The Heart-Brain Of The Forest

Photo©Paul Grecaud/123rf

A new story is beginning to surface, based on revolutionary new technologies that allow us to “see” the extraordinary interactions and communication that happen underground. These techniques reveal a world we never before thought of as sentient — much less a world from which we can draw great wisdom. We are learning to see with new eyes, using new modalities, to extend our very limited senses.

In the last couple of decades, research conducted in the soil under trees and other plants has completely revolutionized how we think about trees. This research has been made possible by the availability of state-of-the-art molecular and genetic tools, which allow for low-cost DNA sequencing and advanced molecular microscopy. Scientists can also now make use of tools like mass spectrometers to measure minute amounts of light in underground worlds at molecular levels. What we have learned will amaze you.

Although these tools were not designed to study soil, as the costs of their use decreased, they have become widely used in many applications and have widened our understanding of formerly hidden worlds. Together these tools have allowed scientists to “see” precisely what happens deep below the forest floor at a cellular level. With this technology, scientists have determined not only that plants communicate — but how they communicate and cooperate.

We now know that complex signaling pathways (communication networks) exist between tree roots and fungi, and we can observe the cellular processes that underlie these relationships. Scientists have been able to actually observe the otherwise invisible underground exchanges of carbon sugars and minerals being transferred back and forth between trees at the root level.

A Tree Is An Interactive Part Of A Network

Previously, we had no idea what happened in the soil at the root level of a plant community. We had no idea how complex life is down there. We were only focused on what we saw above the ground.

But in the last thirty years, that has changed. Scientists now know a lot more about trees and the forests they live in. With their new tools, they have watched and recorded the exchange of information, revealing a complexity that has forced us to rethink our basic assumptions. They have found the many ways in which a plant community communicates, the degree to which information is widespread within a forest or ecological network, and the elaborate way in which the forest community functions.

This research, which has only recently been popularized for the nonscientific reader, is forcing us to rethink everything we know about trees, forests, and plants. It no longer makes sense to think of a tree as an individual plant — a tree is an interactive part of a cooperative network. The complexity of that network raises issues of whether trees have consciousness, what kind of consciousness that might be, and whether trees are, in fact, sentient.

It is fair to say that a new paradigm is arising in the world of plant ecology. Our long-held assumptions are on very shaky ground. This all started in 1992, when a researcher named Suzanne Simard was working on a doctoral thesis in the Pacific Northwest. She was studying a plantation, and found that when the paper birch trees were cut, the Douglas firs suffered and died prematurely.

Of course, that is contrary to what we believed would happen. Foresters thought that getting rid of the birch would have left the firs more sunlight and capacity for photosynthesis. Using new technological tools like mass spectrometers and scintillation counters to study what was going on well below the surface, she stumbled on something unexpected. Using radioactive isotopes in carbon, she found that a huge below-ground network existed between the tree roots of the birch and the fir and symbiotic fungus.

We now know, based on the fossil record, that the association between fungi and plants is an ancient one.

Mycelium is the vegetative part of a fungus and consists of branches of thread-like hyphae, which are tiny branching filaments. They are made up of cells that include nuclei and hold genetic material. Their job is to absorb nutrients and transport them to other parts of the fungus. Collectively, they are called mycelium and can run for miles deep underground.

The Wood-Wide Web

Simard found that deep in the forest floor, there was a huge web of tiny mycelial (fungal) threads that interconnected with the roots of the firs and the roots of the birches, as well as the entire forest network. It was an interactive network. Using the new technology that makes the molecular level visible, she was able to see that the extensive mycelial network transferred carbon — that is, photosynthetic sugar — from the birches to the firs, enhancing the growth of the firs. She found that in some seasons, the firs returned the favor, feeding their forest friends.

This was not a forest of individual trees and species; it was a network that cooperated and shared resources. It was a single whole. And, as a single whole, it had internet-like, complex communication. She called the communication mechanism facilitated by the mycelial fibers “the wood-wide web.”

In a recent book titled The Hidden Life of Trees, German forester Peter Wohlleben tells the story of the life of the forest based on similar research conducted around the world and, in particular, in the forests of Germany. He explains in detail what can only be described as true tree friendships. Trees live a long time — hundreds of years — but their lives are very slow compared to ours. They will stand in a forest for their entire life with their roots intertwined with those of neighboring trees. These are tree friends. They communicate with each other, they share food with each other, and they defend each other. These trees live within a rich social network, a network based on sharing, cooperating, and communicating. Not only do they nourish the neighboring tree friends of the same species, they also nourish trees of different species.

Wohlleben explains that there are many advantages to working together. Together, the trees can create an ecosystem that controls temperature extremes and retains more moisture. In an apparently thoughtful and precise manner, they regulate their growth and enhance the growth of others to jointly create a protected environment.

