, in fact, at the sea and sky at the southern end of the Inside Passage, I caught the gorgeous golden glow of the setting sun reflected against the ship.  While they peered through the viewers, I noticed the light’s intensity and quickly snapped the shot. I haven’t done anything to the camera or photo to get these colors. Even though it all looks artificial, the air, light, and water form the natural environment engulfing the ship, an eerie juxtaposition.

My own participation in the tourism paradox made me uncomfortable, but I went on the cruise to be with my parents, who at 80 needed the comfort of the boat to travel to a state they had long wanted to visit. I loved being on the water but not on the ship; stops at the ports of Ketchikan and Skagway for hikes and tours outside the established tourist consumer areas were highlights for me, although these encounters were still tourist “excursions,” as they’re marketed, and therefore still part of a manufactured experience.

As I write about my time in Alaska, I’m trying to differentiate between my discomfort with the ecologically unsustainable aspects of the trip (not only the waste from the ship, but the ship’s very presence in Alaskan waters) and my gratitude for the opportunity to witness a small part of the state’s ecological wonders, maintained and supported by the indigenous knowledge and customs of its Native peoples that provide yet another—and more ecologically beneficial–juxtaposition of human and nature. This seems a big undertaking—but it’s a big state.

Writing Exploration: Write about your own observations of disjunction between the natural and human-built environments. How were these environments different or in conflict? And how did you experience your own participation in these paradoxes? What insights do you draw about your position with/in such ecological frameworks?