Spruce and Hemlock

   Easing deeper into the woods, I notice that some trees are joined together as pairs. One of the partners is usually larger than the other, and most have grown from a fallen tree trunk or stump, of which only a rotted hulk remains. Surprisingly, many of the pairs are mixed. The first of these I find is a fluted hemlock standing with a smooth-trunked spruce. The two lean slightly apart, but near the ground they merge, so that each has shaped itself into the other. The most remarkable thing is their roots, an intertwined mass of living tree flesh that grows over a decayed log like a tangle of fingers clutching the dark earth below. In some pairs, the root masses rise five or six feet above the ground before coalescing into mated trunks.

   These coupled trees reach into the same soil and share its nurturing, share the same rains, brace themselves against the same shuddering gusts, feel the same summer warmth and winter cold, flourish in the same moments of sunshine, share the same breath among brushing boughs, and shelter themselves in the same cool shadows. Each drops its needles onto the moss and rock beneath the other. The mat of needles darkens, dissolves, and percolates through their mingled roots. In this way, they feed each other and nourish their common life.
   I find one pair that a storm has thrown down together, tearing the fused knot of roots from the earth and standing it on end. The root disk is fifteen feet high, clogged with soil and moss, festooned with small plants, and already occupied by spruce and hemlock saplings. So the intimacy between mated trees spans their lives and often conjoins them in death.

   - The Island Within