While it’s true that trees will compete for sunlight, their care for the community transcends any individual competitiveness. They are careful not to grow thick branches in the direction of a neighboring tree. They don’t take anything more than they can utilize from their other tree friends, and, in fact, will transfer food and nutrients to their tree friends. They will assist if their friends are ill by significantly supplementing their nutrition. Sometimes tree friends even die together. Most of the work Wohlleben cites has been done in undisturbed forests, and he is quick to point out that this isn’t always the case in tree plantations, where trees are more isolated and suffer more, accordingly.

Research conducted at the Environmental Research Institute in Aachen, Germany has shown the degree to which trees will share resources with others. Trees grow in different natural conditions. Some have more water in their soil. Some grow in rocky soil. Some are found in rich humus, high in nutrients. Logically, some trees should be able to photosynthesize better than other trees. But according to this research, they all photosynthesize at an equal rate, regardless of their underlying conditions.

That can only be possible if they are sharing resources under the ground so that they all can produce the same amount of sugar per leaf. This research has shown that this sharing is conducted at the root level — whoever has excess sugar transfers it to those who are lacking through their roots. I find this absolutely fascinating, as it obviously also implies a certain amount of computational skill. The research also shows that in some species, it is more productive for trees to grow close together so it’s easier for them to help each other.

The Darwinian principle of survival of the fittest does not seem to apply to trees. It’s pretty clear from the research done in the last thirty years or so that the well-being of a tree depends on the well-being of the forest community. Balance, harmony, and cooperation are the keys to survival.

Seeing Trees With Deeper Awareness

Walking in forests is my favorite pastime. I never grow tired of the same trails. I love watching the subtle changes week to week and the dramatic changes season to season. Yet, my forest walks have changed since I learned of this research. I have realized that I saw only a fragment of what exists, and I misunderstood what I was seeing. I now think of it like this: I am walking in the forest and I see a stranger coming toward me, but I only can see the top half of his torso. That is what I expected to see because I did not realize there was more to him.

Now I understand that this person coming toward me has a full body, just like I do, with arms, legs, and feet that touch the ground; furthermore, he is not alone. He is a part of a large interactive community.

Now, when I see a tree, I know there is far more to that tree than what I see at the surface. Of course, there are tree roots that extend deep into the soil. But there is more. There is an entire community that is exceedingly complex and interactive that I can’t see, but that I know exists. This new knowledge informs my limited perception. A walk in the forest becomes a much deeper exploration.

Wohlleben also tells us that research has shown that trees feed and nourish their offspring. And yes, research shows that they can distinguish their young from other saplings. Other research shows that trees send nourishment to a tree that is ill or injured. That would seem to be an act of compassion or kindness. For what other reasons would they give away precious resources? They also take care of the elderly, supplementing the nutrition and water needs of older trees so they can continue to grow. This seems counterintuitive; older trees take up more of the canopy and therefore get more sunlight. And, as an additional altruistic act, trees even transfer their nutrients to neighboring plants before they die.⁴

One of the most fascinating stories Wohlleben relates is his discovery that vestiges of the stump of a tree that died 400 to 500 years ago showed signs of chlorophyll, indicating that its roots were still alive. Those old roots could not photosynthesize themselves, of course, but they were apparently being fed by the underground tree root and fungal system of the forest network. Why would they do that?

These are mind-boggling findings. Why does the forest network work in this manner? Why do they feed and protect the ill, elderly, infirm, and the young who cannot care for themselves? How is this possible? How do they communicate such detailed, precise, even mathematical information? Does this mean they have cognition? It suggests some level of consciousness.

Is it possible that trees and forest networks even have a type of heart-mind? Not like ours, certainly, but their own versions. They exhibit behaviors that show a type of intelligence. They exhibit behaviors that show deep caring and compassion. Is there some sense of oneness that is also sent from root to root through the entire wood-wide web? Do they, in some way not definable to our species, intrinsically know they are all part of one organism, one network, one system?

It appears they have some type of consciousness, albeit a consciousness quite different from ours. Is it possible they perceive holistically — that holistic perception is a primary modality for trees within a forest network? I understand that we cannot grasp what that would be like. But we can imagine. For one moment, we can imagine that, pulsing through our veins along with vital oxygen and nutrients, is a more ephemeral nutrient that provides us with a sense of oneness — that implicitly connects us to all of life and aligns us with the entire planetary network.

Excerpted from Why Can’t We Be More Like Trees? by Judith Polich © 2023 Bear & Company. Printed with permission from the publisher Inner Traditions International. www.InnerTraditions.com.

Judith Polich is a former lawyer, and an environmentalist and wetlands advocate. She holds a master degree in environmental studies and environmental education from the University of Wisconsin. The author of a climate change column for the Albuquerque Journal, and a book, Return of the Children of Light, she lives in Sante Fe, New Mexico.

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