For the next 4 or 5 weeks families all across the western world live in the
presence of a symmetrically perfect, eye-pleasing pine tree, spangled with lights
and baubles, sprouting from a bed of gifts. Bred and grown industrially for this single
purpose, after thirty days of usefulness it dies. As a symbol it may perfectly encapsulate the
season’s true meaning, but in an era when the concept of “sustainability” is in
the forefront of thought and discourse, it also clearly symbolizes some of the problems
we face. Perhaps a
different arboreal symbol is needed.
The Bristlecone Pine is the oldest living tree on earth. Specimens found in the high elevations of Utah and Colorado are 2,500 years
old according to tree ring counting methods. But these trees are just children when
compared to the Bristlecones that grow in the White Mountains east of the Owens Valley
and the Sierra Nevada in southern California. Those remarkable specimens can be nearly
6,000 years old.
Living specimens can be older than Islam and Christianity. Fossilized specimens pre-date Judaism and the myriad of Hindu beliefs. They were around when the first animist religions appeared among our ancestors. Last week I had a Thanksgiving walk among these wonders of nature and while the wind howled in my external ears, my internal ear was hearing remnants of this Hugh Prestwood song:
Way up in the mountains on a high timberline, there's a twisted old tree called the Bristlecone Pine. The wind there is bitter; it cuts like a knife. It keeps that tree holding on for dear life.
But hold on it does, standing its ground. Standing as empires rise up and fall down. When Jesus was gathering lambs to his fold, the tree was already a thousand years old.
Now the way I have lived there ain't no way to tell, when I die if I'm going to heaven or hell. So when I'm laid to rest it would suit me just fine to sleep at the feet of the Bristlecone Pine.
And as I would slowly return to this earth what little this body of mine might be worth would soon start to nourish the roots of that tree. And it would partake of the essence of me.
And who knows what's found as the centuries turn. A small spark of me might continue to burn. As long as the sun does continue to shine down on the limbs of the Bristlecone Pine.
© Hugh Prestwood Music
All living things lose the fine lines and angles of youth and eventually bear
the scars of life. In most cases as
beauty disappears beneath the vestige of aging we view the physical loss of angularity and smoothness as a sign of infirmity
and the nearness of death. But we
shouldn’t perceive the Bristlecone through this lens. The luxuriant, attractive Bristlecones grow
in the best conditions with good soil, sufficient moisture, and protection from
the wind. They have it all, but they still turn out to be the short-lived members of the species. The trees that struggle to survive; those in poor
dolomite soils and on steep terrain that retains very little moisture grow into short,
gnarled, and grotesque specimens with bare grey barkless trunks sandblasted by wind, and
with twisted dead branches that outnumber the green living limbs. These poor wretches are the trees
that become the patriarchs, the truly ancient oldest living trees. We could learn from their existence: Sustainability
is not about beauty, but there is great beauty in long-life.
On American Pastimes: Jim
Salestrom performs Prestwood's “Bristlecone Pine” from Music from the Mountains (Rebecca
Records, 2003). We’ll also hear Austin-based environmental troubadour Bill Oliver’s
“In These Ancient Trees” which is inspired by the temperate rain forest of the
Kalmiopsis Wilderness in southwestern Oregon.
Named after Kalmiopsis Leachiana, a
plant that is a relic from before the ice age, the Kalmiopsis Wilderness is
thought to contain the genetic origins of all western forests (its counterpart,
the Smokey Mountains
of Tennessee may represent the
genetic origins of the Eastern Woodland
forests.)
Trees and forests also have great metaphorical value and we’ll hear a couple of the old traditional songs inspired by trees:
“The Trees They Do Grow High” is an old tune found in libraries in Scotland and England with the earliest manuscript fragment dating back to the 1770’s. The story within most versions is of an arranged marriage between a young girl and a lad who is even younger than she is. Robert Burns based his 1792 poem ”Lady Mary Ann” on the song. Misty River, a female quartet from Portland Oregon will cover “The Trees They Do Grow High” from Misty River Rising. Here’s a link to view Misty River performing live on Oregon Public Television: http://www.opb.org/programs/artbeat/segments/view/379?q=Misty+River.
"In the Pines" (aka "Black Girl" and "The Longest Train") can be traced back to the 1870's, perhaps originating in the Southern Appalachians Mountains. "The Longest Train" versions usually focus on the train and a crime and they almost always feature a decapitation. It may originally have been a separate song: Lyrics in some versions refer to "Joe Brown's coal mine" and "the Georgia line." These may refer to Joseph E. Brown, a Governor of Georgia who leased convicts to work in coal mines in the 1870s. In the versions that focus on "the pines" someone always enters them; someone who is fleeing from something. Depending on the narrative situation the pine woods can be seen as representing sexuality, death, or loneliness. "In the Pines" was catalogued by folklorist Cecil Sharpe in 1917 and recorded by another collector in 1925. A year later the first commercial recordings were made by stringbands. The most influential recording of the song was made by Huddie Ledbetter (aka "Leadbelly") in the 1940's. We'll hear "In the Pines" performed by the Seldom Scene and the Kossoy Sisters who recorded the song on their 1956 record "Bowling Green" (Tradition Records).American Pastimes playlists are posted at this link:
http://spinitron.com/radio/playlist.php?station=kzfr&showid=35
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