Always Ready for Redwoods
There’s a photo of me in Life magazine from 1972 when I was one year old. I’m wearing tights and a dress--clearly an outfit picked out for the photo shoot—and I’m standing at an oversized window, gazing out at the towering redwood trees that surround our house. I hang on to one of the 27 ‘protective railings’ that my dad handcrafted from used chicken coops to prevent people (people being me and my sister) from taking a header out of the window. In today’s strict building code standards these wood ‘railings’ would never pass strict OSHA standards, but back then this paired nicely with the no seat belt or helmet laws.
Not surprisingly, I remember nothing about this photo, or the house. My mom recently told me that I was crying when the photo was taken, and she didn’t know why. Maybe because strange people were in our house taking pictures and telling us what to do.
What’s interesting to me about the photo is that it shows me turning to the window for comfort in a time of defiant distress. I was probably soothed by the green-infused scenery. Maybe I felt like I lived in those trees and that I was one of the resident woodland creatures playing hide and seek in the boughs and branches. I easily could have been one of those small squirrels scampering about, or maybe a stealthy hawk, or a mysterious owl watching it all happening. Without a fully developed brain at the time any thoughts were possible.
Today, with a fully developed brain (my snarky son would disagree otherwise) I know that even though I don’t remember that time when I lived in a house perched high in the trees doesn’t mean that it didn’t leave a lasting impression. This perhaps partially explains my deep love of nature, forests, and specifically, redwood trees.
The house’s backstory and details are this: My father built this completely new house from completely old materials. 200 windows (85 of them stained glass), and all the joists and ceiling boards came from an ancient barn, and hardwood scraps were used for flooring, and the fixtures were found at local junkyards. Everything, it seemed, was recycled. And most things were made of recycled redwood. I’m talking about toilet paper holders, paper towel holder, planters, doors, shelves, cabinets, the list goes on. From what I gather, my early years were surrounded by all makes and models of redwood trees.
Now when I get a redwood splinter, I feel a little PTSD, like there’s a long-time love/hate relationship with the tree and its wood. As I poke and pull the splinter out that stings like crazy because of the tannin and oils in the wood, I think, “How could you hurt me redwood? I love you so much.”
But despite that, as a California native living near the coastal canyons on Mount Tamalpais that’s home to countless redwood forests and who has historic Muir Woods a stone’s throw away, I feel a connection to these sacred trees. Perhaps I even feel a sense of duty to record my redwood thoughts and honor them here.
A member of the cypress family and an evergreen conifer, the coast redwood tree only grows naturally in California, save a tiny patch of southern Oregon. Found on mountains and in valleys, mostly within 10 miles of the Pacific Ocean, this is the tallest tree species on our planet. And specifically, the tallest coast redwood tree, nicknamed Hyperion, hidden deep in California's Redwood National Park that is estimated to be around 800 years old, stands at 380.3 feet. This is taller than the Statue of Liberty (305 feet) but not as tall as Burj Khalifa in Dubai that soars to a dizzying 2,716 ft 6 in.
Side note: please don’t think about trying to visit Hyperion. The exact location is a closely guarded secret so that the tree stays protected because apparently its coordinates were allegedly posted in 2015 which led to an increase in destructive hikers. What happened was that because no easy walking trails to the tree exist, visitors bushwacked to get there plus left trash and created side trails where they relieved themselves and left turds and soiled toilet paper. Not good all around. Luckily the National Park Service closed the entire area and stated there is a fine up to $5,000 and potential jail time for those breaking the rules.
Where I live in Marin County, our mild Mediterranean climate and predicable summer fog are not only ideal but also required for these trees to be happy and thrive. In fact, during the summer, these trees can derive over half of their moisture from their friend the fog, absorbing the droplets through their leaves and then drinking the water in the fog-saturated soil.
Unfortunately, between 1880 and 1910, most of the redwood trees were harvested for lumber, with only 5% of the original, old growth trees preserved in parks. Logging began in Mill Valley about 1840-50, giving my town its name: Mill Valley for the lumber mill located in Old Mill Park on Throckmorton Ave.
When I think of redwood trees, the light they create or take away comes immediately to mind, the streaming slices of sun separating shadows breaking into the understory. Mildly mystical. Then I notice how these trees tower, their absolute tallness, the way my eyes climb up and up and up, never reaching the top. The tippy tops soar out of sight. But it’s here, higher up, that I know that another community full of ferns and fungi, fur and claws and wings live and share and grow.
I also notice the smell of redwoods. Their earthiness. Have you ever noticed how redwoods exude a subtle fragrance, mildly spicy with soil undertones and a tinge of sweetness? I notice this especially when these trees mix with warm sun and spicy bay trees. The dirt swirling and mixing it all together like a woodsy, wonderland cocktail.
And then there are the enchanting fairy rings found in giant coast redwood groves. Turns out that the term “fairy ring” comes from Europe where folklore describes the celebrations of elves, witches, or fairies dancing in a circle under the moonlight which marks a ring of vegetative growth. If a person crosses into the ring, all hell will break loose, and they would be punished—often by dancing their life away in the ring.
