Month: August 2011



  • Photo by Pamela Paulsrud

  • Even the pine tree…

    Ania Gilmore & Annie Zeybekoglu from Boston, MA just contacted me to let me know that they collaborated on several rounds which will soon show up in my mailbox. A preview of what’s to come…


    Handmade paper made with Abaca, Eucalyptus, Yellow Pages,
    cotton thread, pencil, Asian chops.

    Contributed by Ania Gilmore & Annie Zeybekoglu
    Boston, MA 2011

  • A hurricane

    Several years ago a hurricane came very far inland in North Carolina and my parents lost many trees they loved very much, including a large black walnut. I made a table top out of one large slab and paper out of some of the bark, curtains for my house and a book for my father. A small mill operator was able to come to the land and mill many of the large trees on site into lumber that is stacked and ready to build with. Someday they hope to build a house with it.

    Contributed by Ann Silverman, Columbus OH

  • Walnut ink

    In today’s mail, a sweet envelope, a single paper round with a stitched tree painted with “walnut ink made by Emma and Carol from a 100+ year old tree on our farm.”

    Submitted by Carol Thomas, Illinois

  • Photo by Pamela Paulsrud

  • Heartbeat

    With my involvement in Treewhispers over the last eleven years I’ve heard thousands of tree stories — only a small fraction of them recorded here. When someone hears of the project I often inquire if they might have a tree story. Most don’t — or at least they don’t think they do — until I simply ask if they’ve ever climbed a tree or planted a tree or had a favorite tree… It’s quite wonderful to watch as they suddenly connect to that memory — truly, their face lights up, their body language changes and the stories spill forth. If someone is standing near, it often sparks a story in them. It’s been a gift for me to hear these stories, to witness the exchange — to see these shifts.

    I’ve also been gifted in hearing stories that are prefaced as “out of the ordinary” — the storyteller often remaining anonymous if they’re willing to share it on the site. I wonder sometimes how out of the ordinary these stories really are — if it’s simply a matter of stopping, paying attention — connecting energetically.

    Please enjoy this most recent story contribution. My heartfelt thanks for these stories, ordinary and otherwise!

    Have to share my experience with you that happened at the Botanical Gardens…I went up to a redwood tree (quite large) and leaned my back against it…almost immediately I felt such immense power in that tree…amazing…from deep in the earth…and felt the heartbeat.

    Anonymous

  • “root peace sign”

    second year of “root peace sign” at Quartz lake….. love and peace
    LynnAnn Nysted Thomas

  • Moonlight

    Moonlight shines in through the silent night.

    Light a beeswax candle.

    Yuko Wada

  • Photo by Jane Brown

  • My Father’s People

    Maureen Squires, a follower of Treewhispers, sent me this lovely note that I’m copying below with her permission.

    Hi Pam–the following is an excerpt from my unpublished manuscript My Father’s People. The passage is part of the story of two trips I took to Ireland to find my “roots”–tree imagery?? Use it or not–thought you might enjoy the ritual–try it…Maureen

    This morning Aiseling had me read the myth of the Green Man from Caitlin Matthews’ book of Celtic Meditations. She first told me of a man she met yesterday in the garden by the nun’s cemetery at Diseart. He started talking to her about the ancient copper beech tree that covered the garden with its widespread and many protective arms. He told her if you place your left hand on your head while leaning against the tree and rub your stomach in circles with your right hand, the strength of the tree will fill you, somehow transferred. Then my mind wandered a bit to past Celtic stories. Caesar reportedly ordered the burning of the sacred groves of the Celts when he finally defeated them during the Gallic Wars. He seemed to believe the source of the druid’s powers lay in the sacred groves. Could that fear have also grasped Cromwell in his push to denude Ireland of her great oaks and groves, I pondered? Were shipbuilding and charcoal the only motivations? Christianity was long established but the old ways remained a presence especially in the west.

     

    …and yes, I’ll definitely partake in the ritual!

     

  • Photo by Jane Brown

  • When I was little…

    When I was little, my father made me promise him that I knew
    the trees
    were not talking to me.
    It was all right to talk to them but I must know they were not responding.

    Your allegory disintegrated my skin,
    truncated the chapters, changed the leaves.

    Yes, of course, I yielded
    and silently apologized to the Elm.

    Language was then only my second language.

    I always forget that
    the first moment of consciousness is intimacy:
    kindred spirits, falling in love, magical mystery moments.

    Your version betrayed a collective concern about chance.

    Hearing hearsay brought me sorrow and consolation in learning
    intimacy is a foreign land where they speak language.

