Coastal survivors: SA's rare, twisted trees

Coastal survivors: SA's rare, twisted trees

Updated October 13, 2016 15:21:00 Hundreds of years old and with their gnarled limbs and otherworldly appearance, the grove of dingley dell gum trees in Port Macdonnell's Clarke Park is a spectacular sight. Scattered across a narrow coastal strip from the Glenelg River across South Australia's south-east, the rare subspecies of South Australian blue gum has survived by its sheer hardiness.

Photographing one of the world's tallest trees

Photographing one of the world's tallest trees

Posted January 24, 2017 13:58:03 It took 67 days, 12,000 images and a climb to stomach-churning heights, but photographer Steven Pearce finally got the image he was after of the world's tallest flowering plant, Tasmania's eucalyptus regnans. The Styx Valley, past the township of Maydena, about 100 kilometres north-east from Hobart, is often damp, cold and foggy.

The underestimated power of plants

Linkoping University's Laboratory of Organic Electronics has already proven it is possible to build a functioning electronic circuit within a rose bush. (Supplied/Eliot Gomez)

Antony Funnell 

Imagine a future full of solar rose gardens that generate electricity and robot-tree hybrids that grow into whatever shapes we need. Antony Funnell ventures to the frontiers of plant science to meet researchers who believe the power of botanical organisms has long been underestimated.

By his own admission, Magnus Berggren has killed an awful lot of roses in his quest to turn simple flowers into a source of power.

'Most of the materials for the devices that we injected into the plants actually were so toxic, the plants didn't survive,' says Berggren, a professor of organic electronics at Linkoping University in southern Sweden. 'But now we have chosen materials that we know cope well with plants.'

Those materials include a type of conductive liquid polymer capable of passing through the vascular system of the rose, effectively hard-wiring it.

'What we have focused on in our science is to make conducting wires, batteries or capacitors inside a stem,' he says.

'We have done electrodes in the leaves and step by step we are distributing components, electrodes and wires into the plant, so we basically approach a situation where we start, maybe, to connect a solar-to-electricity conversion system inside a plant.'

The ultimate goal, according to Berggren, is to create a system which siphons off some of the power generated by the plant during the natural process of photosynthesis. But while he and his team have already proven that it is possible to build a functioning electronic circuit within a rose bush, the dream of going further and creating an energy-producing solar garden is still many years away.

'We are talking about an application scenario that lies maybe 20, 30 years ahead,' says Berggren.

'What I think we could actually do is generate electricity inside the plants to power, for instance, a sensor or some other device that regulates the growth process in a plant. Or we could perhaps power up our mobile phone or something like that. But that's more on the demonstration or prototype level.

'What this will end up with in the end, to be honest I'm too naive to speculate on that. What we are trying to do in our group is to see how far we can stretch the idea.

'If we can use this as an energy conversion system in large scales in the future it will depend very much on the performance we can achieve. We have to remember that the solar cell that we have on the roof today, they have a power conversion efficiency of around 20 or 30 per cent. So we have to do this in a very efficient way if it's going to compete with that. But it's an interesting idea, and it certainly opens up a new pathway where electronics can end up in the future, that's for sure.'

 Robotic devices fixed to plants could alter their growth and enable architectural uses (Getty Images)

Robots interacting with plants as they grow

In the German city of Paderborn, computer scientist Heiko Hamann has also been exploring ways of using technology to modify and regulate plants.

Professor Hamann is one year into a four-year project called flora robotica, which is funded by Horizon 2020, the European Union's Framework Programme for Research and Innovation.

The focus of flora robotica is to develop 'symbiotic robot-plant bio-hybrids'—essentially a system of small robotic devices fixed to a plant that interact with it as it grows.

Hamann sees applications for such technology in agriculture, where robotic sensors could be used to help farmers respond more accurately to a plant's needs and therefore speed up growth. But he also sees potential for creating what he calls bespoke 'architectural artefacts'.

'What we have in mind is more like having robots interact with plants and have them grow in different ways to what we see right now,' he says.

'We want to extend the natural growth processes to some artificial growth processes by imposing different stimuli on the plants and then grow certain shapes, for example. And that's where architecture comes in as an application. The idea is that some human user can input a desired shape and then we would use our robots to direct the growth of the plants and to actually grow that particular shape.'

The ability to grow trees into desired shapes, says Hamann, could have associated environmental benefits.

'Until now we grow our trees and then, with a lot of waste energy, we cut them and transport them. We think: what if you just grow wood in the shape that you require for your construction, maybe even at the spot? You have a house that is growing along with your needs.

'These robots are, we believe, the best way to interact with plants and also to gain a better understanding. Basically our robots can serve as a communication channel between plants and human beings.'

'We are not the only living systems who are smart'

The notion of plant-human communication in such a context might seem entirely functional: a new way for humans to once again exercise their dominance over the natural environment. However, a growing number of researchers believe the potential power and sophistication of plants have long been underestimated.

Professor Paco Calvo at the University of Murcia in Spain is one of the co-founders of a multi-functional research institute called the MINT Lab, one of the first centres of its kind, designed to further the relatively new field of plant neurobiology, the study of plant 'intelligence'.

'The easiest way to get into plant neurobiology is by thinking of the cognitive sciences in comparison,' says Calvo.

'Go back to the '70s, the '80s, and when we were talking about cognitive science we wouldn't talk about psychology or neuroscience or linguistics or anthropology, we were talking about the sum of all those disciplines. It was an attempt to better understand what cognition consists of by putting together the methodologies, and a little bit the same happens with plant neurobiology.'

In that vein, the MINT Lab brings biologists together with philosophers to explore what forms of intelligence plants exhibit, and in turn, what a better understanding of their capacities and capabilities might mean for the future.

'I'm not quite that happy with trying to provide the definition of intelligence, of plant intelligence, but maybe because I don't even know what animal intelligence is. I mean, as soon as you provide the definition somebody is going to show up a dozen counter-examples. I'd rather talk about particular capacities, competencies, and then we might discuss whether that deserves the label of intelligence or not.

'Think of sensory motor coordination, as we know happens in animals, or perceptual capacities, or goal oriented behaviour, basic forms of learning, of memory, decision-making, problem-solving. If animals can do all those things we're happy with the label intelligence, right? We say animals are intelligent.

'When plants do it, it seems we are in a whole different business. Why? Plants are able to do that, to make decisions, solve problems, learn, memorise. Well, let's deal with it. We are not the only living animals who are smart or living systems who are smart.'

According to the mycorrhizal symbiosis theory, plants can communicate through the various forms of fungi that grow around their roots (Getty Images) 

The social side of plants

Forest ranger Peter Wohlleben has been something of a media hit in Germany with his best-selling book The Hidden Life of Trees, in which he spells out his belief that trees are social entities that not only grow together but communicate with each other in different ways.

