59April 2013 GET OUT CH aTTa NOOG a
Old-growth forests are messy. Within a stone’s throw of the mandala, I see half a dozen large fallen trees in various stages of decomposition. The rotting logs are the food for thousands of spe cies of animals, fungi, and microbes. Downed trees leave gaps in the forest canopy, creating the second characteristic of old-growth for ests, a mosaic of tree ages, with groups of young trees growing next to thick-trunked elders. A pignut hickory with a trunk a meter wide at its base grows just to the west of the mandala, right next to a crowd of maple saplings in a gap left by a massive fallen hickory. The rock on which I sit is backed by a middle-aged sugar maple, its trunk as wide as my torso. This forest has trees of all ages, a sign of the historical continuity of the plant community. I sit next to the mandala on a flat slab of sandstone. My rules at the mandala are simple: visit often, watching a year circle past; be quiet, keep disturbance to a minimum; no killing, no removal of creatures, no digging in or crawling over the mandala. The occasional thought ful touch is enough. I have no set schedule for visits, but I watch here many times each week. This book relates the events in the mandala as they happen. CERPT Unseen DAVID GEORGE HASKELL WITH GROUP BY DAVID GEORGE HASKELL BY DAVID GEORGE HASKELL Preface
The parallel runs deeper than this congruence of language and symbolism. I believe that the forest’s ecological stories are all pres ent in a mandala-sized area. Indeed, the truth of the forest may be more clearly and vividly revealed by the contemplation of a small area than it could be by donning ten-league boots, covering a continent but uncovering little.
The steep, challenging terrain has protected the for est. At the bottom of the mountain, the fertile, level soil on the valley floor is relatively free of rocky encumbrances and has been cleared for pasture and crops, first by Native Americans, then by settlers from the Old World. A few homesteaders tried to farm the mountainside in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, a task that was as hard as it was unproductive. Moonshine stills gave these subsis tence farmers extra income, and this mountainside got its name, Shakerag Hollow, from the way townspeople would summon the distillers by waving a rag that was then left with some money. A jar of strong liquor would take the place of the money some hours later. The forest has now reclaimed the small agricultural openings and still sites, although the locations of the old clearings are marked by rock heaps, old pipes, rusted washtubs, and daffodil patches. Much of the rest of the forest was logged for lumber and fuel, especially at the turn of the twentieth century. A few small pockets of forest were left untouched, shielded by inaccessibility, luck, or the whims of landowners. The mandala sits in one such patch, a dozen or so acres of old-growth forest embedded in thousands of acres of forest that, although it has been cut in the past, is now mature enough to sustain much of the rich ecology and biological diversity that char acterize Tennessee’s mountain forests.
FROM The Forest
AN Ex
VIKING, A MEMBER OF PENGUIN
A group of North American undergraduates jostle behind a rope nearby, extending their necks like herons as they watch the mandala’s birth. They are uncharacteristically quiet, perhaps caught up in the work or stilled by the otherness of the monks’ lives. The students are visiting the mandala at the beginning of their first laboratory class in ecology. The class will continue in a nearby forest, where the students will create their own mandala by throwing a hoop onto the ground. They will study their circle of land for the rest of the afternoon, observing the workings of the forest community. One translation of the Sanskrit mandala is “community,” so the monks and the students are engaged in the same work: contemplating a mandala and refining their minds.
REPRINTED BY ARRANGEMENT
The whole universe is seen through this small circle of sand.
BY
Two Tibetan monks lean over a table, cradling brass fun nels in their hands. Colored sand spills from the tips of the funnels onto the table. Each fine stream adds another line to the growing mandala. The monks work from the center of the circular pat tern, following chalk lines that define the fundamental shapes, then filling in hundreds of details from memory. A lotus flower, symbol of Buddha, lies at the center and is enclosed by an ornate palace. The four gates of the palace open out to concentric rings of symbols and color, represent ing steps on the path to enlightenment. The mandala will take several days to complete, then it will be swept up and its jumbled sands cast into running water. The mandala has significance at many levels: the concentration required for its creation, the balance between complexity and coherence, the symbols embedded in its design, and its impermanence. None of these qualities, however, define the ultimate purpose of the mandala’s construction. The mandala is a re-creation of the path of life, the cosmos, and the enlightenment of Buddha.