    I knew who was taking care of me then
    and later wondered if sadness brought on the Dutch Elm Disease.

    Last week we had to cut down the god tree,
    so we could live.

    We had to assassinate Ailanthus,
    and stop living in the past.

    Should I have just told my father that It had approached me first?

    The Tree of Heaven
    is now a stump wound,
    a keyhole preserved for eavesdropping.

    Contributed by Leah Mayers, Chicago, IL

  • Eglé

    Eglé
    …is the first Lithuanian word I heard my two year old daughter say. She pointed to the small fir tree my father planted in the front yard that day. “What dat Pop-Pop?” “Eglé, Marija,” was his reply. Marija came to me, took me by the hand and brought me to see the fir tree. She fondly touched the tree with those small baby hands, gave it a kiss followed by a giggle, since it tickled her face and said with a radiant smile, “Eglé, Mommy!”
    (a small fir tree, personified, through the eyes and imagination of a child).

    pronounced egg-le

    Contributed by B. Gudauskas, Philadelphia, PA

  • Have you ever climbed a tree?

    Have you ever climbed a tree? Do you have a favorite tree or a magical path through the woods?

    Join the Treewhispers forest of stories by sending your handmade paper rounds with your tree story/art/poetry. Your submission will be included in the upcoming exhibition Bridge and Joutras Galleries in the Regenstein Center at the Chicago Botanic Garden, Glencoe, Illinois, January 14 through April 8, 2012 as well as all future exhibitions.

    How have trees inspired and informed you?

  • Tree I slept beneath…

    When I was 8 years old..that was 1958…a very significant year for many folks…I would sneak out of bed in the mild weather, when my folks were asleep and creep out to a large spruce that was in the very back of our property.

    In there I had a nest of blankets and that’s where I kept all of my totems and special things. I’d sleep out there and at the first light sneak back to my bed.

    In that place I was safe and I truly became the “Indian” that I believed myself to be. Out there…my blonde hair was gone and I had long dark hair and brown skin. The spruce make that so.

    One night while I was out there, I saw a light coming closer and thought…”uhoh…dad is coming to find me” As the light came closer…it wasn’t dad at all, but a Native man with a torch. I lifted the heavy branch and looked out at his glowing presence.

    “child…I am your great grandfather and I have an important message for you”. I wasn’t afraid…I was comforted by him. “I will always be with you in everything you do…You have a huge future ahead of you with an important path to walk. It’s called the Good Red Road and if you stumble or falter or come up against trials that you can’t imagine over coming….remember this my child….You are Up to the Task.”

    With that he faded. I slept with a smile that night. And all through my life, now 60 years, I’ve always remembered his words. They’ve brought me back from death…. and beyond.

    It was the tree that I slept beneath that was the energy that facilitated that night…love and peace…lynnann

  • Up in a tree…

    The south is home to some of the biggest live oak trees I’ve ever seen. The ones that I remember most fondly are the kind with the gigantic limbs that swoop down close, in some cases all the way, to the ground.  It was amazing growing up around these trees and experiencing them as a child. While growing up, my sister and I would climb trees almost on a daily basis. It was fun and yet magical. Every time I see a big live oak tree like that it brings back the best memories!

    Fast forward many years later, I’m now in my early 20′s and still climb trees every chance I get. Their roots are set deep into Mother Earth. Being musically gifted )on Native American flute and other instruments) I wanted to write a song that captures the essence of being in that tree – carefree and joyous.

    If you’re interested in hearing this song, log on to my website: http://jonnylipford.com and look for “Up in a Tree” from my most recent release, “Turn The Page.”

    Hope you enjoy the story. Peace!

    Contributed by Jonny Lipford

  • There is no living thing quite as grand…

    There is no living thing quite as grand as a prairie oak, as wide as tall, standing over a prairie remnant.

    Contributed by Guy C. Fraker, Bloomington ,IL

  • Dance to the wind

    When I was eight or so I knew a spectacular tree. It green in a large open field where multi acre lots all converged. No one seemed to own it. I loved this tree the most on windy days, where high in its branches I could move in unison with its dance to the wind. Sitting way at the top, it was as if the rest of the world melted away and all that existed was unlimited blue sky in which to dream.

