Wild Angles
We are a creative collective and we share our stories and memories around a theme which is different for every episode. We accompany our thoughts with a song or piece of music that we relate to the episode theme.
Wild Angles
Trees
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Stories and personal reflections on the subject of Trees.
Hello and welcome to Wild Angles. A radio show with a collective view.
SPEAKER_00An ordinary every day.
SPEAKER_23Objects and subjects.
SPEAKER_21One theme per episode.
SPEAKER_02With various reflections.
SPEAKER_21Opinions and ideas.
SPEAKER_17And of course, music.
SPEAKER_07Wild angles.
SPEAKER_00Today's theme is treats. Hi, I'm Anna, and I'm thinking about trees. My first memory of trees was probably when I was about five, and of not being allowed to climb up them. I have two older brothers, and of course, it felt like they could do whatever they wanted whilst I was sent to play indoors, but I've got over that now. These days, when I think about trees, I I just really appreciate them because they're beautiful. Um, they they hold so much life, and this time of year it's just amazing. There's so much colour, all the leaves coming out on the trees. My favourite tree is the oak tree, it's very huggable, and it's the last to come out in leaf, and it just has that amazing, fresh, slightly yellowy, bright green, which really contrasts to all the evergreens, and when you get the the purple copper beaches come out, it's just beautiful, and in our garden we have a really lovely tree called a Judas tree, and it's a pinky purple blossom that comes out before the leaves. Next to this, we've got a really huge southern nettle tree, and halfway up it we've got a bird box, and it's so exciting because this year we've had a great nest in it, and it's just been so cool on our work breaks to sit in the garden where we've had actually quite some quite nice weather, and uh watch discreetly this this bird box. So it was really obvious when the chicks must have hatched because the poor female she's in and out constantly from dawn to dusk. But it's quite interesting because the uh male greats it, he sits on another large tree in a neighbour's garden and he just calls to her. It's like to say, I'm here. So you think, yeah, what he's here just stunning himself. No, what he does is he's telling you it's sort of safe to come out. So she'll come out, fly around, get loads of food for the babies. And also what he does is if any rival birds come in to the bird feeders in our garden, he just bites them and scares them off. So he's a bit of a tyrant actually, but um very territorial, and it means he's the babies are gonna get the best food um be strong and survive. What was really cool though, we we happened to be in the garden when the first little baby fledged, it was so cute. The mother had gone off to get food, and we could just see this little face bobbing up and down at the hole at the top of the box. And I guess that means the baby's strong enough because it can just flap up to the hole to be able to get out. And we put some very thin twigs under the main bows of the tree because um obviously with its little claws it wouldn't be able to grip very well onto the big branches. And it just hopped out and it was just sat on this branch looking around, going, Wow, this is amazing! Um sort of looking kind of confused, but just taking it all in, and it was so beautiful. And we managed to capture it on camera by putting it up on um a curtain pole. Did the job, and yeah, so we've we've captured it on film, this little baby uh fledging from the nest, and it's really cool because the daddy he also comes in and helps and will fly around with the baby and the mother, and it's a bit of a myth that babies can't fly, but they can, um, they just gotta get strong at it, they will be flittering around in the low bushes, so they really, really are quite vulnerable. But it's amazing how quickly they learn to fly. Um, and we didn't want to disturb the baby, so we went in, and when we look back on the camera, we can see that within the space of about the next hour or two, the the next two babies also fledged, so it's really cute. And I went into the garden the other day, and I can still hear I think the male and the female calling to the babies. I think they're still in the vicinity. I don't think they're using the next box anymore, they must be finding new places to sleep at night. Um they stay with their parents for another two weeks. But it's mad to think that the female she might even have another brood between now and July, so all that work, she might be doing it again very soon. And on that note, my song is Fruit Tree by Nick Drake.
SPEAKER_06Famous but a fruit tree, so very unsung, it can never flourish till its stalk is in the ground. So but shut up Famous butterfruit tree, so very unsung, it can never flourish till its stalk is in the ground. Some man of fame can never find a way till time has flown far from the day.
