A New Perspective on Old Growth Redwoods

A couple of years ago Janet took me back to a hidden redwood grove in Humboldt County. My professor at SF State, Harry Thiers used to take us there years ago to find the rare and elusive giant moss, Buxbaumia. I wasn’t much of a moss person and I think I was cold most of the time so I didn’t pay attention.

I couldn’t even remember there was such a grove but Janet persisted and when we got there, the magic ensued.

Take a look at these redwood trees. Some of them are 300 feet tall. They are thousands of years old. But the size and age are incidental.

I look at the redwoods differently now. If you look closely at the pictures you will see shoots emerging at the bottom of some of the trees. Physiologically, this is because the hormonal message (don’t grow, I’m the boss up here) from the apical meristem, all the way at the top of the tree, is weak down here at ground level.

The shoots of course are clones of the tree. When the mother tree falls, some of these clones will have taken root and may carry on in her place. What does this mean?

It means that the trees are much, much older than thousands of years. These redwoods are likely clones of the original trees that started here some 200 million years ago. Though their range has shrunken, bastions of these mega-ancient trees still stand.

The ferns (and mosses like Buxbaumia) that surround them are the only things older in the photograph. All of the shrubs, flowers, and small trees that you see are recent invaders of the landscape. They evolved and moved here tens of millions of years after the redwoods were established on this spot!

Permeability and Defense

Looking at the water gathering on the surface of this holly leaf reminds me that plants are constructed in a strange combination of permeability and impermeability.

Because so much of their metabolism depends on water (and they give off water during photosynthesis), plants have evolved to maintain their water balance in a precise way. They can’t afford to lose too much water during the photosynthetic process or they’ll die.

People have written volumes about the anatomical strategies of plants for maintaining water, and I teach all of this in my courses at Boston University and the Boston Architectural College. Leaf construction, surface hairs, stomata, all very interesting and no doubt I’ll take these topics up in one form or another as we move forward.

But to my knowledge the crucial contradiction in plant form, the fact that plants are so intimately linked to their environment yet so selective about how they interact with their environment, has not been studied in great detail.

Yet as we look at plants and come to appreciate them more we see that every aspect of plant anatomy, from photosynthetic leaves and stems to anthers gently waving in the wind, all have evolved to take advantage of the environment while protecting the plant from potential harm that certainly lurks in that environment.

Why Are Patterns So Important?

Why are patterns in nature so significant? Why does our human cognition hone in on patterns so readily? Why is it that we overlook some patterns and perceive others?

These are all questions I’ve pondered as a scientist, a botanist, an anthropologist, and an artist for many years.

When I was a father of young children I became aware that babies see patterns first, even before they can make out details. So a parent’s face is a recognizable pattern of lines, shapes, and light.

Since pattern is one of the first things we see it makes sense that we’re pattern-oriented throughout our lives. As a college professor I try to teach my subject within a pattern of ideas. I think it makes more sense to teach in context, making connections whenever possible, than just teaching factoids about science.

So one reason patterns are so important is that they are connected to the core of human visual cognition. This seems to make sense in a design context, since our designed environments, whether gardens, sculpture, parks, buildings, furniture, clothing, or cities, are an outgrowth of our thought process.

Patterns are also important because they teach us about nature. Once we discern the right patterns we can make conclusions about relationships in the living world.

Sometimes the patterns are easy to detect. For example, all monocot flowers are built in multiples of three:

Sometimes patterns are harder to detect. For example, the series of helices that comprise reproductive structures are found throughout the gymnosperms and angiosperms:

And sometimes patterns are “hidden,” either too small to detect without instrumentation (like DNA), or too subtle for our everyday observations.

My goal as a botanist and designer has been to detect these subtle patterns and learn from them.

Lots more to talk about on this topic. I would love to hear your comments.