COPYRIGHT © 2012
The search for the universal within the infinitesimally small is a quiet theme playing through most cultures. The Tibetan mandala is our guiding metaphor, but we also find context for this work in Western culture. Blake’s poem “Auguries of Innocence” raises the stakes by shrinking the mandala to a speck of earth or a flower: “To see a World in a Grain of Sand / And a Heaven in a Wild Flower.” Blake’s desire builds on the tradition of Western mysticism most notably demonstrated by the Christian contemplatives. For Saint John of the Cross, Saint Francis of Assisi, or Lady Julian of Norwich, a dungeon, a cave, or a tiny hazelnut could all serve as lenses through which to experience the ultimate reality.
(USA) INC., FROM The ForesT UNseeN
This book is a biologist’s response to the challenge of the Tibetan mandala, of Blake’s poems, of Lady Julian’s hazelnut. Can the whole forest be seen through a small contemplative window of leaves, rocks, and water? I have tried to find the answer to this question, or the start of an answer, in a mandala made of old-growth forest in the hills of Tennessee. The forest mandala is a circle a little over a meter across, the same size as the mandala that was created and swept away by the monks. I chose the mandala’s location by walking haphazardly through the forest and stopping when I found a suitable rock on which to sit. The area in front of the rock became the mandala, a place that I had never seen before, its promise mostly hidden by winter’s austere garb. The mandala sits on a forested slope in southeastern Tennessee. One hundred meters upslope, a high sandstone bluff marks the western edge of the Cumberland Plateau. The ground falls away from this bluff in steps, alternating level benches with sharp inclines, descending one thousand feet in elevation to the valley floor. The mandala nestles between boulders on the highest bench. The slope is entirely forested with a diverse col lection of mature deciduous trees: oaks, maples, basswoods, hickories, tuliptrees, and a dozen more species. The forest floor is ankle-twistingly strewn with jumbled rock from the eroding bluff, and in many places there is no even ground, just heaved, fissured stone overlain with leaf mulch.
52 GET OUT CH aTTa NOOG a April 2013 contemplations
53April 2013 GET OUT CH aTTa NOOG a hicksicho:PhoTMAeLR
by Amber Lanier Nagle
skeo:PhoTdAvidhALL
Photography by Michael R. Hicks, David Haskell and Buck Butler
Through his writing, David Haskell encourages us to ignite our senses and truly experience the call of the wild.
54 GET OUT CH aTTa NOOG a April 2013
Indeed, his book, The Forest Unseen: A Year’s Watch in (theforestunseen.com), is a naturalist’s work of art. It chronicles his yearlong vigil perched on a slab of sandstone in the hollow observing a one-meter-round patch of forest floor he refers to as “the mandala.”
Haskell, an ecologist and evolutionary biologist at Sewanee: The University of the South, equipped himself efore embarking on a trail that winds deeply into Shakerag Hollow, David Haskell paused at the edge of a rocky bluff overlooking a patchwork valley and took a deep, deliberate breath. After a minute of silence, he drew my attention leftward where a dozen or more turkey vultures circled high in the sky.
“I don’t know if they are patrol ling the area below or playing in the updrafts — or both,” Haskell laughed. “They are masters of soaring flight and can float up there for long periods of time without a single flap of their wings. They’re quite amazing.” He drank the experience in. To Haskell, the natu ral world is a place of wonder; a stage of true beauty; an exhibition of innate connectivity and partner ships; and a classroom designed for contemplation. He shares these sentiments through his writing.
PhoTo: MichAeL R. hicks essco:PhoTALANRLeR
55April 2013 GET OUT CH aTTa NOOG a solely with a small hand lens, binoculars, a notebook and his senses. He watched, he smelled, he listened, he experienced — all the while striving to answer the question: can the whole forest be seen through a small window of leaves, rocks and water?