SPEAKER_22I grew up in Kingswood in East Bristol. A great place to grow up. One of the things that we used to see every day was the British Airways Concord flying overhead. It used to take off from Heathrow at midday, and uh our house used to be directly underneath the flight path between London and New York. It was a very normal thing to see as a kid. Another great view that we had was something that we called the tree train as we were kids, the rest of Bristol called the caterpillar. The caterpillar is a long line of big trees. Five hundred years old and maybe on top of the highest hill between the body. The canopy of the trees or the caterpillar's undulating body trees just a little distance away that people could be interpreted in his head from where we were just like little legs, so uh very happily named. These days I visit lots of people in their homes all around Bristol. I always smile when I'm saying someone's line and I glance out the window and see these wonderful trees in the distance. They're quite a part of thousands of people's lives. These days I've moved to a little place outside a bar. Although not quite so prevalent, we can still see these wonderful lines of trees uh almost every day. But of course now I'm seeing it from the other side. I work over there, so uh crossing over on my way to work, there's a people in, and uh I always pick my car in exactly the same place, and if I'm lucky enough to get that spot, wind down the window, whatever the weather, whatever the time, I always take a photo of these trees right in the distance. These hundreds of photographs that I've got catalogs are changing of the seasons, um the the bushes, the colour of the trees around us, the farmers' crops is growing or not growing at that time. Everything is changing, so uh that is on my long list of jobs to do to create a fine display of these photographs, probably in chronological order so you can see the gradual change of the maybe not. I've been to these trees, uh friend and I jumped in our car and we just drove. We didn't need a map, we just knew where we were going because we could see it. Uh we got as close as we could and we walked a few hundred yards on farm farmer's land, but uh no one seemed to mind. It was actually on a very famous battle fight, the Battle of Lansdown, which was a fierce fight during the first English Civil War. It's a very, very peaceful place. My song lyrics could be said to describe the life of a tree. Constantly changing, also providing us beautiful air that we breathe and need to survive, and also occasionally giving us fine food to eat. This is my absolute favorite band, with a knockout first track from the formidable album LA Woman. I'm happy to offer you the Changeling by the Doors.
SPEAKER_18Maybe the sound of a breeze or a bird, but beneath your boots there is a literal social media network buzzing with activity. Trees aren't isolated individuals, they are deeply connected through a subterranean web of fungi called mycelium. We call it the wood-wide web. This isn't just a random coincidence of nature. It's a sophisticated biological partnership known as the mycorrhizal relationship. The fungi wrap around the tree roots, acting like fiber optic cables. In exchange for some of the sugar the tree produces through photosynthesis, the fungi provide the tree with phosphorus and nitrogen from the soil. But here's where it gets incredible. The fungi link the roots of the different trees together. Through these threads, trees actually communicate and share resources. They share other resources. For example, older, larger trees, often called mother trees, can identify their own kin. If a sapling is struggling in the shade, the mother tree can send excess sugar through the fungal network to keep it alive. If a tree is attacked by beetles or aphids, it releases chemical distress signals into the mycelium. Nearby trees receive these warnings and begin pumping out defensive chemicals to make their leaves bitter and unpalatable before the bugs even arrive. And sometimes it's not at all friendly. Some species, like the black walnut, use the network to spread toxic chemicals to kill off rivals of other species. We used to think of the forest as a battlefield where every plant was fighting for its own light in space. Now we know it's a massive cooperative community. When you look at a forest, you aren't just seeing a collection of trees, you are seeing a single giant, repulsing intelligence. We are just the only ones not invited to the group chat. Here is the cure with a forest. Thank you.
SPEAKER_23I mean, I do like trees as a rule, but there's one type of tree I really don't like. The Christmas tree. Allow me to elaborate, please. It's not the way they look or what they symbolise or the joy they bring to young children. It's memories for my own childhood that warrants this, some might say, outrageous statement. So a little background first. I was born in the early 70s and had a mum, a dad, and a sister three years older than me. We had the same cheap plastic Christmas tree for the entirety of my childhood, and despite every year it requiring more and more tape to keep it looking vaguely presentable, it would live in the loft and make its annual appearance each December. It was a loft that only dad was allowed in, and for very good reason, as the ladder to get up there barely reached a hole in the landing ceiling, it wasn't the safest of areas for sure, and over the years no matter of birds, wasps, squirrels and god knows what else had made their temporary home up there. The next thing you need to know is that my dad refused to get the tree and decorations down on any other day than a weekend day. No idea why. So the first weekend of December, we'd ask and dad would say no, too early. Second weekend of December, the same, and although there may have been a grunt of acknowledgement that this was a reasonable request, it never happened. So it would always be the last weekend before Christmas, and if this happened to fall on the 20th or even the 21st of December, so be it. Then when the boxes and bags finally came down full of dust and cobwebs, my sister took over and allocated jobs. Mainly, I got to decorate the back of the tree that was pushed against the wall, as apparently this was the most important part of the tree. And I never ever questioned why. I fell for it every year and just did as I was told. Whilst decorating the tree and Tangling the worst lights imaginable and wrapping threadbare tinsel around things. We always played our favourite records on the family record player. It was one of those that was made to look like a piece of furniture. We only had about six records in the house anyway. It was the early 70s and early 80s. So we played the womball from Pinky and Perky back to back for about five hours. Once we'd finished, it felt like Christmas could really start, but I have never enjoyed Christmas trees as a resort. I've never decorated one as an adult, but I always get the decorations out of my loft as soon as my wife or daughter request it. Luckily, they are both very happy for me not to get involved in decorating it. So everyone's happy. So I'll leave you with this. If a loved one asks you to get Christmas trees, decorations, tinsel, lights, etc., down from the loft, just do it. Never before December, of course. What's that all about? But from December the first onwards, please do it if asked. Thanks. My record choice is for my sister, who although administered me terrible jobs, I guess that was her right as the older sibling. And although we've never spoken about it since, I'm guessing she still carries the lack of Christmas tree action in our house when we were kids. So here is the wombles, a minuetto allegretto, which lyrically is absolutely tremendous. This one's for you, sis.
