Tenacity of Trees

The hallmark of curiosity is a thirst for knowledge that has no obvious utility. Being a lifelong learner is taking joy in exploration regardless of whether the discovery has immediate relevance. The goal is to understand for the sake of understanding.

— Adam Grant

I’ve been thinking about this quote over the past week or so, and how it manifests in my life. I’m a reader - always have been, always will be - and I tend to read a diverse selection of books, newsletters, articles, etc. If you were to take a look at my email inbox you’d find newsletters on topics ranging from economics, motherhood, science, happiness, books, and nature. My bookshelf would reveal more of the same.

I see this same thirst for knowledge in my kids. My one-year-old brings books to me so we can read together throughout the day, practicing the words and sounds he knows. My four-year old has endless questions about everything, and often times we find the answers in books. But this past weekend I noticed a different way my four-year old approaches learning that I want to emulate more often.

We were on a little family trip in the Vernal, Utah area. One obvious point of interest was going to be the state fieldhouse museum as well as Dinosaur National Monument because, well, dinosaurs. But we also decided to squeeze in a hike to Moonshine Arch. Though it had been an uphill hike, through sand and across slickrock, on a warm day, there was no resting once we got there. Grace needed to know “what’s up here” and “what’s over there”. She wasn’t satisfied with answers like “the top of the arch” or “more rock”. She needed to see, and know, and understand for herself.

I have to admit, I was content to sit in the shade watching Cooper play in the sand, until I saw my husband taking a picture of something. Curious about what he deemed worthy of a photograph, I went over to see. It was a massive root! Stretching down the surface, through this crevice they had climbed up, and on across the rock down past us until it disappeared in the sand and rock.

Now I was curious. What was up there? I had to know which tree this root belonged too. Surely not the junipers we had been seeing on the hike in. So, following my daughter’s lead, I went up the crevice, too. I followed the root to a scrubby looking lodgepole pine (Pinus contorta). My previous experiences with lodgepole had been with trees tall and straight, reaching 50-70 feet high. Now, the species name contorta made sense; this tree was twisted and gnarly, evidence of the harsh environment it had been growing in.

It’s remarkable that trees of any size can grow in such a place - seemingly right out of the rock. But over time, slowly and surely, those roots anchor them in - splitting rock in the process - and keep them alive. Had I not followed the curiosity of my daughter, to know just to know, I would have missed the opportunity to discover just how truly tenacious those trees can be.