It's a controversial idea on the surface, but he's not alone in coming to that conclusion. One who shares his belief is Suzanne Simard, a professor of forest ecology at the University of British Columbia. Simard has spent many years studying what's called mycorrhizal symbiosis: the theory that various forms of fungi that grow around the roots of trees act as a sort of pathway for communication, almost like neurons in an animal brain.

'These mycorrhizae function by growing through the soil and picking up nutrients and water and bringing them back to the tree. It's a symbiosis because they live together in a root tip, and it's mutualistic because the tree provides photosynthate in return for these nutrients and water that the fungi gather up from the soil.

'The reason that we say that the trees can communicate is that these fungi, some of them can actually link trees together. So a fungus that is associated with one tree can grow through the soil and link up with another tree, provided that fungus is compatible with both of those trees. Even if the trees are of a different species, if they have a compatible mycorrhizal fungus, they can link up.'

According to Simard's research, trees use their mycorrhizal networks to exchange a whole range of biochemical information, from how much photosynthate they have to how rich they are in nutrients.

'I consider it communication because there is behaviour adjustment. There are changes in the trees before they send the communication, the ones that are sending the communication, and then it results in a behaviour change by the trees that receive that piece of information. When you have those kinds of responses and effects and there's an information transfer that results in these big behaviour changes, to me that is communication.'

Crucially, argues Simard, there is also evidence of intent. 'We often reserve that word for human beings, where we have intention of changing some sort of pattern or behaviour, but in this case the trees, you could say that they also have intent in the sense that the trees that are sending the messages are conveying that there is some kind of environment or occurrence that is affecting their behaviour and that they need to, or have a want to, send that information to their neighbours.

'We know that big old trees—we call them mother trees—will communicate with seedlings that are their kin or their kids and make room for those kids compared to seedlings that are strangers, and they are doing this through their mycorrhizal networks.

'In that sense the mother trees are providing a favourable environment for the regeneration of their own kin, their own genes. That is one example of forests behaving like a family. There's other experiments where we've shown if we injure that mother tree experimentally that she will also send defence signals out to other seedlings around her.'

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Earth has three trillion trees, and falling

There are about three trillion trees on Earth, roughly 422 for every person and eight times more than previously estimated, researchers say.
 
A 15-nation team led by Yale University experts used a combination of old-fashioned headcounts and state-of-the-art satellite and supercomputer technology to produce what they claim is the most comprehensive tree census ever.

"I don't know what I would have guessed, but I was certainly surprised to find that we were talking about trillions," says the study's lead author Thomas Crowther of the Yale School of Forestry and Environmental Studies in Connecticut in the United States.

But there was bad news, the researchers reported in the journal Nature.

The calculation revealed that tree cover had nearly halved since the start of human civilisation.
And the pace of deforestation has not abated: our species is currently felling some 15 billion trees every year, the study found.

The team based their research on verified tree counts from some 400,000 forest plots.

They then used satellite imagery to determine how factors like climate, topography, vegetation, soil conditions and human impact affected tree density.

Developing models to estimate tree numbers at regional levels, they then drew a global map of Earth's estimated 3.04 trillion trees.

"The highest densities of trees were found in the boreal forests in the sub-arctic regions of Russia, Scandinavia and North America," the researchers say.

"But the largest forest areas, by far, are in the tropics, which are home to about 43 percent of the world's trees."

The bad news

The team's calculations revealed that of all the factors impacting tree numbers, human activity had by far the biggest effect, largely through deforestation and land-use change.

There has been in total a 46-percent drop in tree numbers since humans began to clear land to plant seeds, the study found.

"In short, tree densities usually plummet as the human population increases," the scientists say.
"We've nearly halved the number of trees on the planet, and we've seen the impacts on climate and human health as a result," says Crowther.

"The study highlights how much more effort is needed if we are to restore healthy forests worldwide."

Apart from offering oxygen, fuel and shelter, trees store important quantities of carbon, which, if released, contribute to global warming.

Spruce Gran Picea

 

Spruce Gran Picea #0909 – 11A07 (9,550 years old; Fulufjället, Sweden)

This 9,950-year-old tree is like a portrait of climate change. The mass of branches near the ground grew the same way for roughly 9,500 years, but the new, spindly trunk in the center is only 50 or so years old, caused by warming at the top of this mountain plateau in Western Sweden.

Rachel Sussman's work is equal parts art, science and philosophy, and with her images of 3,000-year-old lichen and 7,000-year-old trees, she draws poignant perspectives on the nature of time, life and humanity's place in it.

Sussman's work provides audiences with a way to understand ideas around deep time, and has served as a portal for connecting scientists from disparate disciplines, providing them with a platform to consider the intersections between their various specialties.

The artist has exhibited widely in solo and group shows at venues including the Berlin Botanical Museum, the Montalvo Arts Center, the Museum of Contemporary Photography, and the American Museum of Natural History. And this past April, University of Chicago Press published the monograph “The Oldest Living Things in the World“ You can read more about Sussman's work in her interview, view her work live at Pioneer Works Center for Art and Innovation in Brooklyn on September 13th, 2014, and see several of her images from her Oldest Living Things project in this gallery.

Nepenthes attenboroughii digesting shrew on Mount Victoria, Palawan, Philippines

Nepenthes attenboroughii, or Attenborough's pitcher plant, is a montane species of carnivorous pitcher plant of the genus Nepenthes. It is named after the celebrated broadcaster and naturalist Sir David Attenborough, who is a keen enthusiast of the genus. The species is characterised by its large and distinctive bell-shaped lower and upper pitchers and narrow, upright lid. The type specimen of N. attenboroughii was collected on the summit of Mount Victoria, an ultramafic mountain in central Palawan, the Philippines.

 
Mount Victoria (1726 or 1709 m ), or Victoria Peaks, is a mountain in central Palawan, Philippines, that lies within the administrative Municipality of Narra. The mountain, which includes the twin peaks known as "The Teeth", as well as the single prominence known as "Sagpaw", form the largest contiguous land area and second highest portion of the Mount Beaufort Ultramafics geological region, a series of ultramafic outcrops of Eocene origin, that includes Palawan's highest peak, Mount Mantalingahan (2085 m).


The summit flora of Mount Victoria includes Leptospermum sp., Medinilla spp., Pleomele sp., Vaccinium sp., various grasses, as well as the sundew Drosera ultramafica, which grows at similar elevations to N. attenboroughii.

The pitcher plant is among the largest of all pitchers and is so big that it can catch rats as well as insects in its leafy trap.

During the same expedition, botanists also came across strange pink ferns and blue mushrooms they could not identify.

The botanists have named the pitcher plant after British natural history broadcaster David Attenborough.

They published details of the discovery in the Botanical Journal of the Linnean Society earlier this year.

Word that this new species of pitcher plant existed initially came from two Christian missionaries who in 2000 attempted to scale Mount Victoria, a rarely visited peak in central Palawan in the Philippines.

With little preparation, the missionaries attempted to climb the mountain but became lost for 13 days before being rescued from the slopes.