SPEAKER_08Back in 7080, when Bulgaria was a lad, there was mini wedding in the morning. And the evening, there was mini-westing man.
SPEAKER_17And I'm still banging on about it. Of course, the trees are big in Japan, apart from the bond size, which are absolutely tiny. But it's the cherry trees, and especially their spring blossom, which have become such a symbol of Japan. Through March, the weather forecast has featured detailed predictions of when the blossom will arrive in Japan's main cities. When it does arrive, throngs of people gather in the park and gardens along riverbank of Hanami. Literally flower viewing food and drink and blooming trees and welcome in the spring. Nature is viewed as a living sacred entity. Every moment is trash. And we should celebrate it with easy moment. Until the late nineteenth century, the traditional Japanese calendar was divided into the twenty-four seasons, attuned to the changes in the natural world. So, for example, the rainwater season in February, as winter snow begins to melt, followed by the insect awaken season in March as small creatures wake from winter hibernation. In May, the arrival of summer is marked by the cool of the latter cuckoo. In late July, the season of greater heat arrives, along with sweet watermelons and fresh cucumbers to provide cooling refreshment. In September comes the white dew, along with the church and wiggles and the waggatoe, and the person on the fruit, packed with goodness to our ward off winter cold and the seasons of lesser snow and greater snow follow, and the seasons of lesser cold and greater cold before preparations for spring begin once again. Each of the twenty four seasons is associated with awakenings in the natural world and with seasonal culinary delights. How wonderful!
SPEAKER_19Hi, it's May, and I'd like to tell you how I became a tree surgeon. I was thirty, dynamite luck, had no work, and I bumped into a guard called John. Now I don't know if any of you believe in nominative determinism. He was a landscape gardener and his surname is Muddy Man. He was a giant of a man, but a real teddy bear. He had a job in Sanchopay and he needed a hand. He had no promises of how long the job would last, but I was up for it, I needed some work. The next day I went over to this beautiful job uh and met his keep the shock, his team working over there. They were all French. They were either depressed, drunk, angry, or stoned, and some of them were all four of those things, but they took me under their wing. The leader of the pack, the chef de chantier, was Michel. He started to teach me a trade and at the same time teach me French. I started at the bottom of course, dragging branches, digging holes and trenches, turning soil over and basically doing any of the hard graph that was needed to be done, but I was happy to do it. I realized straight away that I loved being in the garden outside working. Obviously I worked myself up using machines, whether it was head streamers or blowers, strimmers, etc. Moving on to diggers and other machines that John had, building up my experience and enjoying every step of the way. But there was one job I wanted to go have a go at. John also had a little tree surgery business on the side. His tree surgeon was leaving, so I said I'd love to give it a go. So Martiel, who was leaving, said he'll give me uh a few lessons over the course of a few weeks. First lesson, climb up a tree without a chainsaw, get to the top and see if you're scared. I did that and I couldn't care less. Then I started with a chainsaw. With the help of Martielle and later with John, I slowly started to build up my confidence and knowledge of cutting trees. I then worked for John in trees for over 10 years. Some of the highlights were spending months in a cherry picker on the campsite dropping huge branches between caravans, or being craned to the top of a massive tree 30 metres tall, but I couldn't climb, and then being dropped off by this crane at the top and working my way down, uh climbing, swinging around, and pruning the biggest eucalyptus tree in the region, or the wonderful privilege of pruning by hand with a tree saw and secretaires the big olive trees outside the Mary in Saint Tropez, and many more jobs in between. The jobs I loved the most were the most difficult ones, where maybe I had to cut a tree down, but I had to drop all the limbs into a small area, maybe just a few metres square. I'd have to drop them down by ropes, and then when I got to the trunk, just to cut little bit by little bit, I'd have so much adrenaline but focus and so much satisfaction when they were done. Of course, occasionally there was the odd mishap: the broken roof tiles, smashed ladders. I fell a couple of times, cut myself a couple of times, and let's just say I can only count to three and a half on one of my hands. And while it was really risky, no doubt it was, it was extremely rewarding. I had