Luckily, we know that redwood fairy rings sprout from roots of these trees and when fungi come into play, positive and life-affirming action happens. Also called “family circles”, redwood fairy rings were thought to consist solely of clones of the center parent tree, but recent research uncovered there’s more to it. A redwood family circle includes both chosen and genetic kin. This family is made up of the clonal sprouts, genetically different redwoods, and even other species of trees. In fact, a redwood’s genomes are almost nine times longer than ours which means that biological family members can have wildly different genes, and it the redwoods diversity that is a critical factor for both the family and the forest when it comes to survival as the different genetics better prevent disease, illness, and destruction.
A redwood family circle is also strong because of how close the trees in a ring are to each other. Like a true family, these trees are complex, cooperative, and messy. They communicate and share resources through underground mycorrhizae (an underground fungal network that uses mycelium) that connect the various tree’s roots. And because they are genetically diverse, if one tree falls victim to pests or disease then a stronger member can nurse them back to health by sharing nutrients through fungal threads.
Above ground, these trees almost hold hands, allowing them to support and physically shield each other in fires and storms, plus their roots spread out up to 100 feet, and this intertwining root dance helps secure and stabilize one another in high winds. These shallow and wide spreading roots also prevents them from rotting during floods and allows them to get drinks of fog and dew from the soil’s surface during a drought.
This is all a friendly and important reminder about the magic of families, both chosen and biological. Our strength as a whole comes from our connections, close proximity, similarities and our differences. Sit among a fairy ring, look down and up, and you witness sharing and cooperation at work. These are not notions but ways that are in nature and in us, and they are critical if we want to thrive and survive.
And although redwoods have cones to disperse their minuscule seeds, they grow far more successfully from sprouts emerging from roots, taking advantage of the parent tree’s existing root system. Faced with a danger or destruction, a redwood will sprout from its roots and spread out in a circle in a very protective way and are cared for by the parent tree roots. Over time, the parent’s trunk in the center will decompose and return to the soil and provide nutrients for the next generation. And unlike the European fairy ring, a redwood ring is a most magical thing. An authentic family scene.
Luckily these trees are fairly indestructible (minus they aren’t introduced to a menacing chainsaw or flames). For one thing, redwoods have a thick bark and low resin content making them fire-resistant. In mature redwoods, the bark can grow to be girthy, about one foot thick. Where other vulnerable trees might fall victim to a forest fire, the redwood usually emerges triumphant, or at least its offspring emerge triumphant and carry on. Turns out that mature redwoods self-prune low branches to prevent fire from spreading through the nearby canopy. Another reason for the redwood’s longevity is its chemical makeup. The wood is high in tannins, which repels destructive insects, fungi, and disease.
And let’s not forget that redwood forest help our environment by cleaning more carbon from the air than other trees, release chemicals into the air called phytoncides that help condense fog which keeps the forest moist and cooler, plus these natural chemicals improve your health when you breathe them in. Being in a redwood forest can help lower your blood pressure, improve your sleep and increase your cancer-fighting white blood cells.
Just the other day on Instagram I saw that Friends of the Urban Forest posted this:
Happy Birthday to all you Sagittarians (born November 22-December 21)! We chose the Coast Redwood for Sagittarius because the Coast Redwood’s towering presence and unwavering spirit aligns with Sagittarius’ insatiable curiosity and quest for knowledge and exploration. Just as Sagittarius embraces a multitude of perspectives, the Redwood groves demonstrate an interconnection.
I thought, I’d like to think of myself possessing those traits. And here’s to other tree-loving Sagittarians!
Now, as a garden designer, I find myself in a different relationship with redwoods. I mean, obviously I love them but sometimes find them frustrating to garden with. If you’ve ever tried to plant under these trees then you know what I’m talking about. Redwoods hold the trifecta of challenges. Dry shade, acidic soil, and serious competition due to their shallow and thirsty roots, plus their branches cast significant shade. In fact, the extent of root growth is five times or more the diameter of the tree trunk. Serious shit here. Plus the dreaded duff that falls and smothers everything can be a total pain in the ass.
The best approach is to work with redwoods, and not against them. Venture into a redwood grove and see what is growing naturally under and around them. Mother Nature has already figured it out so just follow her design. And definitely don’t hack away in hope that you can let enough light in so you can plant roses. You can’t. And try to remember that the world envies you for having redwoods to gaze at, and even hug.
Through trial and error I’ve come up with this reliable plant list to help you garden under and near redwood trees. And you don’t have to only plant natives under these trees. Look for plants that can tolerate root competition, like acidic soil, and aren’t overly thirsty.
Huckleberry (Vaccinium ovatum)
Sword fern (Polystichum munitum)
Deer fern (Blechnum spicant)
Salal (Gaultheria shallon)
Redwood sorrel (Oxalis oregana)
Redwood violet (Viola sempervirens)
Douglas iris hybrid (Iris douglasiana)
Autumn fern (Dryopteris erythrosora),
Tassel fern (Polystichum polyblepharum)
Anah Kruschke rhododendron (Rhododendron ‘Anah Kruschke’)
Japanese forest grass (Hakonechloa macra ‘Aureola’).
Golden sweet flag (Acorus gramineus ‘Ogon’)
Pacific rhododendron (Rhododendron macrophyllum)
Flowering currant (Ribes sanguineum)
Autumn fern (Dryopteris erythrosora)
Japanese forest grass (Hakonechloa macra ‘Aureola’)
Pacific bleeding heart (Dicentra formosa)
Wild ginger (Asarum caudatum)