And then he wrote — each of his lyrical essays presenting a physi cal observation followed by wildly intellectual discussions ripped from Haskell’s probing, restless mind. His book and blog fit nicely into a genre of writing many call nature writing — narrative nonfic tion prose combining observations about the natural environment with scientific information and personal, philosophical reflections.
We descended a stairway made from the natural placement of boulders, then forged deeper into the wild. We paused again at a natural spring and turned a few rocks over looking for salamanders which frequent the soggy soil, but we didn’t find any.
“Look — these are popping up all over the place,” he said point ing to delicate wildflowers peeking through the leafbed. He knelt down to take a closer look and invited me to join him. “These are called salt and pepper. See? The tiny black specks against the white petals look like sprinkles of pepper. I’ve heard some people call them harbingers of spring.” He told me about a day in April when he visited his man dala to find a sea of three hundred or more purple wildflowers bursting in bloom, wowing him and beckoning a band of buzz ing bees. Next, he recounted an encounter with a skunk with a broken back that prompted him to ponder humanity’s view of end of life and suffering. It was a somber moment.
As we trekked beneath the sprawling branches of the old growth forest, I peppered Haskell with questions about his book, his experiences as a naturalist and his philosophy. He answered my questions, stopping occasionally to turn his ear toward a sound or his eyes toward a subject — a rust-colored centipede hurrying off the leafy path, seafoam green lichen splashed on the surfaces of rocks, the bark of a tree chipped away by the hammer-like beak of a pileated woodpecker and the rotting remains of a tree stretching horizontally across the terrain. “Most of a tree’s useful life comes after it falls,” Haskell remarked. “As it decays, it releases nutrients into the soil and hosts thousands of beetles, ants, spiders and worms that feed many other animals here.”
PhoTo: MichAeL R. hicks skedo:PhoTAvidhALL PhoTo: BUck BUTLeR
I was intrigued by his comment.
“We are all related — everything on the Earth,” he said. “That tree is literally a distant cousin of ours. We are a fam ily, united by the blood-ties of DNA.”
Talking with Haskell was like convers ing with Emerson. Reading his book was
PhoTo: dAvid hAskeLLPhoTo: eLizABeTh NicodeMUsPhoTo: dAvid hAskeLLPhoTo: AMBeR LANieR NAgLe
56 GET OUT CH aTTa NOOG a April 2013
“Why did you write your book?” I finally asked. “I want to share the stories of the forest,” he said. “And I want to connect people to the outdoors again. But I also want to learn more about the world myself.” “And what did you learn about the world from your experience at the mandala?” I followed up. “Two things have really stuck with me — the beauty of the world and the bro kenness of the world,” he said. “Beauty is everywhere we look and people certainly don’t need my direction to find beauty. But the world is also a very broken place. We’ve lost our way and we need to recon nect with the natural world, paying close attention to the other species around us.” I inquired further, asking Haskell how those of us who already love the outdoors can develop a deeper connection — a renewed relationship — with nature. “First, slow down and really open yourself to your senses,” he said. “What do you see? What do you hear? What do you feel? What do you smell? Think about each one.” He also suggested spending time with naturalists and other people who are passionate advocates of nature and the outdoors. Guided hikes and lectures are great ways to learn more about the natural history and wildlife of an area. “And I often recommend learning ten trees or ten birds common to an area,” he added. “Learn to identify leaves or bark or birdsongs. It’s a first step in a wonderful journey of learning andAfterexploration.”anhour,we smelled the rain moving in from across the valley, and so, we turned around. On our way back to the trailhead at scenic Green’s View, we spotted a yellow daffodil along the edge of the trail. “Evidence of homesteads here years ago,” he noted. “Occasionally I find a piece of pipe or metal from an old moonshine still or glass from a jug of some sort. It’s all out here among the trees and rocks, plants and animals. Remnants of man are part of our natural world, too.”
David George Haskell teaches biology at the University of the South, where he has served both as Chair of Biology and as an Environmental Fellow with the Associated Colleges of the South. His innovative teaching methodology combining scientific exploration, contemplative practice and community action is nationally recognized. The Carnegie and CASE Foundations named him Professor of the Year for Tennessee in 2009, and The Oxford American featured him in 2011 as one of the South’s most creative teachers.
