It's 1916 and Second Lieutenant Tolkien is travelling through a dense forest in disputed territory between France and German during World War 1. It's night time and Tolkien and his fellow soldiers are lost in this ancient old growth forest. It is almost pitch black. Eyes are wide and tensions are high. Not only are they awestruck by the biggest trees they have ever seen, they can hear lots of movement surrounding them.

One of my favourite bits to do on my Forest Walks begins by first asking participants what the tallest tree in the world is. Usually people are quick to answer that it is Redwoods in California. Some can even give the name of the tallest tree in the world: Hyperion.

Every once and awhile I try and do some ‘big tree’ hunting in British Columbia. I’ve discovered something a bit distressing when I do find these big trees. Almost always there is an English Holly (ilex aquifolium) growing somewhere near the Big Tree. It doesn’t matter how deep or untouched the forest is. If there is a known big tree that people hike out to see, then there will a Holly there.

In the opening of his popular 2015 book, The Hidden Life of Trees, Peter Wohlleben describes coming across what he thought was a moss covered stone in a forest, only to discover after removing the moss that it was actually tree bark. I’ll let Wohlleben describe what happens next

Imagine walking into your favorite local forest one day only to discover that it was now just a massive pile of dirt. Thanks to a nearby construction spot, an incredible amount of dirt had been dumped: Ten feet high and taking up the area of a soccer field. Trees encased and surrounded. No way they will survive. Can the forest regrow and adapt? Will new trees grow on the graveyard of old trees?

About a month ago I was browsing the shelves of Woodward Library – UBC’s Science and Forestry Library – and stumbled across a book published in 1942 that sent me down a research rabbit hole about a native common tree in Pacific Spirit Park.

Stanley Park’s giant Hollow Tree used to be a world-famous landmark. Tourists and locals engaged in increasingly ridiculous behaviors of seeing just how much could fit inside of it. Many tourists and locals had a photo of them inside the tree…while inside a car. In a moment that captures that sense of wonder, remnants of mystery, and, well the, hubris of the era, an elephant was once transported out to the tree for a photo opportunity.

In February 1920 the American Forestry Magazine ran the all-capital headline “DISCOVERY OF SUGAR ON DOUGLAS FIR”. The opening paragraphs of the article is worth reading for the pulsing excitement:

Let’s imagine a Tree from a Fantasy Novel written by an author like Ursula Le Guin or J.R.R. Tolkien. A Tree of legend and lore which characters regard with awe. The “Death Tree” let’s call it. The bark, wood, and leaves of this Tree cause a very painful death. It is used to poison domestic animals of landowners who ran their mouths a bit too much at the tavern.

Butternuts are a tree it’s hard not get obsessed with. Their famously rare, tasty, creamy, buttery nut. A nut that I’ve still yet to try, but (annoyingly) consistently read and hear people raving about. Even the Vikings, who were the first to cross the Atlantic Ocean to North America, seemed to love it.

There is a wizened Catalpa in Vancouver’s Jericho Beach covered in “DO NOT CLIMB” signs. The tree was likely planted during the Catalpa Craze that swept North America in response to widespread fears of a “timber famine”.

There’s one tree commonly planted in Vancouver’s smaller parks that still reminds me of home…. despite not actually being from my home. It’s the original Christmas Tree. The European Red Pine. Commonly known in Canada as the Scots Pine, Pinus sylvestris.