    Contributed by Barbara Palmer

  • Nalini Nadkarni explores canopy worlds

  • ACTS canopy walkway system in Amazonian Peru

  • Becoming

    even now
    in the midst of spring’s
    green and glorious abundances

    trees whisper of the coming of winter

    their voices – sweet and high
    subtle murmurs in the wind

    recalling long forgotten landscapes
    remembering footprints and laughing children
    recording the unspoken promises of lovers

    ring
    after ring
    after ring

    life’s ebb and flow…here

    our Elders – earthbound only
    by the circles of our mutual existence

    even now
    these breath-taking, life-giving magicians
    dream of changing spring into summer into fall into winter

    becoming and becoming and becoming…

    tables and chairs
    food and medicine
    music and fire…

    gracefully relinquishing
    leaf and root and bark

    surrendering all in the name of transformation

    and here
    leaf-fluttering and limb-creaking
    they hope that you, yourself

    will witness them as art
    even while remembering them as trees…

    Contributed by Tricia Alexander, Chicago, IL

  • Photos by Jane Brown

  • Trees Have Names

    A Fall day in freshman biology class…Sister Mary Rita tells us to look out of the classroom window and tell her what we see. “A tree, Sister!” was the general response. “Yes, yes, yes…now what can you tell me about it?” “The bark peels off and makes a mess. My baby brother tried to eat some yesterday.” Muffled hee-hees were then silenced by a disapproving:”Thank you, Angela. Can someone else add something? Sister then points to me. “Well, the boys on Fernon Street call the seed pods itchy balls and make a game of pelting us girls walking home from school. And I can personally attest to the fact that they are itchy ’cause my brother always enjoys dropping and squashing one down my back.” More snickers followed and were quickly silenced by Sister Mary Rita’s now higher pitched voice showing exasperation and asking:”Do any of you know the NAME of this marvelous tree that provides nourishment to baby brothers and artillery for older ones? My goodness, young ladies, 14 years surrounded by Sycamore trees…she feverishly writes the name on the blackboard breaking the chalk. TREES HAVE NAMES!” And DO THEY, I thought…how apropos…Syc like sick and amore, love…image of my brother pelting me with seed pods…Sycamore=sick brotherly love. The next day Sister Mary Rita asks us if anyone can remember the name of the tree discussed the previous day…silence… then a solitary hand…mine..”Sycamore!” Sister Mary Rita smiled with relief. ;-)

    Contributed by B. Gudauskas

  • Redwood Grove

    Andrea Penn submitted a comment in reply to Laurie Doctor’s tree story that I thought worth repeating in a post. Thanks Andrea!

    Thank you for such an inspiring story – inspiring to know that such a place still exists..

    For a number of years I lived in a Redwood grove on the coast of northern California. Outside my house there was an ancient stump, hollowed out by fire and time. It was home to new vegetation and some small animals, a place where I often sat to meditate and play my flute..

    I loved the fog, how it meandered in and out between the tall trees, how it subtly changed everything in the forest, filling it with mystery. But my little corner was not quiet because of the roar of the Pacific Ocean and the calls of the sea lions. I remember a resident bear, a few mountain lions, some skunks, large birds.. they reminded me that I was a visitor there.

  • Primordial Forest

    I have visited the Primordial Forest near the coast of Oregon. The Hidden Creek Wilderness has a stand of giant Redwoods going back two thousand years.

    It seems that few humans wander off the path into this overgrown untouched wilderness with Hidden Creek running through it. Even the Indians that lived along the coast and wore the bark for clothing, gathered berries and seeds from the undergrowth, were said to be afraid of the Dark Forest. Occasionally an old hunter enters the forest, carrying his rifle. The turf is moist and spongy from layers of bark and loam and old trees that have fallen over, becoming part of the ground. It is easy to take a step and sink way down. The smell is fresh and musty. The redwoods grow straight upwards, creating a ceiling at about 200 feet. There are signs of elk and bear along the river. One tree is charred by lightening, somehow burning in all this wetness. Inside this place there are no paths, and the trees are covered in moss hanging down, like old elegant clothing.

    Winter wrens hop along the ground and are difficult to see. The only sound is the owl hooting. American Dippers dive in and out of the river.

    Inside with the trees the silence is thick, palpable. There are no human sounds left, and not a trace of human presence. Just these ancient trees guarding memory. I say to myself, ”Nothing false can enter Here.”

    Contributed by Laurie Doctor

  • Photo by Pamela Paulsrud

  • Some Kind of Magic

    When I was 10 years old there was tree I used to climb in my backyard. It was around 50 feet tall and I could climb up 40 feet before the branches thinned out. One day I was in the tree when my mother ran out into the yard and yelled at me to get out of the tree. Her over reaction scared me, so I didn’t take the usual caution as I climbed down. I lost my balance and fell 30 feet but the branches of the tree almost seemed to catch me as I dropped through them. It was as if they curled up and wrapped around me, as though the branches passed me from one to another until I was on the ground. Outside of a few scratches I had no injuries. My mother was still yelling at me, not realizing the miracle that had taken place, but I knew some kind of magic had just happened.