a profession and I was extremely proud of it. I could never imagine that guy at 30 doing what I'd done, and that was because of John. So thank you, John. I still cut the odd tree now, and if there's any English down here, so many people phone me up and go, Are you Maeve the tree surgeon? Most of the times I say no now, as I'm 56, but I still do the odd tree, and it's not for money, it's really is for the pleasure. So I would like to say a few thank yous. So thank you to the trees. Sorry for those that I had to cut down. Thank you, Johnny, for giving me a chance, my dear friend. And thank you, Michelle. Rest in peace, Mona Me. I'm leaving you with the lumberjack song. It will tell you everything you need to know about tree surgery and me. It's by Monty Python. Have a great day and go out and give a tree a hug.
SPEAKER_05I want it to be a lumberjack! Leaping from tree to tree as they float down the mighty rivers of British Columbia. The giant redwood, the larch, the fir, the mighty Scots pine, the lofty flowering cherry, the blucky little aspen. The limping rude tree of Nigeria. The towering wattle of Holy Cup. The beatenhead beeping water blood. The lucky link to Mackin. The smacking album of West Risley. The crackest maximus bamboo cats coming on. We sing, sing, sing. I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay. I sleep all night and I work all day. I cut down trees, I eat my lunch, I go to the lavender. On Wednesdays, I go shopping and have button scums for tea. I cut down three and jump. I like to press my bars. I cut down trees, I went up my heels, suspended and uplaw. How we shut being a girly, just like my dear papa.
SPEAKER_03You're listening to Wild Angles.
SPEAKER_12When one thinks about trees, we tend to think about them in the collective sense. That is in the terms of forests. And when I think about forests, I think of kelp. Kelp are these tall, almost plant-like organisms that are in fact algae that are found to cover around at least one quarter of our coastlines. They tend to thrive in colder water. And kelp is absolutely amazing for a number of reasons. First of all, the uses of kelp are so versatile from food such as noodles, sauces, or just simply eating them boiled to even making plastic. Kelp can be used in so many ways. Indeed, the study of kelp as a plastic substitute is something that has really come underway in the past 10 years or so. And as one can imagine, being able to substitute single-use plastic with kelp plastic would be absolutely amazing. It's biodegradable. You don't use petrol to produce it. No microplastics are created. And it isn't harmful for humans, wildlife, nobody. Not only this, but the plastic that calp produced was shown to be as sturdy as plastic produced from petrol. As the various uses of kelp are slowly coming to light, more and more farms, especially in the UK, are growing kelp. And this is fantastic for a number of reasons. First of all, some species of kelp are said to be able to grow up to 18 inches per day. And for an organism to be able to produce so much organic matter, it needs to capture a lot of carbon. This means that one acre of harvested kelp or kelp forest can capture up to 20 times more CO2 than an acre of trees. Not only this, but because kelp grows so fast, it means it's very quick to see the result. You don't need to wait for 50 years, say, for a tree to reach maturity until it starts capturing that full amount of carbon. Kelp can start doing this within weeks. Moreover, coastal locations that have implemented these kelp farms have found them enormous boosts in the amount of biodiversity and fish populations surrounding their coastlines. Indeed, kelp are immense habitats for wildlife. From sea otters to crabs to seals, so many species are relying on these habitats. And a healthy marine ecosystem means more fish. In a world where our oceans are threatening over fishing, this is really important. Not only does it permit us to boost fish numbers, but also it's easier to fish sustainably, promotes sustainable ways of fishing, and it helps boost local economies who rely on fishing as their livelihood. But also, because kelp, as previously mentioned, can grow so fast, this means that the time between planting and harvesting is very short. Sometimes only a matter of a few weeks. This means there's a really quick turnaround time. And unlike many other crops, we can harvest them multiple times a year. But aside from these numerous and various amazing ways that kelp can be used, it is also simply beautiful. Snorkeling through kelp is amazing and an experience that everybody should have at least once in their life. The way the light shatters through the blades at the surface, creating a golden light as it shines through the fronds is absolutely amazing. In reference to the forests of the ocean, the opportunities and the beauty they hold, the song of my choice is Gone Under Sea by Electrolain.