On their return, they described seeing a large carnivorous pitcher plant.

That pricked the interest of natural history explorer Stewart McPherson of Red Fern Natural History Productions based in Poole, Dorset, UK and independent botanist Alastair Robinson, formerly of the University of Cambridge, UK and Volker Heinrich, of Bukidnon Province, the Philippines.

All three are pitcher plant experts, having travelled to remote locations in the search for new species.
So in 2007, they set off on a two-month expedition to the Philippines, which included an attempt at scaling Mount Victoria to find this exotic new plant.

Accompanied by three guides, the team hiked through lowland forest, finding large stands of a pitcher plant known to science called Nepenthes philippinensis , as well as strange pink ferns and blue mushrooms which they could not identify.

As they closed in on the summit, the forest thinned until eventually they were walking among scrub and large boulders.

"At around 1,600 metres above sea level, we suddenly saw one great pitcher plant, then a second, then many more," McPherson recounts.

"It was immediately apparent that the plant we had found was not a known species."

Pitcher plants are carnivorous. Carnivorous plants come in many forms, and are known to have independently evolved at least six separate times. While some have sticky surfaces that act like flypaper, others like the Venus fly trap are snap traps, closing their leaves around their prey.
Pitchers create tube-like leaf structures into which insects and other small animals tumble and become trapped.

The team has placed type specimens of the new species in the herbarium of the Palawan State University, and have named the plant Nepenthes attenboroughii after broadcaster and natural historian David Attenborough.

"The plant is among the largest of all carnivorous plant species and produces spectacular traps as large as other species which catch not only insects, but also rodents as large as rats," says McPherson.
The pitcher plant does not appear to grow in large numbers, but McPherson hopes the remote, inaccessible mountain-top location, which has only been climbed a handful of times, will help prevent poachers from reaching it.

During the expedition, the team also encountered another pitcher, Nepenthes deaniana , which had not been seen in the wild for 100 years. The only known existing specimens of the species were lost in a herbarium fire in 1945.

On the way down the mountain, the team also came across a striking new species of sundew, a type of sticky trap plant, which they are in the process of formally describing.

Thought to be a member of the genus Drosera , the sundew produces striking large, semi-erect leaves which form a globe of blood red foliage.

Do trees communicate with each other?

Big old trees - dubbed 'mother trees' - are hubs in a mycorrhizal fungal network (Source: Smileus/iStockphoto)

Surprisingly, the answer is yes.

They might seem like the strong, tall and silent type, but trees actually communicate with each other.

Forest ecologist Dr Suzanne Simard, from the University of British Colombia, studies a type of fungi that forms underground communication networks between trees in North American forests.

Big old trees — dubbed 'mother trees' — are hubs in this mycorrhizal fungal network, playing a key role in supporting other trees in the forest, especially their offspring.

"If you're a mother and you have children, you recognise your children and you treat them in certain ways. We're finding that trees will do the same thing. They'll adjust their competitive behaviour to make room for their own kin and they send those signals through mycorrhizal networks," says Simard.

"We found that the biggest oldest trees had more connections to other trees than smaller trees. It stands to reason because they have more root systems," she says.

"So when a seedling establishes on the forest floor, if it's near one of these mother trees it just links into that network and accesses that huge resource network."

Sharing resources

Fungal networks don't just operate between related trees, but also between trees of different species in the same native community, says Simard.

In a landmark experiment, published in a 1997 issue of Nature, Simard used radioisotopes to trace carbon, nitrogen and water moving between a Douglas fir and a paper birch tree, which are both native to the inland forests of British Colombia.

When she shaded one tree, carbon-based sugars would flow into it from the other tree.
So rather than competing for resources, these two trees were using fungal networks to share them, says Simard.

In another study, Simard and her graduate student showed every tree in a 30 by 30-metre forest stand was connected to every other tree, with an estimated 250 to 300 trees being connected together in this single forest stand.

Defence signals

Other evidence shows trees use fungal networks to warn their neighbours about impending attacks from pests.

"When trees are attacked, they increase their defence against the invaders by upregulating their defence genes to make defence enzymes," says Simard.

"Research suggests they also send chemical signals down into their roots through their mycorrhizal networks to their neighbours, which then detect these signals and upregulate their own defence genes."

Lab studies have recorded defence signals travelling between trees in as little as six hours, says Simard.

She says when fungal networks are intact they allow a greater diversity of trees, each with their own strengths and weaknesses, to survive in the forest.

This diversity is the basis for forests that are resilient to disease, pests and climate change, says Simard.

Above-ground communication

Plant physiologist Professor Hans Lambers of the University of Western Australia says scientists have known for 20 or 30 years that plants communicate by giving off chemicals above ground.

The classic example is the release of volatile chemicals by plants that are attacked by pests. These chemicals are picked up by neighbouring plants which are then forewarned to defend themselves from the pests.

"The neighbours must sense those volatiles, and then respond by accumulating the chemicals that deter the attackers," says Lambers.

Above-ground chemicals can also attract predators that eat pests, and more recently this chemical communication has also been found to occur below ground, says Lambers.

But whether mycorrhizal fungi networks are used or not depends on the particular ecosystem.

Australian ecosystems

The Western Australian ecosystems, where Lambers works, are dominated by banksias, grevilleas and hakeas that on don't rely on mycorrhizal fungi.

However, eucalypt forests do have mycorrhizal fungal networks, says fungal ecologist Professor Ian Anderson of the University of Western Sydney, although no research has been done looking at their function.

"No-one's actually shown that an interconnected network is transferring carbon and nitrogen," he says. "It's a really under-researched area."

Anderson suspects fungal networks would be playing an even more important role in eucalypt forests than North American forests given their soils have much lower nutrients.

"I think these mycorrhizal networks have an even greater potential than what Suzanne Simard has shown," he says.

Implications for old-growth forests

Simard says her findings have implications for forestry practices that target old-growth trees.
"We need to leave these legacy trees and let them send their messages into the soil to surrounding plants," she says.

"This will help the recovery of forests following disturbance such as logging or fire."

Conserving fungal networks that help forests recover from disturbance could also prevent invasions by exotic species, which often compete with the endemic networks, she believes.

Dr Suzanne Simard, Professor Ian Anderson and Professor Hans Lambers spoke with Anna Salleh

Old trees 'star players' in carbon uptake

The researchers found that old-growth forests shouldn't be left out of the carbon trading equation (Source: Markku Saarinen)

Anna Salleh
ABC

The largest trees in the world grow more quickly, and thus take up more carbon dioxide, than younger, smaller trees, say researchers.

The findings, published today in the journal Nature add to our understanding of how tree growth rates change over time.

"We found that tree growth rates increased continuously with tree size so, on average, the biggest trees in the forest are the fastest growing trees in the forest in terms of mass", says lead author, Dr Nate Stephenson, a research ecologist with the US Geological Survey.

