A year among the trees

by Wilson Flagg

SOUNDS FROM TREES.

“The earliest chant,” says Momsen, “in the view of the Romans, was that which the trees sang to themselves, in the green solitudes of the forest. The whisperings and pipings of the favorable spirit in the grove were repeated by the singer, with the accompaniment of the pipe.” Certain trees belonging to the sacred groves gave oracular sounds, which were interpreted by musicians, and received by all men with faith and reverence. From the earliest ages men have listened to sounds from trees as music and as the voice of some deity, affording auguries of future events; for, as they reasoned, if a deity speaks to us, what sounds would be a more appropriate medium of communication than those of the trees which formed their temples and their altars? The sanctity attributed to certain groves by the ancients was probably owing to some peculiar sounds emitted by the trees, no less than to the grandeur and impressiveness of their assemblages.

Every tree, when swept by the winds, gives a sound in harmony with the character of its leaves and spray. The sounds from the lofty branches of firs and pines remind the listener of the murmuring of waters, and inspire the most agreeable sensations. How often have I sat under the shade of a pine wood, and listened to the fancied roaring of the distant waves of the sea, as the winds passed through their foliage. When the breeze commences, we hear the first soft rippling of the waves; as it increases, succeeding waves of fuller swell flow tremulously upon the strand, and as the wind subsides melt into silence as they recede from the shore. Other trees produce very different sounds. The colors of their leaves, and the glittering lights from their more or less refractive surfaces, do not differ more than the modifications of sound drawn from them by the passing winds. Every tree is a delicate musical instrument, that reminds us of the character of the tree and the season of the year, from the mellow soothing tones of willow leaves in summer to the sharp rustling of the dry oak-leaf that tells of the arrival of winter.

The sounds from trees are a very important part of the music of nature; but their agreeableness comes rather from certain emotions they awaken than from the melody of their tones. Nature has accommodated her gifts to our wants and sensibilities, so that her beneficence is never so apparent as in the pleasures we derive from the most common objects. If we are afflicted with grief or wearied with care, we flee to the groves to be soothed by the quiet of their solitudes, and by the sounds from their boughs which are tuned to every healthful mood of the mind. Among the thousand strings that are swept by the winds, there is always a chord in unison with our feelings; and while each strain comes to the ear with its accordant vibration, the mind is healed of its disquietude by sounds that seem like direct messages of peace from the guardian deities of the wood.

We find in the works of Ossian frequent allusions to the sounds from trees, to heighten the effect of his descriptions. As the “Spirit of the Mountain,” he addresses the wind that bends the oaks, and gives out that deep melancholy sound that precedes a storm, “when Temora’s woods shake with the blast of the inconstant winds.” He speaks of the “sons of song” as having gone to rest, while his own voice remains, like the feeble sounds of the forest, when the winds are laid. When the aged oak of Morven bends over the stream, its sounds are mournful, like those of a harp when swept by the wind. According to Ossian, it is the oak that blends its music with the sounds of lamentation, and sings the dirges of departed heroes. And the bard declares that he will cease to mourn for them only when the music of the oak shall no longer be heard in the groves of echoing Cona.

When a strong wind prevails, the leaves of all trees are put in motion, and their sounds cannot be distinguished; and during a storm the roar of winds among their branches is almost deafening. This is the grand chorus of the elements; but the sounds that affect us most agreeably are such as come from light movements of the wind and harmonize with the warbling and chirping of birds. It is the aspen that gives out those lulling melodies that spring from the gentle gales of summer. When we are sitting at an open window on a still evening, or sauntering in a wood, or musing in the shade of a quiet nook, when the wind is so calm that the hum of the invisible insect-swarms, hovering in the air, is plainly audible, then is the trembling motion of the aspen leaves peculiarly significant of the serenity of the elements. They produce a tranquillizing sound, associated with rest in the languor of noonday, or with watching in the still hours of a summer night.

When the quiet of the atmosphere begins to yield to the movements of a rising tempest, the aspen, by its excessive agitation, gives prophetic warning of its approach. Often, in a sultry evening, the first notice I have received of a rising thunder-storm came from the increased trepidation of an aspen that stood before my window. So delicate and sensitive is the foliage of this tree that it is excited to action by atmospheric changes before that of any other tree is moved. Thus, while the rustling of the aspen leaf, when gentle, indicates the tranquillity of summer weather, there is likewise an expression of melancholy in its tones when more severely agitated, that forebodes a general stirring of the winds as they come up from the gathering-place of the storm.

I have spoken only of those sounds from trees which are caused by the action of the winds upon their leaves and branches. But there are incidental sounds belonging to the woods, which are modified so as to produce feelings awakened by no other situation. It is in the deep stillness of the forest, and over spacious and uninhabited plains, that we feel most sensibly the peculiar effect of bells, whether it be the solemn peal of a bell from a church tower or the tinkle of a cow-bell that reminds us of simple rural life. The ordinary toll of bells is much more impressive than a chime in these solitudes, because the artificial melody of the chime does not so agreeably harmonize with natural sounds.

In winter the sounds from trees, except in a pine wood, are greatly modified by the absence of foliage. It is at this season, therefore, that we pay the most attention to incidental sounds. When the snow upon the ground has been hardened by repeated freezing and thawing, I have often chosen this occasion for winter rambling in the woods. The loneliness inspired by their seclusion is never so keenly felt as at this season, when there are but few sounds from birds and insects. Then does the stroke of the woodman’s axe affect us with the most cheerful emotions. It reminds us of the presence of other human beings in the wood, and enlivens the solitude, as the sight of a little cottage in a wilderness affords the traveller a sensation of the joys of home.