    Contributed by Larry Oberc, Chicago, IL

  • Imagine the view!

    Photo by Jane Brown

  • Rowan

    We live in a traditional cottage in north east Scotland. When we moved into our cottage, many years ago, there were six Sitka spruce along one side of the garden. Rangy, poor dying souls; so we got them cut down and taken away. I felt dreadful after this, our garden felt bare and too different. We live in the middle of farmland where it seems that trees and hedges get cut down indiscriminately by the farmers; we did not want to be part of that movement. So we planted new trees; we had to think carefully as our garden isn’t big. It is surrounded by a very old beech hedge, and there is a mature Ash tree in the front and a Field Maple in the back garden. So we planted a Cherry, two Hawthorns (one of which I had grown from a seed) a Maple (Crimson King) a Birch (Snow Queen) and a Rowan/Mountain Ash. The trees have now grown a great deal and are the delight of the garden. We even named out son after a tree, Rowan, as it was traditional here to plant a Rowan tree in the garden of a new house to protect against evil spirits. We wanted our son to be protected and we also thought it was a beautiful name. He rather spoilt the romance when he got his first library card and I found out that he had added Geronimo to his birth name, as he felt he lacked a middle name!

    Contributed by Catherine Whiteman

  • Juicy Mulberries

    My favorite tree was a mulberry tree at my neighbors. We climbed onto a chicken house to reach our juicy mulberries. We would reach high and keep eating. Our hands and feet stained purple, our faces full of smiles.

    Contributed by Lisa Steffen, Charter Oak, Iowa

  • Vera David-Heisler/Montreal

  • State Urban Forester

    Emma Bruemmer, State Urban Forester from the Iowa Department of Natural Resources accesses Mapleton’s tree damage from a tornado that devastated the town on April 9th, 2011.  She uses a handheld device with ArcGIS software to input data that will be used to map, analyze and acquire information for restoration and replanting.

  • Merton’s Advice

    Some years ago, I had a friend who had studied to be a Trappist monk. Questioning his vocation, he went to see his abbot, Thomas Merton, to ask his advice. Merton told him to go outside and talk to the trees. My friend thought this was crazy and left the order.

    Some years later, in a spiritual crisis of my own, I remembered Merton’s advice. I did go outside and find a lovely oak. I embraced it and asked it’s advice. In silence, it soothed and nourished me. I connected again to life. Since then, I’ve deeply valued trees and their Spirits.

    Contributed by Bill Hayashi, Chicago, IL

  • Trees

     

    Beautiful
    Lively
    Friendly
    Loving
    earthy tree.

    Contributed by Miguel Blancarte

  • Housing for carpenter ants…

  • Princé (pronounced Pree-say)

    In follow-up to yesterday’s story behind the story of the tree named bob, I thought I should add that another young woman overheard our conversation and chimed in, delighted to hear that someone else had named a tree.  “You named your tree Bob? I named mine Princé!”

    Melissa’s story in her own words:

    Every day after I came home from school I passed a small evergreen at the corner of my house’s garage. It had awkward branches sticking out on the top and it was only a few feet taller than I was. I wanted it to know that although it wasn’t large and majestic it was special, so I named it Princé (pronounced Pree-say) and kissed its branches every day. Contributed by Melissa Sandfort, Chicago, IL

    Thanks Melissa!

  • The tree named bob…

    I know I’ve posted this image before but it really bares repeating with the story that goes behind the story.

    Several years ago I was invited by a friend giving a performance to share the Treewhispers project during their intermission. No one in the audience knew I would be speaking. After a short introduction to the project I invited the audience to share a tree story on the paper rounds I had provided in the lobby. A young woman came up to me and asked me if I had glue or tape or something to attach a photograph. She pulled this photo of a tree out of her wallet and explained she’d been carrying it with her since high school. Now remember, no one knew I would be speaking about trees. I offered to xerox it or transfer it somehow for her. I’m guessing she was several years out of high school and it seemed that if she’d had it all this time it really must be precious. She said she really didn’t know why she’d been carrying it for so long but realized in that moment that this is where it should go and graciously offered up the photograph of her precious tree in San Jose…named Bob.



  • Photo by Jane Brown

  • Childhood Memories

    One of my earliest childhood memories is when I was three. My mother pushed my crib into the upstairs bedroom window of our old farm house and I lay there looking up into the branches overhead swaying in the wind. These were tall elms-bare branches in the wintry blue sky. I felt as though I floated with them in deep blue.

