A year among the trees

by Wilson Flagg

The Black Poplar is often planted by roadsides with the Canada poplar, and may be distinguished from it by the greater elegance of its proportions, its smaller foliage, and, when in flower, by its reddish and purple catkins. It is preferred to other species on account of an inferior tendency to that suckering habit which is so disagreeable in the poplar tribe. It seems to me that no persons who should see the Canada poplar and the Black Poplar growing side by side, would hesitate in giving preference to the latter, which is in almost every point a more beautiful tree.

This species is called in Europe the Athenian Poplar. According to Selby, “the classic appellation of Athenian Poplar led to the supposition in England that this species is indigenous to Greece, and that it derived its name from the city of Minerva. Several learned botanists were misled by this name; but it was finally ascertained that North America is its native country, and from its abundance in a particular township called Athens it received the imposing title of Athenian Poplar.”

THE RIVER POPLAR.

The River Poplar is not rare in the New England forest, but it is little known as an ornamental tree. Emerson says: “It is much the tallest and most graceful of those which grow naturally in New England. Its foliage is equal to that of the Balm of Gilead in size, and superior to it in depth of color; and the abundance of its aments in the spring, and the rich colors of its leaf-stalks and young branches, when growing in somewhat dry situations, make it a beautiful object.” The aments of this tree are not olive-colored, like those of the two aspens, but inclining to red, though not so bright as those of the black and Lombardy poplars. It is very justly called the River Poplar, being found chiefly in wet places, near brooksides, on the banks of rivers, and in alluvial valleys which are liable to be inundated in spring. This tree displays the characteristic peculiarities of the family in giving out its lateral branches at a sharp angle and subordinate to the trunk.

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.