Stephenson says the majority view to date has been that trees have a similar growth pattern to humans - starting off slowly, getting a growth spurt in adolescence, and then slowing down again as they get older.

But, he says, a number of scientists have argued trees continue to grow faster and faster the larger they get.

"It turns out that that's the case for the large majority of tree species."

Stephenson says the latest evidence comes from the largest study to date on the growth rate of trees across the globe.

He and colleagues measured the change in diameter of 650,000 individual trees from 403 species in both temperate and tropical areas.

"On average, every year trees put on more mass than they put on the year before," says Stephenson.
"Old trees are the ones putting on the most bulk in old forests. They are the star players."

"We think it strongly supports the minority view about tree growth rate."

Paradox

Stephenson says the majority view has been supported by previous research that, among other things, has shown as a tree gets older its growth rate per leaf decreases.

"A given leaf on a big tall eucalyptus tree photosynthesises less than one on a smaller tree," says Stephenson.

Studies have also found that, overall, older forest stands grow at a slower rate compared to younger stands.

But, says Stephenson, such measurements have been made at the scale of individual leaves and at the scale of forest stands.

"Most people have just inferred that the same has to be happening at the scale of the individual tree but it's not," he says, adding the latest findings are not incompatible with earlier observations at the leaf and forest stand scales.

"Our observation is compatible with those other observations but it just may not be intuitive," says Stephenson.

He says even though productivity per leaf in older trees decreases, this is counteracted by the fact that these trees have a lot more leaves that collectively result in the tree's faster growth rate.

"A tree that is a metre in diameter has, on average, 100 times as much leave mass as one that is only 10 centimetres in diameter."

At the other end of the scale, more young trees than old trees are packed into the same area of forest, and so this explains why collectively forest stands consisting of young trees put on more mass than those consisting of fewer old trees.

Implications

Stephenson says the findings will have implications for our understanding the role of trees in the carbon cycle and greenhouse gas concentrations in the atmosphere.

"We already know that the biggest trees are the most important ones to preserve for carbon sequestration because they already hold so much carbon in them. It think the finding adds a little more support to the idea we need to protect these big trees," he says.

"Not only do they hold the most carbon but they are putting on a huge amount every single year."

Giant Sequoias

Forest Giant

A tree-climbing scientist and his team have learned surprising new facts about giant sequoias by measuring them inch by inch.

By David Quammen

Photograph by Michael Nichols

 

On a gentle slope above a trail junction in Sequoia National Park, about 7,000 feet above sea level in the southern Sierra Nevada, looms a very big tree. Its trunk is rusty red, thickened with deep layers of furrowed bark, and 27 feet in diameter at the base. Its footprint would cover your dining room. Trying to glimpse its tippy top, or craning to see the shape of its crown, could give you a sore neck. That is, this tree is so big you can scarcely look at it all. It has a name, the President, bestowed about 90 years ago by admiring humans. It’s a giant sequoia, a member of Sequoiadendron giganteum, one of several surviving species of redwoods.

It’s not quite the largest tree on Earth. It’s the second largest. Recent research by scientist Steve Sillett of Humboldt State University and his colleagues has confirmed that the President ranks number two among all big trees that have ever been measured—and Sillett’s team has measured quite a few. It doesn’t stand so tall as the tallest of coast redwoods or of Eucalyptus regnans in Australia, but height isn’t everything; it’s far more massive than any coast redwood or eucalypt. Its dead spire, blasted by lightning, rises to 247 feet. Its four great limbs, each as big as a sizable tree, elbow outward from the trunk around halfway up, billowing into a thick crown like a mushroom cloud flattening against the sky. Although its trunk isn’t quite so bulky as that of the largest giant, the General Sherman, its crown is fuller than the Sherman’s. The President holds nearly two billion leaves.

Trees grow tall and wide-crowned as a measure of competition with other trees, racing upward, reaching outward for sunlight and water. And a tree doesn’t stop getting larger—as a terrestrial mammal does, or a bird, their size constrained by gravity—once it’s sexually mature. A tree too is constrained by gravity, but not in the same way as a condor or a giraffe. It doesn’t need to locomote, and it fortifies its structure by continually adding more wood. Given the constant imperative of seeking resources from the sky and the soil, and with sufficient time, a tree can become huge and then keep growing. Giant sequoias are gigantic because they are very, very old.

They are so old because they have survived all the threats that could have killed them. They’re too strong to be knocked over by wind. Their heartwood and bark are infused with tannic acids and other chemicals that protect against fungal rot. Wood-boring beetles hardly faze them. Their thick bark is flame resistant. Ground fires, in fact, are good for sequoia populations, burning away competitors, opening sequoia cones, allowing sequoia seedlings to get started amid the sunlight and nurturing ash. Lightning hurts the big adults but usually doesn’t kill them. So they grow older and bigger across the millennia.

Another factor that can end the lives of big trees, of course, is logging. Many giant sequoias fell to the ax during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. But the wood of the old giants was so brittle that trunks often shattered when they hit the ground, and what remained had little value as lumber. It went into shingles, fence posts, grape stakes, and other scrappy products. Given the difficulties of dealing with logs 20 feet thick, broken or unbroken, the trees were hardly worth cutting. Sequoia National Park was established in 1890, and automobile tourism soon showed that giant sequoias were worth more alive.

One thing to remember about them, as Steve Sillett explained to me during a conversation amid the trees, is that they withstand months of frigid conditions. Their preferred habitat is severely wintry, so they must be strong while frozen. Snow piles up around them; it weights their limbs while the temperature wobbles in the teens. They handle the weight and the cold with aplomb, as they handle so much else. “They’re a snow tree,” he said. “That’s their thing.”

Among the striking discoveries made by Sillett’s team is that even the rate of growth of a big tree, not just its height or total volume, can increase during old age. An elderly monster like the President actually lays down more new wood per year than a robust young tree. It puts that wood around the trunk, which grows wider, and into the limbs and the branches, which grow thicker.

This finding contradicts a long-held premise in forest ecology—that wood production decreases during the old age of a tree. That premise, which has justified countless management decisions in favor of short-rotation forestry, may hold true for some kinds of trees in some places, but not for giant sequoias (or other tall species, including coast redwoods). Sillett and his team have disproved it by doing something that earlier forest ecologists didn’t: climbing the big trees—climbing all over them—and measuring them inch by inch.

With blessings and permits from the National Park Service, they performed such high-altitude metrics on the President. This was part of a larger study, a long-term monitoring project on giant sequoias and coast redwoods called the Redwoods and Climate Change Initiative. Sillett’s group put a line over the President’s crown, rigged climbing ropes into position (with special protectors for the tree’s cambium), donned harnesses and helmets, and went up. They measured the trunk at different heights; they measured limbs, branches, and burls; they counted cones; they took core samples using a sterilized borer. Then they fed the numbers through mathematical models informed by additional data from other giant sequoias. That’s how they came to know that the President contains at least 54,000 cubic feet of wood and bark. And that’s how they detected that the old beast, at about the age of 3,200, is still growing quickly. It’s still inhaling great breaths of CO₂ and binding the carbon into cellulose, hemicellulose, and lignin in a growing season interrupted by six months of cold and snow.

