Eclectic, brilliant and beautifully written, Thirteen Ways to Smell a Tree is an exploratory journey of evocative imagery and aromatic memory of how our lives are intertwined with the wonder of trees. Every chapter summons a new aroma: the smell of earthy leaf litter, comforting woodsmoke, invigorating pine, spicy juniper berry and zesty lime in a gin and tonic. As you read, you travel the life story of the trees, often along the global trade routes that have carried them around the world, reminding us of how trees feed and sustain us.
In this delightful collection of essays, David Hassell imparts everyday practices that invites the reader to breathe in the natural world; to sense more profoundly our interconnected and vital relationship with trees. Taking David’s practices to heart, I decided to learn the olfactory language of trees myself.
I remember making a cuppa while reading the book, and in that contemplative moment I took the time to inhale the rich aroma of ground coffee. This triggered a lively imagining of coffee shrubs growing in the mountain tops of Colombia, travelling around the world, and once transmogrified in a brew, flowing into my cup. I felt a sense of wonder and gratitude for the coffee bean, its long journey and the pleasure of aroma and flavour.
I took my coffee outside to stroll around the garden, lingering here and there, to crush a leaf and bring it to my nose. I inhaled Lilly Pilly (Acmena sp.) leaf – citrusy, tingly and sweet. Next, Rainforest Senna (Senna acclinis), fresh and crisp like green peas. I followed this up with Quinine Bush (Petalostigma pubescens) leaf, this one I struggled to describe. Oddly, it reminded me of cow manure on old gumboots, a memory from 20 years ago. Like a fox, I tilted my head upward to scent the warm humid air. I picked up distant notes of honey-sweet Melaleuca and the spicy Vietnamese cooking from next door. I leaned down and scuffed the leaf litter and was enveloped in rich organics and peppery decay.
My exploratory stroll was a powerful sensory experience. It opened my eyes (and nose) to the intricate web of relationships that coalesced around me. It aroused my curiosity and wonder. It asked of me to expand my mind to new ways of perceiving, particularly when my vocabulary and cultural frames of reference reached their limits to describe my experiences.
I noticed each tree had made room for others in the garden, bending round, striving upward; these interactions arising from competition tempered by cooperation; a sharing of space, nutrients and sunlight. How did the trees sense, communicate and adapt to each other? I envisioned the mycorrhizal pathways underground, the chemical signalling from leaves and pollen, and the interplay of temperature and shade. I felt how cooling and peaceful it was under the canopy and gave a nod to the trees in acknowledgement and thanks.
Golden Orb and Dome-web spiders were plentiful. I made a mental note that there will be fewer spiders next year as prey and predator populations rise and fall, changing with the seasons and weather patterns, an equilibrium sustained in concert.
Native seedlings had self-germinated, creating an intergenerational family dimension to the garden. I wondered if some had beneficial properties such as a strong tap root to break up compacted soil, nectar to feed butterfly and bird, and fibrous roots to hold the soil in place. Others, I foresaw would dominate the space to the detriment of everyone else. There should be room for all I thought, where every living thing is working together to co-create stabilising harmonising patterns and flows. Lessons to be learnt here.
At this point, I realised I was in conversation with the garden, the trees, the beetles and the earth. My whole self was engaged in the experience, body, heart, mind and spirit. I was at ease and at peace; I felt grounded and content.
I reflected on the values and state of mind that helped me to observe and converse with the garden. What was the garden teaching me? Respect, humility, curiosity, reciprocity, cooperation, collaboration, gratitude. More words rose to the surface of my meandering thoughts: mindfulness, deep listening, responsibility, stewardship, generosity, kindness.
I thought about the phrase ‘my garden’. It didn’t feel right. It implied ownership, separation, exclusion, control over. The garden, to me, was a conversation, an open fenceless flow of wildlife, trees and relationships.
I asked of the trees, what do you need to grow and thrive? What relationships with plant, animal, fungi, soil and human do you need to be healthy and resilient? How might our interactions be one of reciprocity and mutual benefit? What can I learn and be guided by in my conversations with you?
In this liminal space between the trees and I, a shift in perception, thought and action, I pondered how the entire ecosystem, myself a part of it, strove towards vitality and life; of living in health, wholeness, resilience, stability, adaptiveness, of intergenerational and interspecies family and community, of ever-increasing complexity and interconnectedness.
There were many worthwhile lessons from my aromatic garden foray, a simple exercise that brought me back to contemplating the values, ethics and traditions of family and community that have shaped my way of being. My experience ran counter to the mainstream Eurocentric view of nature being “red in tooth and claw”; of the lingering colonial belief that ‘wild’ places are full of danger; an uncivilised place that must be dominated and subdued. It challenged the view that I should wage war on ‘weeds’ and ‘pests’; to be aggressive and domineering in my approach.
It opened insight into the natural world as a cultural landscape that I am in relationship with, one in which my values and worldview intimately overlay.
This book is a wonderful reminder to slow down and breathe deep, to be more perceiving, to be engaged from the heart, to take joy and nourishment from our relationship with trees. It may also inspire you, like me, to ask questions of yourself, and the cultural values and practices that you bring to your relationship with trees, weeds and the natural world.
Article by Amanda Maggs
Land for Wildlife Officer
Brisbane City Council