    Contributed by Kirsten Christianson, Algoma, WI



  • Artwork by Debbie Thompson Wilson

  • Join the forest and spread the word!


    Treewhispers Call for Entries/Contributions:

    Treewhispers is an ongoing international collaboration awakening our heart-felt connection to trees. Since the year 2000 the project has been presented online and through installations in a multitude of venues while continually gathering round, handmade papers from participants around the world. On the papers, contributors have remembered a tree or the spirit of a tree.

    Presently Treewhispers has entries/contributions that include text and/or imagery; some are simply magnificent examples of beautiful handmade paper. Some suggest tree rings, depict leaves or illustrate a personally significant tree; others are imprinted with a poem or a meaningful story relating to trees.

    I’m thrilled to announce the next installation of the forest of tree rounds will be in the Bridge and Joutras Galleries in the Regenstein Center at the Chicago Botanic Garden, Glencoe, Illinois, January 14 through April 8, 2012. You’re invited to join the forest.

    I will also be working on a book project to accompany Treewhispers in 2012 and am looking forward to featuring much of this work in the project—and in publicity for the upcoming installation.

    In answer to FAQ:


    * Who can participate?     Anyone with a tree story: artists, students, scientists, doctors and dendrologists—elders and wee ones, professional and novice. I’m convinced everyone has a tree story somewhere inside.

    * What’s the deadline? Technically there is no deadline since the project is ongoing but I am looking for some new work for publicity and a book in conjunction with the project—in which case I would need it by the end of August. (I can’t guarantee they’ll all be included in the book—but obviously a better chance if I have it here.)


    * Is there a theme?     If you haven’t guessed it already, the theme is the tree—your personal stories, art, poetry, experiences relating to tree in any media on flat, round, handmade paper. For instance, ask yourself the questions: Did you ever climb a tree, plant a tree, have a favorite tree, or name a tree? Share your own personal connection to a tree whatever it may be. Sometimes simple stories are the most profound.


    * Do I make my own paper rounds?     You can or you can collaborate with a papermaker.


    * How do I make handmade paper at home?     Directions for simple papermaking using recycled paper are on the website. Sometimes groups gather for the purpose of papermaking for contributing as a group experience—especially on Arbor Day, earth day or Tu B’Shevat. Sometimes home-schoolers or scout troops make paper then gather the tree stories from another generational sector such as parents or grandparents. It’s another chance to be creative.


    * What are the size requirements?     There are no size restrictions—flat, round, handmade paper.


    * How many rounds/contributions can I make?     You can make one or multiples. It takes many to make a tree! If you do make multiples or have a batch to send, please do not bind them. They will be bound in house specifically for the installation.


    * Will they be returned?     No, the work becomes the property of Treewhispers and will not be returned. The project is ongoing and the work will travel with the installation. Images of the work may be used for publicity purposes, the website and catalogs.

    * Where should I send them? Please mail them to: Treewhispers, Pamela Paulsrud, 923 Amherst, Wilmette, IL 60091 USA


    * How will I know Treewhispers receives them?     If you send your e-mail with the work or write to me on the Treewhispers website I will let you know when they arrive. After that, sign up at the Treewhispers website and stay tuned.


    * Does the text have to be in English?     No. The collaboration is international, so please use your native language. I would highly appreciate an English translation written on the back or on paper in accompaniment with the handmade paper round.


    * Should I sign my work?     It’s up to you. Some work is signed and dated—some on the front—some on the back—some work comes anonymously.


    *Will my work be in the installation?     All work that arrives at least a month before the exhibition date meeting the criteria will be included. (Criteria being flat, round, handmade paper with a tree story, art, poetry—sometimes the paper speaks for itself.) Work received after that date will be included in the next installation.


    * How is the “tree”/installation hung?     The rounds are strung in house in roughly 5 ft. segments which can be connected together to hang in galleries with varying ceiling heights. This method also serves the purpose to rotate the work from one exhibit to the next. For instance, your work may be near the ceiling in one exhibit and at eye level the next. Also some work hangs on the wall.


    * Where will the installation be next?     Bridge and Joutras Galleries in the Regenstein Center at the Chicago Botanic Garden, Glencoe, Illinois, January 14 through April 8, 2012.

    Please contact Treewhispers.com for information if you are a gallery or space interested in bringing the Treewhispers installation to you.

    * Is there another way to participate? You can also post your stories, poetry and photos honoring trees as well as your papermaking process directly on the Treewhispers.com website or on the Treewhispers Facebook page. Spread the word and stay tuned!