Today’s post comes from a Black Spruce tree as transcribed by Cara Freitag, senior park naturalist at Sleeping Giant Provincial Park.
As you move through the forest, tree branches rustle and creak as the wind rushes through them and if you listen closely, it almost seems like the trees are whispering to you.
What are they trying to say?
My fellow Black Spruce trees and I grow stunted and scraggly because of the lack of nutrients in our home in the cold, wet, acidic bog. I’ve lived here for a long, long time and I’ve watched other trees and plants grow, die, and be absorbed by the bog.
Someday I will join them, but for now I will do my best to keep living.
Despite the harshness of the environment, so much life flourishes around me
Every spring, birds nest in my branches and raise their young on the insects that live in the bog. They grow bigger and bigger, until their panicked squawking for food becomes birdsong that fills the air.
Eventually, they take their first shaky flight away from the safety of my branches. As the days start getting colder and shorter, they fly away from me and do not return until the days grow long again the following year.
Not very many species of plants can live in the bog.
But oh! The ones that do!
How I love my family of fellow scraggly Black Spruce; growing together, we reach for the warmth and energy of the sun.
As I grow, I feel my roots spread out and brush against my neighbours.
I can feel the cups of the Purple Pitcher Plants trying to catch their dinner. Today they tell me that they caught some ants! How I love the cleverness of the pitcher plant.
Other plants nestle amongst my roots as well.
The fuzzy Labrador Tea grows clusters of flowers whose petals fall after a couple of months and settle on my exposed roots. As small white berries drop from the Creeping Snowberries, their minty taste spreads through the moss allowing me to taste it.
The moss! My favourite by far is the soft and squishy Sphagnum Moss that thickly carpets the ground and grows over my roots. After all, the moss is the foundation of the whole bog.
If you could fly over the boreal forest like the Red-eyed Vireos that nest in my branches, you would be able to see where the bogs are located by the lighter green areas, coloured by the Sphagnum Moss, and the distinct decrease in trees.
Living in the bog means that we have a regular supply of water, because the Sphagnum Moss stores water in wet, rainy periods and releases it in drier times.
The moss even raises the water table for easier access, so the bog provides all the water that I need to live. The water that does not come from the water table comes from rain.
Speaking of rain – can you smell that?
A storm is coming.
The temperature is changing, and the sky is getting darker. The small creatures of the bog scurry to take shelter; the chipmunks and Red Squirrels hunker down for a battering.
The larger animals have fewer places to hide, but the Moose knows what is coming and tries to find a sheltered place.
At first it is just a few drops of rain, a light breeze. As the night falls, the wind picks up until it is howling in fury and the rain pours down from the sky, drenching the earth.
The Sphagnum Moss has an incredible capacity for water absorption, but even it is eventually overwhelmed by the storm and the rain starts to collect in the hollows around my roots.
The wind and rain lash at my body as the storm presses on.
I am an old tree now and I do not bend as easily as I did when I was younger. The wind catches my branches and throws them wildly to one side. I try to stay standing, but the wind pushes against me, and this is enough to make me lose my balance.
With a creaking groan my roots loosen from their hold. One by one, my roots are pulled from the ground that I try to cling to, and I crash into the soft moss, branches cracking with my weight as I fall into the bog.
My resting place is soft and provides a small respite from the relentless wind and driving rain.
Soon, I will be absorbed by the bog
The soft green moss will slowly creep over me until I am completely submerged, and the layers of moss will build up until the only sign of my presence is a slightly elevated area in the bog. Until then, while I am exposed to the air, I will start to decompose.
My friends, the fungi, will make a home in my trunk and will help start the process. In the spring and fall they will produce colourful mushrooms to adorn me. Beetles and salamanders will hide beneath my trunk for protection from things that would like to eat them.
Just because I am no longer standing in the bog does not mean that I am not a part of it. I will always be a part of the bog and the bog will always remember me.
I invite you to come and visit me and my friends on the 0.7 km Thunder Bay Bogs Nature Trail. This trail is located at the end of Thunder Bay Lookout Road near the Thunder Bay Lookout at Sleeping Giant Provincial Park.