SPEAKER_21I think of the garden in Forest Gump. I think of the sceneries in Django and Chained, the lush, green weeping willows everywhere. But I also think of Cambridge or Cambridge. Cambridgeshire, the you know, imagery, the pools of water with the willows dotted around them, which I find really appealing and just you know makes me think of summer of just lush landscape. Now slightly contrasting the way that I view uh willows um in more traditional beliefs or mythology and as in the name weeping willows, uh they're often associated with sorrow, with forlornness. Um but it's also a connection with the moon. They're often well they usually always are by bodies of water, and so the connection there's a tidal connection between the moon and the waters, and so sometimes they're associated at night time. We get imagery of willows with the moon, the full moon behind them. Um and also contrasting this, I'm gonna read a very autumnal poem that um has sometimes been slightly compared to Do Not Go Gentle in Thy Good Night by Dylan Thomas. Um it's called the Willow Poem or Willow Poem. And um portrays a willow that refuses or is oblivious to the coming winter. It is a willow when summer is over, a willow by the river from which no leaf has fallen nor bitten by the sun, turned orange or crimson. The leaves cling and grow paler, swing and grow paler over the swirling waters of the river, as if loath to let go. They are so cool, so drunk with the swirl of the wind and of the river. Oblivious to winter, the last to let go and fall into the water and on the ground. So very autumnal. Um, and I would like to bring the mood back to the coming summer. And as you may know, I am very fixated on the state of Louisiana that has plenty of willow trees. Um, which leads me to my song choice. I'll try and say this in an occasion French accent. Uh La danse du Mar Digras. Um, so I want you to take a trip to the Deep South with willow trees.
SPEAKER_20An eternal quality that is hard to describe. Only that it feels right. Sitting underneath a large oak tree at the end of August, after the heat has died down, back against the thick four hundred-year-old trunk, autumn preparing its warmer jacket in the wings. I feel connected to a wider and deeper time. I'm connected to the past when this young oakling would have witnessed the devastation and suffering brought by the Black Death. This teenage royal oak would have observed with concern the birth of capitalism and lived through the damage that is done to this planet, but feel lucky enough to have been spared. It would, of course, have been part of many joyful and life-affirming stories, children playing in its branches, writers wistfully pondering over love, and wildlife making their homes in its curled and gnarled branches. Sitting underneath this tree, trying to get comfortable amongst its protruding roots that snake meters away from the trunk and then then they slowly disappear underground. My connection helps me to feel the future. You know, these trees can sometimes live to be over a thousand years old. So a view of six hundred years into the future from this four hundred-year-old middle-aged living tree, what would the world look like? I'll leave you to think about that. Trees help me to transcend my own time. The Scottish-born environmental philanthropist John Muir used to go on endless walks, and on coming across an old oak, he would stay sitting for days near the tree trunk, meditating and just watching. What must it be like to be a tree? An oak tree, for example, has been alive for a thousand years, seeing 365,000 sunrises and sunsets. Imagine also what it must be like to see the world for a millennia and not be able to move. I wonder if a royal oak has a feeling of deep connection to its surroundings that match its deep roots. I encourage you to spend some time under an old tree, doing nothing but just resting. Listen to its movement, and you can feel its aliveness. For me, being in the company of a large tree stirs me into an autumn golden melancholy. It helps me to know how to be me. It's like a glimpse into an unveiled world with secrets unlocked. Aurora oak, being quintessentially English, I felt that my song should be music that reflects that. And the song that I've chosen is not directly about trees or a role oak, but it's the type of music I would imagine that I could hear on a late September afternoon, sitting quietly under an oak tree, perhaps in Wiltshire, whimsically and happily enjoying the moment. This is Damon Alban and Cathedrals.
SPEAKER_07When cathedrals they sink into the seas under sand, the goals that are left in them they slip through the hand when the words in your hand and the old man is dead then very hard at the past single third day. When the books of the desert they turn to sublime beware of the emptiness, it plays with the mind when the good by his and the old man is there at the same time.
SPEAKER_02Music was by Johnny Rose.