PhoTo: seWANee eNviRoNMeNTAL iNsTiTUTe seWANee
57April 2013 GET OUT CH aTTa NOOG a PhoTo: MichAeL R. hicksPhoTo: BUck BUTLeR
In addition to The Forest Unseen: A Year’s Watch in Nature, Haskell has published numerous noteworthy scientific articles, essays and poems about science and nature. His research, supported by the National Science Foundation, the Environmental Protection Agency, the Fish and Wildlife Service, the World Wildlife Fund and the Templeton Foundation, focuses on the evolution and conservation of animals, especially forest-dwelling birds and invertebrates.
Want to learn more about nature writing? The chattanooga Arboretum and Nature center is hosting a series of four nature writing retreats. Session One: The Nature of a life—Spring date: april 20 Time: 9:30 a.m.-4:30 p.m. venue: Chattanooga arboretum and Nature Center Facilitator: dr. Jean lomino cost: $60 members; $65 Non-members gather with fellow learners, take a closer look at the plants, animals and landscapes around you, and learn simple nature journaling techniques. session is limited to 20 participants.
nature writing
Haskell was born in England, raised in Paris and educated at Oxford (B.A. in Zoology) and Cornell University (Ph.D. in Ecology and Evolutionary Biology) before moving to Tennessee 17 years ago. He is a Fellow of the American Council of Learned Societies and was granted elective membership in the American Ornithologists’ Union. He served on the board of the South Cumberland Regional Land Trust, initiating and leading the campaign to purchase and protect more than 200 acres of forest in Shakerag Hollow. who is david haskell
58 GET OUT CH aTTa NOOG a April 2013 PhoTo: BUck BUTLeR
The parallel runs deeper than this congruence of language and symbolism. I believe that the forest’s ecological stories are all pres ent in a mandala-sized area. Indeed, the truth of the forest may be more clearly and vividly revealed by the contemplation of a small area than it could be by donning ten-league boots, covering a continent but uncovering little.
The search for the universal within the infinitesimally small is a quiet theme playing through most cultures. The Tibetan mandala is our guiding metaphor, but we also find context for this work in Western culture. Blake’s poem “Auguries of Innocence” raises the stakes by shrinking the mandala to a speck of earth or a flower: “To see a World in a Grain of Sand / And a Heaven in a Wild Flower.” Blake’s desire builds on the tradition of Western mysticism most notably demonstrated by the Christian contemplatives. For Saint John of the Cross, Saint Francis of Assisi, or Lady Julian of Norwich, a dungeon, a cave, or a tiny hazelnut could all serve as lenses through which to experience the ultimate reality.
This book is a biologist’s response to the challenge of the Tibetan mandala, of Blake’s poems, of Lady Julian’s hazelnut. Can the whole forest be seen through a small contemplative window of leaves, rocks, and water? I have tried to find the answer to this question, or the start of an answer, in a mandala made of old-growth forest in the hills of Tennessee. The forest mandala is a circle a little over a meter across, the same size as the mandala that was created and swept away by the monks. I chose the mandala’s location by walking haphazardly through the forest and stopping when I found a suitable rock on which to sit. The area in front of the rock became the mandala, a place that I had never seen before, its promise mostly hidden by winter’s austere garb. The mandala sits on a forested slope in southeastern Tennessee. One hundred meters upslope, a high sandstone bluff marks the western edge of the Cumberland Plateau. The ground falls away from this bluff in steps, alternating level benches with sharp inclines, descending one thousand feet in elevation to the valley floor. The mandala nestles between boulders on the highest bench. The slope is entirely forested with a diverse col lection of mature deciduous trees: oaks, maples, basswoods, hickories, tuliptrees, and a dozen more species. The forest floor is ankle-twistingly strewn with jumbled rock from the eroding bluff, and in many places there is no even ground, just heaved, fissured stone overlain with leaf mulch.
