Driving to the workshop one ‘enters the forest’. This is a not uniformly treed space,  but it is clear, and one knows (in my case from past experience and knowledge), that trees play a major role in the ongoing performance - or process - that is this place/landscape/legislative entity. The trees clearly have agency, operating in temporal ecologies that gear in complex ways with human time in terms of cycles, durations, tempos.

Our workshop is located in two centres which rely on the nature of the forest to attract business of one kind or another – the trees as economic and aesthetic agents. We hear from Wye Valley AONB staff about how that agency is involved in a number of endeavours in which, again, the trees and the spaces they make, are players.

But all that – so far – is more or less is pretty standard social construction of trees forests type stuff,  with a general attention to the trees as agents folded into it.

What about the trees themselves. Trees as individual agents – trees as participants in the creation of knowledge?

Well – in the bodging (a technical term) of the spoons we began to engage with the ‘flesh’ or body of a particular (youngish) cherry tree which have been felled to produce workable timber. To me this exercise began to open up the precise nature of tree anatomy in terms of grain, growth rings etc. We begin to know the tree through its flesh. Of course we are no experts – (although some very nice spoons were produced) but our tutor was. And this speaks to the whole history and geography of wood craft and technology where specific types of trees and their timber and the characteristics they possess,  have formed into precise formations of nature-culture.

So – what is in it for the trees? Well, all organisms need a niche in ecological terms, their dwelt,  but in the anthropocene, niches can be as much economic and cultural as they are ‘of nature’. Landscape conservations conventions,  such as those of the EU,  are now paying attention not only to ecological biodiversity but also cultural and ecological  diversity and how the these can  intersect into  wider flourishing of eco-social diversity . Craft and wood technologies/economies are vital for tree biodiversity and in term the survival and flourishing of tree species.

After the bodging, we did a series of exercises which involved being with(in) the trees. Listening, looking, touching, playing with  - trying to get a sense of the everyday practices, day to day lives,  of individuated trees, trying to get a sense of the space as performed by them (e.g.) looking at the canopy in mirrors, filming the canopy in parallax (Owain).  In other words,  we took time to get close to trees, to change our normal ways of engaging with a research other. These aspects of simply ‘getting close to’ and ‘giving time to’ seem important elements of co-production of knowledge with  both humans and non-human. These need to be leavened other inputs  - witnessing, empathy, and ranges of knowledges which can range from craft to science,  to that of other tree space users.

How to make a tree talk, first immerse yourself in the forest, second establish a means of communication... So we spent two days talking to the trees, but did we have a conversation? Consensus was that rather than talking to individual trees we were communicating with the forest, a wider conversation. We touched and talked to the trees, asking questions – ‘what is your name? …my name is sorrow’ the tree wore an expression of woe, years of memory and anguish embedded in its timber and expressed in its growth, in its twisted form and rugged branches. It communicated its place in the world.  We chose it as an intermediary for our dialogue.

Walking through the forest, slowing down, acclimatising to the steady pace of its form, we realised a common experience of light, smell, sound and touch. Perhaps not a conversation in the literal sense but a conversation nevertheless that prompted a response in the form of questions- why was the trunk of the young beech trees wet, but dry with the older trees?  ‘I like these trees they remind me of forests in North America……are there any Australian trees? ‘ -  we were talking!

So onto another part of the conversation, spoon making- now you are talking! - very absorbing, moderately competitive – ‘start with a log, split it, split it again and once again to see the heartwood and the sapwood then go to work with your Swedish axe, knife and gouge’.  Sitting on logs and working on another,  the steady rhythm of carving which, on reflection, synchronised with the rhythm of the forest, led us into a closer conversation initiated by the grain of the timber, the imprint of the tools, the feel of the wood and the mistake which prompted a cry of anguish , sharing  a new skill and more communication, a shared sense of achievement and expression – work with the grain and sing the spoon blues - ‘my spoon aint got no bowl and the handle lacks a crank’ - each spoon had a character, the conversation was evident and there was photographic proof.

So several questions arise – how should we define this conversation and would it have happened if we had not talked to the trees?  We discussed what we had experienced, was it a selfish conversation, one of self- indulgence, or did it allow each of us to converse in our own way?  Perhaps the language of the trees was more dominant than initially thought.

For me, lessons learnt include the expression of the encounter; that the conversation might be subtle and unconventional but it is happening and we need to be aware and open to the fact that it is happening, although not necessarily in a conventional way.  That in sharing a common experience or activity, we establish a new dialogue, a new means of communication derived from the experience, a neutral, persistent, pervasive and all-embracing whisper from the forest in which we were immersed, inviting further enquiry, a common experience but individual conversations without any judgement from the trees that prompted them, a neutral environment available to us all.  What might we need to move more deeply into conversation, what prior knowledge might help?  If we had lingered longer or synchronised our minds in more forest centred activities, would the forest have shouted louder?

 We left our ‘bio balls’ made of clay hanging from a tree to continue the conversation in our absence.

I have never been very good with plants. When people give them to me my heart sinks as I know that I will likely be unable to look after them properly and they will, sooner rather than later, die. Unlike my cats, plants don’t shout at me when they want food, don’t jump on my lap when they want cuddles, don’t block my way when they want attention. They are quietly there, almost in the background of my noisy, rushed daily life and all too often I just forget about them altogether, let alone engaging in conversation with them.

However, the location and activities of this workshop made me consider plants in new ways. In the Forest of Dean, away from the distractions of my daily routines, I experienced plants as physical, living beings and as potential interlocutor. I was struck by the sensuality and tenderness I felt when I stroked some trees’ beautifully tactile skin; suddenly it occurred to me that I was interacting with someone. I also found myself pondering the generosity of the forest that was surrounding me and letting me walk through, and the generosity of individual trees where I spotted plenty of tiny creatures whose life the trees support in many different ways.

I had worked with wood before, but had never had the opportunity to start working from a section of a newly felled tree. [part of the workshop involved carving spoons from green cherry tree logs]. Seeing and manipulating the section in its near integrity, still impregnated with its vital fluids, made me reflect on the fact that the building material we find pre-cut in DIY stores and so often take for granted comes from living beings. Carving was also a new experience for me and gave me a sense of how the structures that support life in the tree dictated how the shape we wanted should be carved out of it. I discovered the pleasure (and pain) of trying to go along with the layers of these structures in my carving, hoping that those structures  would legitimise the shape of  my spoon and the shape of my spoon would celebrate the wood’s structure. I think that was close to having a conversation with a tree, but I was also aware that the tree had to die in order for me to experience that. 

Decorating my clay ball with leaves from the forests’ floor felt like a more dialogic experience. This time I chose to use elements that were already dead so I only picked leaves that I found on the ground. Harvesting all sorts of small leaves to decorate my ball was a joyful experience, which inspired gratitude and wonder for the great variety of plant life that the forest supports. I liked my leafy ball and didn’t necessarily wish to leave it behind hanging from a tree with all the other balls. But such a gesture rightly reminded me that what comes from the forest belongs to the forest and that if we take from the forest materials to build our lives, we ought to give back by offering our labour and creativity to preserve and nurture, and express gratitude to, the forest that makes our lives possible.