In between the enthusiasm of visiting furniture makers, I cycle from place to place. And during these bike rides, flying an average of 13mph on just two thin slicks of rubber carried by the calories of my breakfast, I occasionally happen across something wonderful.
It might be fields of red Poppies or marvelous vistas of the midland countryside, perhaps its a moment you find yourself in a spectacle of natural wonder or beauty just beside the noise and haste of the roaring traffic on a road.

Among many of these spectacular experiences i'v had while cycling, one individual has been a recurring feature in my catalog of fond memories. While on the hunt for a resting place during a portion of particularly hilly southern Summerset, just on the border of Devon, I found a promising-looking stream with a bridle path running parallel, just the type of place that might have a secluded patch of land available for me to pitch my tent. I found a flat patch of sediment on the bend of this river and made camp. once my tent was up and I had settled in I took a wander to find some kindling to ignite the warming company of a fire.The field I had pitched next to was seemingly unremarkable, cows were settling down for the night on the far side along the hedgerow, and the sun was casting its beams of low light through the dancing mayflies and plumes of pollen.

I approached a large oak, knowing full well that a tree like this would have plenty of options when it comes to foraging for something to burn. Oaks trees are particularly domineering when they are old, and this was an old beast indeed, large in diameter, but not very tall on account of growing in an open space it was beautiful and erratic in the way it held its limbs to the sky. I could tell that the oak was situated on the border of two fields but what I didn't notice until I got close was that there was a very old iron fence there too.
As I got close to the tree I could see that the fence had been completely consumed. As if someone had cruelly impaled this magnificent tree with several harsh-looking spears. The truth, however, was that the tree must have grown alongside the fence, or at some point, the fence had been placed next to the tree, and over time the tree grew so large and vast in it's circumference that it started to encroach around the iron rails until the fence became completely enveloped. Interestingly the only visible part of the fence left was the part that was jutting out of the tree, proving how old both tree and fence were. It is true that I was on some kind of ancient farmland, due to the nature of the enormous stone gateway I passed to find this plane. I studied the tree, it was enormous and full of character, part of it was hollow, some arms were wilting and dead, and the bark was knarled and bumpy, if a tree could crack from old age, this is what it would look like. But despite all of its cancers and iron piercings, it was still, from my best judgment a healthy tree with another couple centuries left in it.

Trees are a source of fascination for a lot of people, they are monumental in their scale and beauty, we breathe their air and find comfort in the rustle of their leaves, and to a woodworker like myself there is a sense of comradery with trees, I use them in my job and I feel a sense of intimacy with their life when I work with their timber. So it doesn't take a lot for me to be impressed by a tree, but this one was impressive by nature. Witnessing its resilience re-instigated a philosophical thought that iv been playing with for some years now: Consider you are looking at a tree, it's alive, perhaps your definition of a tree is 'a living thing', mine is. Usually the living part of a a tree only in the first few layers of its skin, or bark, I'm of course talking about the cambium layer. everything inside the cambium layer is the skeletal structure of the previous years of its growth, the wood. Each year the cambium layer adds on another set of living cells and leaves behind a mass of cellulose, hemicelluloses, lignin, and carbon, this mass is usually considered dead matter, it's only purpose there after is to act as a structural substrate for the tree to withstand the elements and keep growing on top of, in order to better reach the light. Similar to how a coral will add layers on top of its historical self, instead of growing outward from within, it grows outward on top. If all of this is true then what do we consider a tree to be? is the tree an entire embodiment of its form, including its living skin and its dead parts. Or is a tree a thin layer of living cells, growing and moving, maneuvering around nearby objects like a cascading blanket of life that leaves an impression of itself behind each year, only to be discovered by the tool of the woodworker. If you consider a tree to be a blanket of life it starts to make sense, when you see things like fences getting consumed by them, seemingly unhurt. Have you ever seen a tree maneuver around the cracks of a pavement, or famously the trees that exist in the Angkor Wat temples of Cambodia come to mind. Trees are not just dormant objects, aiming upward in their competition for light growing outward from a single source. But they are constantly and subtly moving, spreading out in all directions expanding into the area around them. Is it sensible to ask what a tree is? For me, I'm still grappling with that quetion. Tired from my bike ride and in need of rest I decided to take my gaze off the canopy of this marvelous behemoth, I pushed my chin back to level, and lifted my jaw off the floor, along with the bundle of sticks I had gathered. I thanked the tree for the warmth it would provide me, and also for the inspiration and thoughts to keep me entertained. I made my way back to my bike and tent, occasionally glancing back to marvel, I lit my fire and enjoyed the last few moments of sunlight, beer in hand and with the trickle of the river beside my tent, I was in a place of pure bliss.
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