Not bad for an oldster.

That’s the remarkable thing about them, Sillett told me. “Half the year, they’re not growing aboveground. They’re in the snow.” They grow bigger than their biggest compeer, the coast redwood, even with a shorter growing season.

It was fitting, therefore, that Michael (Nick) Nichols made his portrait of the President in snow. Nick and Jim Campbell Spickler, an expert climber and rigger, came up with a plan. With a crew of assistants and climbers drawn heavily from Steve Sillett’s team, they arrived in mid-February, when the snowbanks along the plowed road were 12 feet high. They rigged ropes on the President and on a tall nearby tree, both for human ascent and for raising cameras. They waited through blue skies, slushy conditions, and fog until the weather changed and the snow came again and the moment was right. They got the shot. (Actually there were many individual shots, assembled as you see on the poster.) By the time I showed up, they were packing to leave.

Nick had spent more than two weeks commanding this operation, composing the image and engineering it from the ground. But before the last ropes came down, he wanted to climb the tree himself. Not to take photos, he explained. “Just to say goodbye.” He put on a harness and a helmet, clipped onto a rope, fit his feet into the loops, clutched the ascender, and up he went.

Once Nick was down, I went up myself—slowly, clumsily, with help from Spickler. Ascending, I braced my feet gratefully against the great trunk. I stood for a moment, with Spickler beside me, on one of the huge limbs. After half an hour, I found myself in the crown of the President, 200 feet above the ground. I saw the big burls at close range. I saw the smooth, purplish bark of the smaller branches. All around me was living tree. I looked up, dizzily, noticing small cracks in the deadwood and channels of cambium that flowed between trunk and limbs like a river of life. I thought: What an amazing place. Then I thought: What an amazing creature.

Next afternoon, with Nick and the others gone, I snowshoed back to the President alone. There had been too much to take in, and I wanted another look. For a while I gaped at the tree. It was magnificent. Serene. It didn’t sway in the breeze; too solid to sway. I wondered about its history. I contemplated its durability and its patience. The day was warmish, and as I stood there, the President released a small dollop of melting snow from a high branch. The snow scattered as it fell, dissipating into tiny flecks and crystals, catching the light as they tumbled toward me.

“Gesundheit,” I said.

Dragon Blood Tree

The Socotra Archipelago in the Indian Ocean, off the coast of Somalia, is home to the Dragon Blood tree. The Dragon Blood tree is unusual for a number of reasons. Its trunk is bare and branches only at the top, ending in sharp spiky leaves. This unusual appearance is due to the Dragon Blood tree belonging to the monocotyledons, the same group of plants as grasses, rather than dicotyledons, which are more common amongst trees. As well as an unusual exterior, the trees also reveal an unusual interior; once pierced bright red sap oozes out. The crimson sap, called Dragon Blood, is dried and then used as a medicine or a dye. While the inhabitants of Socotra still use it as a panacea, the sap is mostly used in the West as a red varnish for violins.

Hyperion California

Hyperion is a Coast Redwood, and has the distinction of being the tallest living organism ever measured. It is 379.3 feet tall. That’s 38 stories, 100 feet taller than #5, 50 feet taller than the tallest habitable building in Washington, D. C. It grows in Redwood National Park and was not even discovered until 25 August, 2006, because all the trees around it are also redwoods, and are all gargantuan.

Like all redwoods and sequoias (very similar species), Hyperion is so enormous that it possesses its own ecosystem, with full-size pines and hemlocks growing on its branches. It is so high that if you could avoid the branches (and other trees) on the way down, BASE jumping would be no problem at all. There are no confirmed photos of it on the Internet, because scientists don’t want it disturbed or damaged by tourists. Like the Giant Sequoia, you can fit about 10 coast redwood seeds on the face of a dime.

Photo Gallery of Japanese Zen Gardens

Monotonous rocks instead of colorful flowers; dry, gray sand as a substitute for glass-clear water; moss supplementing cherished flowerbeds. Even this can be a description of a garden. Everyone can recognize them at the first glance, but few can depict them in words.

Photo Gallery of Japanese Zen Gardens by Frantisek Staud with more than 250 photographs.

You want to see more? Then go here:
The Japanese Garden by Bowdoin

Although many of these gardens are located within Zen monasteries, this site does not explore the influence of Zen Buddhism on Japanese garden design, an influence that is often conjectural at best. Instead, the site is designed to provide the visitor with an opportunity to visit each garden, to move through or around it, to experience it through the medium of high-quality color images.

THE BLACK DRAGON AND THE RED DRAGON – Turkish Folktale

The following very elaborate narrative elaborates on the workings of supernatural

beings ranging from dragons to jinn (called here peris, dews,

and even Arabs). In keeping with many Asian traditions, the dragons of

this tale are benign, providing helpful advice and magical objects to the

Padishah (emperor). The jinns, however, are the source of misfortune to

both humans and the superhuman characters that populate this tale.

There was once a Padishah who had the misfortune to have all his children

stolen as soon as they reached their seventh year. Grief at this terrible

affliction caused him almost to lose his reason, ‘‘Forty children have

been born to me,’’ said he, ‘‘each seeming more beautiful than the one which

preceded it, so that I never tired of regarding them. O that one at least had been

spared to me! Better that I should have had none than that each should have

caused me so much grief.’’

He brooded continually over the loss of his children, and at length, unable

to endure it longer, he left his palace at night and wandered no one knew

whither. When morning broke he was already a good distance from his capital.

Presently he reached a spring, and was about to take an abdest [Islamic Purification

by washing the hands before prayer] to say the prayer namaz, when he

observed what appeared like a black cloud in the sky, moving towards him.

When it came quite near he saw that it was a flight of forty birds, which,

twittering and cooing, alighted at the spring. Alarmed, the Padishah hid himself.

As they drank at the spring one of the birds said, ‘‘Mother’s milk was never

our kismet [destiny]. We must perforce drink mountain water. Neither father

nor mother care for us.’’

Then said another, ‘‘Even if they think about us, they cannot know where

we are.’’ At these words they flew away.

The Padishah murmured to himself, ‘‘Poor things! Even such small creatures,

it seems, grieve over the absence of their parents.’’

When he had taken his abdest and said his prayers the day had fully dawned

and the nightingales filled the air with their delightful songs. Having traveled

all night, he could not keep his eyes open longer from fatigue, and he fell into a

slumber while his mind was still occupied with thoughts of his lost children. In

a dream he saw a dervish approaching him. The Padishah offered him a place at

his side and made the newcomer the confidante of his sorrow.

Now the dervish knew what had befallen the Padishah’s children, and said,

‘‘My Shah, grieve not; though thou seest not thy children, thy children see thee.

