InIn the late 1970s, when my parents built the house where I still live, there was no forest. The facility was a crude pasture and was full of crude grass and weeds. My parents started planting trees before they started building the house. When I was a child, we call parent plantings “gardens,” suggesting places we manage. It is cultivated and civilized. Somewhere along the way, I changed my name to “Mori.” Self-control ecosystems that we sometimes stumbled – reductions, cleaning of debris – but only if it breaks into our real home.
The garden was supposed to be the main feature of the original home design. All rooms were separate wooden modules built along an open central corridor, with gardens growing between them. Almost half a century later, the house was submerged in the forest. We live in the undergrowth far below the canopy. Stagones and elkhorns, moss and lichens grow on tree trunks, while bromeliads are recreated endlessly. The tallest tree in our forest is over 45 meters. They are not yet 50 years old, but they look ancient. My parents planted forests, and it feels timeless and eternal. When they began, they had a vision, but I don't think they could imagine each tree they lovingly put on could grow.
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Maintaining a wooden house submerged in subtropical rainforests can feel like a full-time job. We once discovered that leaking pipes under the kitchen sinks moisten all the particle board shelves. When I opened the cupboard under the sink it looked normal, but it became suspiciously unnoticeable. All shelves need to be replaced. We had our eyes as our handyman removed the roots and composted soil wheelbarrows from under our sink – agog. Our kitchen cupboards were alive! The roots of the outside tree grew between the slab and the wall, taking over the wet particle board. Our forest was violating the boundaries of the house. Since then, we have been careful. I dug trenches around the slab so I could see if the roots were eroded. The other day, lying in bed, I spyed on a thick, philodendron winding board that swirled into my open wardrobe. How long was there? When did you break through?
If it's not a constant battle for control, what is gardening? Nature, repositioning. It's not uncommon for visitors to say, “If this was my place, I would remove some of these trees.” The subtext is This is out of hand. And most of the time, they are right. We surrendered to the forest. A few years ago we raised a white flag. These days, we are eager to preserve the house itself, but there is no control over the trees. When I was little, the trees were also small saplings, and we all grew together without doing anything. We are nearby, we are relatives. Trees are not decorative, they are beings, and our lives are intertwined. We try to live in harmony. Nevertheless, it takes a day to clean the grooves. Of course, the falling leaves are noticeable, so they also surrender to the job of keeping the house safe and clean. Sometimes the branches grow very low and bushy, blocking access to my room. I cut it out with all my might. Give it a little and take a little. This is how things go.
What about falling trees? Yes, we have them. We learned that our home is sturdy enough to stand firmly under our weight, but once we settled down halfway through the brick chimney and had to rebuild it. The crash it did was horrifying, but the world is full of horrifying.
There is a part of our property that really becomes wild. As a child, across the foamy stream, we had a pristine Japanese garden with a pond and a small pergola. There were huge rocks, cleverly placed and well-maintained routes. The forest has reclaimed this section. Could not save. It was swallowed up. In its heyday, it was probably stupid, but we remember it fondly, a pond of flushing goldfish, a spotted trunk of crepe mirtre. A vision that once became a manifesto for about 10 years. It lives on in our memories. After all, you can't keep everything.
I never thought I'd spend my life embedded in the forests my parents planted, but there are times when I have to stick to see things come to fruition. Some trees have lived for hundreds of years. The extent of their lifespan is difficult for the human mind to understand. When planting those seeds, how can you know how extraordinary a tree can become? You can grow forests in your lifetime. It can be grander and more sustainable than you could have imagined. Visitors may get breathless when they come to your home. Things may become out of hand. It's never too late to start something from scratch. It's never too late to dream. Plant the trees. Nurturing it. We don't know what the future will bring, but the trees know how to become forests.
Jesse Cole He is the author of four books, and has recently been a memoir's stay, desire, and calculations.
