Birch, Willow, and Alder

Sailing south along the Labrador coast on my recent adventure, it was fascinating to watch the birch, willow, and alder trees slowly increase in height. Plants that grow a dozen or a hundred feet tall in New England grow radically different in the arctic—and it’s not primarily because of the cold. The real culprit is intense winds that can be strong enough to knock humans off their feet.

One of the most remote, gorgeous, and picturesque landscapes Mom and I visited on our trip was Torngat Mountains National Park. This park encompasses 3,745 square miles and is accessible only by ship, air, or dogsled. The differences in plant life between the north and south ends of the park are significant—but not in type. The same plants that were perhaps a foot wide and hugged the ground in the north formed knee-high thickets at the base camp in Saglek Fjord on the south end of the park.

Another factor in these trees’ size is the very short growing season. In the northern part of the park, the growing season is only six to eight weeks long. This means that to survive, all plants must leaf out, bud, flower, and produce mature seeds in that very short span of time—or do it over a two-year process (as do many raspberry plants further south).

This is why the Inuit, like their black bear neighbors, traditionally subsist primarily on meat and berries. We were visiting at the peak of autumn color, which meant that we also were treated to the peak of berry season. There were several kinds, including bilberries (a cousin of the blueberry), cranberries, lingonberries, and crowberries, each of which were fruiting prolifically. Piles of bear scat were filled almost exclusively with half-digested berries. Many of us returned to the shore with blue lips and tongues from tasting the fresh forage on offer (even though we were supposed to “take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but footprints”!).

The stunning fall color pictured above is primarily due to three types of trees: birch, willow, and alder. The reds are birch (as are many of the berry plants), willows are yellow or gold, and the alders are green. Amazingly, as you can see in the foreground, most of these trees are only ankle high. They also grow very slowly, like carefully trimmed bonsai trees. Some of these trees could be fifty years old or more.

They are also incredibly tenacious, clinging to life even on rockfalls or patches of loose scree. They’re not afraid to grab hold and bloom where they are planted. As you can see here, the occasional tree is even able to use a nearby rock for as a shield and support to grow vertically.

We are the same. We might be knocked sideways by a sudden wind shift or be ripped from the ground by an unexpected rockfall. Our growing season might be short, and our fruit might be quickly devoured by voracious wild creatures—or other humans. Yet, as a species, we persist. Enough of us fruit, and the next generation tenaciously persists.

This is a challenging time in America—and yes, that’s a significant understatement. The myriad forms of violence facing too many of our fellow Americans are horrific and undeserved. Yet, as a species, we will persist. I find hope in the perseverance of these determined berry plants and birch, willow, and alder trees.

Where are you finding hope these days?