The birds that came to the spring while thou wast praying were thy children.

They were stolen by the peris, and their abode is at a year’s distance from here.

They can, if they will, fly not only here but even into thy palace, but they fear

the peris. When thou departest from here, drink like the doves from the spring,

and Allah will restore to thee thy children.’’

The Padishah woke up from his sleep and, reflecting a little, he remembered

the words of the dervish in his dream, and he decided to bend his steps towards

the spring. What a sight his eyes beheld there! Blood was flowing from the

spring. Alarmed, he wondered whether he were sleeping or waking. Presently

the sun appeared above the horizon and he was convinced it was no dream.

Closing his eyes and repressing his aversion, he drank from the bloody spring as

though it were pure water; then, turning to the right, he hastened on his way.

All at once he saw in the distance what seemed like a great army drawn up

in battle array. Not knowing whether they were enemies or friends, he hesitated

about proceeding, but at length resolved to go forward and take his chance. On

approaching the army he was surprised to find it was composed of dragons of all

sizes, the smallest, however, being as large as a camel. ‘‘Woe is me!’’ he groaned;

‘‘who knows but what I thought a dream was sorcery! What shall I do now? If I

go forward I shall certainly be cut to pieces, and I cannot go back without being

seen.’’ He prayed to Allah for deliverance from this danger which threatened

him.

It happened, however, that these were only newly born dragons, the oldest

being but a few days old. None of them had their eyes open, Thus they were

wandering about blindly, unable to find their home, though keeping together by

instinct.

This discovery was very reassuring for the Padishah, who gave the dragons a

wide berth and so continued his way without molestation

Night came on, and as he wended his way among the mountains the sound

of a terrible howling smote his ears. It was the dragon-mother calling her lost

children. The Padishah was seized with fear as the dragon, seeing him,

exclaimed, ‘‘At last I have thee; my young ones have fared ill at thy hands; thou

shalt not escape—thou who hast slain a thousand of my offspring.’’ The

Padishah answered tremblingly that he had indeed seen the young dragons, but

had done them no harm; not being a hunter, he had no thought of harming anyone.

‘‘If thou speakest the truth,’’ returned the dragon-mother, ‘‘tell me in what

direction my children have gone.’’ The Padishah accordingly explained where

he had seen them, whereupon the old dragon changed him into a tobacco-box,

which she stuck in her girdle. Thus she carried him with her on her search for

the missing young ones, and after a while she found them quite safe and sound.

The dragon-mother drove her children home before her, the Padishah still

as a tobacco-box in her girdle. By and by they came across the four walls of a

fortress standing in the midst of the desert. Taking a whip from her girdle the

dragon struck the walls a mighty blow, on which they fell down and a larger

dragon came forth from the ruins. The walls now destroyed had enclosed a fine

serai, which they entered. The female dragon, having changed the Padishah

again to his original form, took him into one of the apartments of the palace

and thus addressed him, ‘‘Child of men, why camest thou hither? I see thou

hadst no evil intention.’’

When the Padishah had related his story, the dragon observed, ‘‘The matter

can easily be rectified. All thy children are in the Hyacinth Kiosk. The place is

a good distance away, and if thou goest alone thou wilt hardly succeed in reaching

it. After crossing the mountain thou wilt come to a desert where my brother

lives; his children are bigger than mine and know the place well. Go to him,

present my compliments, and ask him to escort thee to the Hyacinth Kiosk.’’

The dragon now took leave of the Padishah, who set off on his journey.

It was a long time ere he had crossed the mountain and come in sight of

the desert. After traversing the latter for some time he saw a serai much larger

than the one he had left. At the gate stood a dragon twice as large as the other,

at a thousand paces distant its eyes seemed to be closed, but from the narrow

opening between the upper and lower lids came a ray of flame sufficient to

scorch any human being that might come within reach of it. When the

Padishah saw this he thought to himself, ‘‘My last hour is surely come.’’ At the

top of his voice he shouted to the dragon his sister’s greeting. Hearing the words

the great beast opened his eyes and as he did so, it seemed as though the whole

region was enveloped in flames. The Padishah, unable to endure the sight, ran

back. To the dragon he seemed no larger than a flea, and consequently not

worth troubling about.

The Padishah returned to the dragon-mother and related his terrifying experience.

Said she, ‘‘I forgot to tell you that I am called the Black Dragon, my

brother, the Red Dragon. Go back and say that the Black Dragon sends greeting.

As my name is known to no one, my brother will recognize that I have sent

you. Then he will turn his back towards you, and you can approach him without

danger; but beware of getting in front of him, or you will become a victim of

the fiery glances of his eyes.’’

Now the Padishah set out to return to the Red Dragon, and when he had

reached the spot he cried with a loud voice, ‘‘Thy sister, the Black Dragon,

sends thee greeting!’’ On this the beast turned his back towards him. Approaching

the dragon, the Padishah made known his wish to go to the Hyacinth Kiosk.

The dragon took a whip from his girdle and smote the earth with it so mightily

that the mountain seemed rent in twain. In a little while the Padishah saw

approaching a rather large dragon, and as he came near he felt the heat that

glowed from his great eyes. This dragon also turned his back toward the

Padishah. ‘‘My son, if thou wouldst enter the Hyacinth Kiosk,’’ said the Red

Dragon, ‘‘cry before thou enterest, ‘The Red Dragon has sent me!’ On this an

Arab will appear: this is the very peri that has robbed thee of thy children.

When he asks what thou wilt, tell him that the great dragon demands possession

of the largest of the stolen children. If he refuses, ask for the smallest. If again

he refuses, tell him the Red Dragon demands himself. Say no more, but return

here in peace.’’

The Padishah now mounted the back of the dragon which the Red Dragon

had summoned and set off. Seeing the Hyacinth Kiosk in the distance the

Padishah shouted, ‘‘Greeting from the Red Dragon!’’ So mighty was the shout

that earth and sky seemed to be shaken. Immediately a swarthy Arab with fan

shaped lips appeared, grasping an enormous club in his hand. Stepping out into

the open air, he inquired what was the matter.

‘‘The Red Dragon,’’ said the Padishah, ‘‘demands the largest of the stolen

children.’’

‘‘The largest is ill,’’ answered the peri.

‘‘Then send the smallest to him,’’ rejoined the Padishah.

‘‘He has gone to fetch water,’’ replied the Arab.

‘‘If that is so,’’ continued the Padishah, ‘‘the Red Dragon demands thyself.’’

‘‘I am going into the kiosk,’’ said the Arab, and disappeared. The Padishah

returned to the Red Dragon, to whom he related how he had fulfilled his

mission.

Meanwhile the Arab came forth, in each hand a great club, wooden shoes

three yards long on his feet, and on his head a cap as high as a minaret.

Seeing him, the Red Dragon said, ‘‘So-ho! My dear Hyacinther; thou hast

the children of this Padishah; be good enough to deliver them up.’’

