What the Stump Knows

Is it just me, or is anyone else really confused by how a seemingly dead tree—a mere stump—can send up shoots of new life? Essentially, new trees growing out of the bones of the old one. There are no seeds or acorns around it to germinate, just the stump standing in defiance of the death that claimed its mighty boughs.

I’m writing this as I watch my neighbor across the street weed-eat around an old red oak stump she had cut down a couple of years ago. There are, or rather there were, saplings sprouting all around the base of the former tree. This leads me to think that, despite the glorious parts of the tree we saw above ground, the roots are where the life truly resides. Perhaps there are parts of us, too, that lie so deep within—waiting to grow—that couldn’t have flourished before a traumatic “pruning” event.

I’m not sure if you’ve ever had a life event or opportunity make you feel like you’ve been cut off at the knees, but those setbacks can feel like a sort of death. When I look back on moments where I felt like dreams had died or opportunities dried up, I remember the feelings of helplessness and hopelessness that came with those seasons. Yet without fail, I can also see how those forks in the road helped me find a new path—one I hadn’t even considered before being confronted with life’s pruning shears. I always retained my roots, and the new life that sprouted seemed to take advantage of the fertilized soil of my prior experiences.

What I’ve learned over the years, much like the roots of a mighty oak, is that connection to community is key. In the oak tree analogy, their roots are covered in fungal webs called mycorrhizal fungi, which create a network people have anecdotally called the “wood wide web.” Historically, we’ve regarded fungus as a sign of death and decay, but in the case of plant roots, the infusion of fungus provides connection. The roots and the fungus trade sugars for soil nutrients, working together in a symbiotic relationship.

The irony is that this massive network is mostly hidden beneath the soil. The towering tree’s “success” gets all the praise from bystanders because of its aesthetic beauty and size, but without the community beneath the soil, the tree could not grow to such heights. That’s an interesting thought—without a supportive community, we may be able to survive, but we likely won’t thrive.

Do you have a community you’re connected to? It can be an online community, a church, a book club, or simply friends with whom you share a common bond. I find I do my best creative work when in collaboration with other like-minded individuals. You’d likely never see half of the things I write if it weren’t for some dedicated and unsung heroes like my wife, my sister, and my best friend, who often get my roughest drafts and tell me “yay or nay” if what I’ve tried to communicate makes sense. I often feel sorry for them when they have to read the early versions of articles because very rarely do I get it right the first (or fifth) time. But that connection to a community of supportive people helps me flourish.

To take this a step further, being connected both to a community and to the Earth is vital to our well-being. There is something about wonder that grounds us. Sometimes, being in community with nature is just what the doctor ordered. I can tell a vast difference in my mental health before and after I’ve spent time outdoors. There’s something about disconnecting from the stimuli of our digital world and entering green spaces. The static of my daily life disappears, and my mind opens to the wonder that surrounds me—with new mysteries around every bend in the trail and under every rock. It’s exhilarating.

The funny thing is, when I’m overwhelmed by the cycles of life, I often have to force myself into the woods. It makes no sense—it’s like I have the medicine for my mental maladies but refuse to take it sometimes. Connection is key, both to nature and to each other. Sometimes we just need that gentle prod from a friend to knock us out of whatever funk we may find ourselves in.

Next time you look at a massive oak tree, think about the supporting network of roots and fungi that allowed it to reach such heights. Then, think about the people or communities you’re connected to and how they’ve helped you get to where you are. How can you support others? Once we stop living with a famine mentality and start working together, I’d bet we’ll all see that life is much better when we have support.

Remember to stay rooted.

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Stan Lake is a writer, photographer, and filmmaker currently living in Bethania, North Carolina with his wife Jess and their house full of animals. He split his time growing up between chasing wildlife and screaming on stages in hardcore bands you’ve never heard of. He has been published by Dead Reckoning Collective, The Havok Journal, Reptiles Magazine, Lethal Minds Journal, and many others. He filmed and directed a documentary called “Hammer Down” about his 2005 deployment in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom in with Alpha Battery 5-113^th of the NC Army National Guard. You can find his books, collected works, and social media accounts at www.stanlakecreates.com

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.