FROM The Forest
COPYRIGHT © 2012
The whole universe is seen through this small circle of sand.
The steep, challenging terrain has protected the for est. At the bottom of the mountain, the fertile, level soil on the valley floor is relatively free of rocky encumbrances and has been cleared for pasture and crops, first by Native Americans, then by settlers from the Old World. A few homesteaders tried to farm the mountainside in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, a task that was as hard as it was unproductive. Moonshine stills gave these subsis tence farmers extra income, and this mountainside got its name, Shakerag Hollow, from the way townspeople would summon the distillers by waving a rag that was then left with some money. A jar of strong liquor would take the place of the money some hours later. The forest has now reclaimed the small agricultural openings and still sites, although the locations of the old clearings are marked by rock heaps, old pipes, rusted washtubs, and daffodil patches. Much of the rest of the forest was logged for lumber and fuel, especially at the turn of the twentieth century. A few small pockets of forest were left untouched, shielded by inaccessibility, luck, or the whims of landowners. The mandala sits in one such patch, a dozen or so acres of old-growth forest embedded in thousands of acres of forest that, although it has been cut in the past, is now mature enough to sustain much of the rich ecology and biological diversity that char acterize Tennessee’s mountain forests.
A group of North American undergraduates jostle behind a rope nearby, extending their necks like herons as they watch the mandala’s birth. They are uncharacteristically quiet, perhaps caught up in the work or stilled by the otherness of the monks’ lives. The students are visiting the mandala at the beginning of their first laboratory class in ecology. The class will continue in a nearby forest, where the students will create their own mandala by throwing a hoop onto the ground. They will study their circle of land for the rest of the afternoon, observing the workings of the forest community. One translation of the Sanskrit mandala is “community,” so the monks and the students are engaged in the same work: contemplating a mandala and refining their minds.
BY
REPRINTED BY ARRANGEMENT
59April 2013 GET OUT CH aTTa NOOG a
(USA) INC., FROM The ForesT UNseeN
Two Tibetan monks lean over a table, cradling brass fun nels in their hands. Colored sand spills from the tips of the funnels onto the table. Each fine stream adds another line to the growing mandala. The monks work from the center of the circular pat tern, following chalk lines that define the fundamental shapes, then filling in hundreds of details from memory. A lotus flower, symbol of Buddha, lies at the center and is enclosed by an ornate palace. The four gates of the palace open out to concentric rings of symbols and color, represent ing steps on the path to enlightenment. The mandala will take several days to complete, then it will be swept up and its jumbled sands cast into running water. The mandala has significance at many levels: the concentration required for its creation, the balance between complexity and coherence, the symbols embedded in its design, and its impermanence. None of these qualities, however, define the ultimate purpose of the mandala’s construction. The mandala is a re-creation of the path of life, the cosmos, and the enlightenment of Buddha.
AN Ex
VIKING, A MEMBER OF PENGUIN
Old-growth forests are messy. Within a stone’s throw of the mandala, I see half a dozen large fallen trees in various stages of decomposition. The rotting logs are the food for thousands of spe cies of animals, fungi, and microbes. Downed trees leave gaps in the forest canopy, creating the second characteristic of old-growth for ests, a mosaic of tree ages, with groups of young trees growing next to thick-trunked elders. A pignut hickory with a trunk a meter wide at its base grows just to the west of the mandala, right next to a crowd of maple saplings in a gap left by a massive fallen hickory. The rock on which I sit is backed by a middle-aged sugar maple, its trunk as wide as my torso. This forest has trees of all ages, a sign of the historical continuity of the plant community. I sit next to the mandala on a flat slab of sandstone. My rules at the mandala are simple: visit often, watching a year circle past; be quiet, keep disturbance to a minimum; no killing, no removal of creatures, no digging in or crawling over the mandala. The occasional thought ful touch is enough. I have no set schedule for visits, but I watch here many times each week. This book relates the events in the mandala as they happen. CERPT Unseen DAVID GEORGE HASKELL WITH GROUP BY DAVID GEORGE HASKELL BY DAVID GEORGE HASKELL Preface