‘‘I have a request to make,’’ replied the Arab, ‘‘and if the Padishah will grant

it I will gladly give him his children back again. Ten years ago I stole the son of

a certain Padishah, and when he was twelve years old he was stolen away from

me by a Dew-woman named Porsuk. Every day she sends the boy to the spring

for water, gives him an ashcake to eat, and compels him to drink a glass of

human blood. If I can but regain possession of this youth, I desire nothing more,

for never in the whole world have I seen such a handsome lad. This Porsuk has

a son who loves me, and evil has been done me because I will not adopt him in

place of the stolen boy. I am aware that the children of this Padishah are brave

and handsome, and I stole them to mitigate my sufferings. Let him but fulfill my

wish, and I will fulfill thine.’’

Having uttered this speech the Arab went away.

The Red Dragon reflected a little, then spoke as follows, ‘‘My son, fear not.

This Porsuk is not particularly valiant, though skilled in sorcery. She cannot be

vanquished by magic; but it is her custom on one day in the year to work no

magic, therefore on that day she may be overcome. One month must thou wait,

during which I will discover the exact day and inform thee thereof,’’

The Padishah agreeing to this, the Red Dragon dispatched his sons to discover

the precise day on which the Dew worked no magic. As soon as they

returned with the desired information it was duly imparted to the Padishah, with

the additional fact that on that day the Dew always slept. ‘‘When thou arrivest,’’

the Red Dragon counseled the Padishah, ‘‘the youth she retains will come to fetch

water from the spring. Take his cap off his head and set it on thine own: thus he

will be unable to stir from the spot, and thou canst do what thou wilt with him.’’

The Red Dragon then sent for his sons, instructing them to escort the

Padishah to the Porsuk-Dew’s spring, wait there until he had accomplished his

object, and then accompany both back in safety. Arrived at the spring, all hid

themselves until the youth came for water. While he was filling his bottle the

Padishah sprang forth suddenly, whisked off the youth’s cap, set it on his own

head, and instantly disappeared into his hiding-place. The youth looked around,

and seeing no one, could not think what had happened. Then the young dragons

swooped down upon him, captured him, and with the Padishah led him a

prisoner to the Red Dragon.

Striking the earth with his whip, the Red Dragon brought the Hyacinth

Arab on the scene, and as soon as he caught sight of the boy he sprang towards

him, embraced and kissed him, expressing his deep gratitude to the friends who

had restored him.

Now he in his turn clapped his hands and stamped his feet on the ground

and immediately forty birds flew up twittering merrily. Taking a flask from his

girdle, the Arab sprinkled them with the liquid it contained, and lo! The birds

were transformed into forty lovely maidens and handsome youths, who drew up

in line and stood at attention. ‘‘Now, my Shah,’’ said the Arab, ‘‘behold thy

children! Take them and be happy, and pardon me the suffering I have caused

thee.’’

Had anyone begged the Padishah’s costliest treasure at that moment it

would have been given him, so overwhelmed with joy was the monarch at

recovering his children. He freely pardoned the Hyacinth Arab and would even

have rewarded him had there been anything he desired.

The Padishah now bade good-bye to the Red Dragon. At the moment of

parting the Red Dragon pulled out a hair from behind his ear and, giving it to

the Padishah, said:

‘‘Take this, and when in trouble of any sort break it in two and I will hasten

to thy aid.’’

Thus the Padishah and his children set out, and in due course arrived at the

abode of the Black Dragon. She also took a hair from behind her ear and presented

it to the Padishah with the following advice, ‘‘Marry thy children at

once, and if on their wedding day thou wilt fumigate them with this hair, they

will be for ever delivered from the power of the Porsuk-Dew.’’

The Padishah expressed his thanks, bade the Black Dragon a hearty goodbye,

and all proceeded on their way.

During the journey the Padishah entertained his children by relating his

adventures, and then he listened to those of his sons and daughters. Suddenly a

fearful storm arose. None of the party knew what their fate would be, yet all

waited in trembling expectancy. At length one of the maidens exclaimed, ‘‘Dear

father and Shah, I have heard the Arab say that whenever the Porsuk-Dew

passes she is accompanied by a storm such as this. I believe it is she who is now

passing, and no other.’’ Collecting his courage, the Padishah drew forth the hair

of the Red Dragon and broke it in two. The Porsuk Dew at once fell down from

the sky with a crash, and at the same moment the Red Dragon came up swinging

and cracking his whip. The Dew was found to have broken her arms and

smashed her nose, so that she was quite incapable of inflicting further mischief.

The Padishah was exceedingly afraid lest he should lose one of his children

again, but the Red Dragon reassured him. ‘‘Fear not, my Shah,’’ said he; ‘‘take

this whip.’’ The Padishah accepted it, and as he cracked it he felt the sensation

of being lifted into the air.

Descending to earth again, he found himself just outside the gates of his

own capital city. ‘‘Now thou art quite safe,’’ said the Red Dragon as he disappeared.

At sight of the domes and minarets and familiar walls of their birthplace

they all cast themselves on their knees and wept for joy. Since the Padishah had

left his palace continual lamentation and gloom had reigned supreme, and now

all the pashas and beys came out joyfully to meet their returning master and his

children. The Sultana went down the whole line embracing and kissing her

beautiful sons and daughters, and the delighted Padishah ordered seven days and

seven nights of merrymaking in honor of the glad event.

These festivities were scarcely over when wives for the Padishah’s sons and

husbands for his daughters were sought and found, and then commenced forty

days and forty nights of revelry in celebration of the grand wedding.

Unfortunately, on the wedding day the Padishah forgot to fumigate them

all with the Black Dragon’s hair, with the result that as soon as the ceremony

was over rain began to fall in a deluging torrent, and the wind blew so fiercely

that nothing could withstand it. At first the Padishah thought it was merely a

great storm, but later he remembered the Porsuk-Dew, and cried out in his fear.

Hearing the clamor, the inmates of the serai, including the newly wedded princes

and princesses, came in to see what was the matter. The frightened

Padishah gave the Black Dragon’s hair to the Vezir and commanded him to

burn it immediately. No one understood the order, and all thought the

Padishah must have lost his wits; nevertheless his wish was obeyed and the hair

burnt. Immediately a fearful howling was heard in the garden outside, and the

Porsuk-Dew cried with a loud voice, ‘‘Thou hast burnt me, O Padishah! Henceforth

in thy garden shall no blade of grass grow.’’ Next morning it was seen that

every tree and flower in the garden was scorched, as though a conflagration had

raged over the scene.

The Padishah, however, did not allow this loss to trouble him; he had his

children again with him, and that joy eclipsed any ordinary misfortunes that

might befall him. He explained everything to his suite, who could hardly believe

what they heard, it was all so astonishing. No further danger was to be feared,

and thus the Padishah and his family, with their husbands and wives, lived happily

together until their lives’ end.

Island of Socotra

Republic of Yemen

Socotra has been described as one of the most alien-looking place on Earth, and it’s not hard to see why. It is very isolated with a harsh, dry climate and as a result a third of its plant-life is found nowhere else, including the famous Dragon’s Blood Tree, a very-unnatural looking umbrella-shaped tree which produces red sap. There are also a large number of birds, spiders and other animals native to the island, and coral reefs around it which similarly have a large number of endemic (i.e. only found there) species. Socotra is considered the most biodiverse place in the Arabian sea, and is a World Heritage Site.

The rat that's the size of a cat: BBC team discovers 40 new species in 'lost world'

No fear: The rat is not afraid of humans, which could make it vulnerable

A bizarre jungle spider camouflaged as lichen

Rats as big as cats, fanged frogs and grunting fish - they sound like something from a horror movie.

But, incredibly, there is a 'lost world' on a distant island where these nightmarish creatures really exist.
A team of scientists discovered the bizarre animals - and dozens of others - at a remote volcano in Papua New Guinea.

In the kilometre-deep crater of Mount Bosavi, they found a habitat teeming with life which has evolved in isolation since the volcano last erupted 200,000 years ago.

Among the new species was the the Bosavi Woolly Rat.

One of the biggest rats in the world, it measures just over 32 inches from nose to tail and weighs 3lb.
The silvery grey mammal has dense fur and its teeth suggest it has a largely vegetarian diet and probably builds nests in tree hollows or underground.

Mr Buchanan and Smithsonian biologist Dr Kristofer Helgen were first on the scene when the rat was found by a tracker from the local Kasua tribe. Dr Helgen said:

'This is one of the world's largest rats. It is a true rat, related to the same kind you find in the city sewers, but a heck of a lot bigger.

(Excerpt) Read more at dailymail.co.uk ...

The Battle of Ragnarok

Ragnarok, sometimes called the Twilight of the Gods, is the final cataclysm that will destroy this world and the gods. After three terrible winters, a universal war will break out and the god Loki—now an enemy of the Aesir—and his son, Fenrir the wolf, will break from their bonds. Loki will then sail with an army of the dead to the final battle, in which Fenrir will swallow the sun, and kill Odin; Thor will slay the World Serpent, but die from its poison; and the gods will perish. Finally Surt, guardian of the fires of Muspell since the beginning of time, will release them and engulf the world in flame. After this world is destroyed, a new one will arise. Only Odin’s sons Vidar and Vali, and Thor’s sons Modi and Magni, will survive, and the gods Balder and Hod will return to life. They will sit on the new earth and talk of the world that was; in the grass they shall find the golden chess pieces of the gods. Two people, Lif and Lifthrasir, will survive in the branches of the World Tree and repopulate the earth.

The World Tree Myth

According to the Norse poem The Lay of Grimnir, “Of all trees, Yggdrasil is the best.” Yggdrasil is a huge ash tree that stands at the center of the cosmos, protecting and nourishing the worlds. The gods are described as riding out each day “from Yggdrasil” to deal out fates to mankind, and it was on Yggdrasil that the supreme god Odin willingly sacrificed himself, hanging in torment for nine long nights before he could seize the runes of power. Yggdrasil supported nine worlds, set in three layers. At the top was Asgard, the realm of the Aesir, or warrior gods, Vanaheim, the realm of the Vanir, or fertility gods, and Aflheim, the realm of the light elves. In the middle, linked to Asgard by the rainbow bridge Bifrost, was Midgard (Middle Earth), the realm of mortal men, and also Jotunheim, the world of the giants, Nidavellir, the home of the dwarfs, and Svartalfheim, the land of the dark elves. Below was Niflheim, the realm of the dead, and its citadel Hel. The ninth world is sometimes said to be Hel and sometimes the primeval fire of Muspell, which will devour creation at the end of time. Yggdrasil itself will survive, and will protect in Hoddmimir’s Wood the man and woman who will re-people the world. The branches of Yggdrasil spread out over the whole world, and reach up to heaven.

The Maya I

The Maya were master pyramid builders, but their magnificent cities were buried by the jungle until the late 1800s and early 1900s. This is a pyramid in Chichén Itzá, a great Maya city of the Postclassic Era.

Palenque was one of the great cities of the Classic Era. These ruins were once the temple complex.

Volcano peaks pierce the blanket of cool mist that hangs above the forest canopy. Ghostly howler monkeys scream, unseen, as if the ruined temples were part of a scene in an unearthly horror movie. For some, the sounds create the illusion that the lost city of Copán is haunted by tortured souls wailing deep within the stone pyramids. Only the occasional rustle of a tree branch reveals that the monkeys are the true source of the screams. They scramble across a platform where priests once addressed thousands of people. The platform is now buried in vines, and moss, and jungle growth. The remains of Copán, one of the richest centers of Maya civilization, lie deep in the tropical forest of modern Honduras. Copán became wealthy because of its rich soil and the Copán River’s annual flood. Each year, the river overflowed and the water left behind a new layer of rich, fertile soil. The huge quantity of precious jade found in the tombs of Copán’s kings is evidence of how wealthy they were.

Classifying Maya history

Archaeologists divide pre-Columbian (the time before Columbus arrived in the Americas in 1492 c.e. Maya history into three major time periods: Preclassic, Classic, and Postclassic. During the Preclassic Era, from about 1200 b.c.e. to 250 c.e., settled farming communities grew into complex societies. Many Maya kingdoms experienced rapid growth in this era. They built monumental structures, established long-distance trade routes, and developed governing systems. In the later part of the Preclassic Era, some kingdoms were enjoying their peak while others had already faded away.

The Classic Era was between about 250 and 900. From southeastern Mexico to upper Central America, this varied landscape supported millions of people in Classic times. During the height of Maya civilization in the eighth century, as many as 60 independent kingdoms dotted the Maya area, as well as hundreds of smaller towns and villages.

Unlike the Aztec people, their neighbors to the north, the Maya never unified into a single empire. Instead, they built commerce centers that grew into city-states (cities that function as separate kingdoms or nations) ruled by kings. These kingdoms formed alliances with one another one day, only to turn into sworn enemies the next.

Robert J. Sharer wrote in The Ancient Maya that the capitals of independent kingdoms were “interconnected by commerce, alliances, and rivalries that often led to war.” By the end of the Classic Era, the southern lowland capitals had collapsed, leaving modern scholars to wonder what catastrophe forced the Maya to abandon their cities.

The northern lowlands kingdoms rose and fell during the Postclassic Era, from 900 to 1524. Some kingdoms flowered dramatically, but probably did not reach the heights of the kingdoms from previous eras. It was in the Postclassic Era that kings lost their grip on centralized power and nobles greedily stepped in to break the kingdoms up into smaller pieces.

The Postclassic Era ended with the arrival of the Spaniards, who found that most Maya were living in medium-sized kingdoms and groups of allied cities throughout the Maya area.