{"product_id":"the-songs-of-trees-isbn-9780143111306","title":"The Songs of Trees","description":"\u003cb\u003eWINNER OF THE 2018 JOHN BURROUGHS MEDAL FOR OUTSTANDING NATURAL HISTORY WRITING\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e“Both a love song to trees, an exploration of their biology, and a wonderfully philosophical analysis of their role they play in human history and in modern culture.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003eScience Friday\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe author of \u003ci\u003eSounds Wild and Broken \u003c\/i\u003eand the Pulitzer Prize finalist \u003ci\u003eThe Forest Unseen\u003c\/i\u003e visits with nature’s most magnificent networkers — trees \u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDavid Haskell has won acclaim for eloquent writing and deep engagement with the natural world. Now, he brings his powers of observation to the biological networks that surround all species, including humans. Haskell repeatedly visits a dozen trees, exploring  connections with people, microbes, fungi, and other plants and animals. He takes us to  trees in cities (from Manhattan to Jerusalem), forests (Amazonian, North American, and boreal) and areas on the front lines of environmental change (eroding coastlines, burned mountainsides, and war zones.)  In each place he shows how human history, ecology, and well-being are intimately intertwined with the lives of trees.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Scientific, lyrical, and contemplative, Haskell reveals the biological connections that underpin all life.  In a world beset by barriers, he reminds us that life’s substance and beauty emerge from relationship and interdependence.\u003cb\u003eNamed one of the Best Science Books of 2017 by Science Friday and Brain Pickings\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eOne of \u003ci\u003eForbes’\u003c\/i\u003e Best Environment, Climate Science and Conservation Books of 2017\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“In \u003ci\u003eThe Songs of Trees\u003c\/i\u003e, Haskell champions a kind of ‘ecological aesthetics,’ where we find beauty in connectivity . . . Haskell sees trees as ‘nature’s great connectors,’ living symbols of the book’s great theme – that life is about relationships. . .we can find salvation in this view of life as a community.” —\u003cb\u003eEd Yong, \u003ci\u003eThe Atlantic \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e“Haskell’s exquisitely wrought ecological study documents the fate of 12 trees, around the globe and over time . . . a ravishing journey into biotic community.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eNature\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e“What does an individual tree connect to, through its countless networks? Everything, to those who listen. Haskell’s writing is natural history, in every sense of the phrase, at its very best.”\u003cb\u003e —Richard Powers, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Overstory\u003c\/i\u003e, PBS Newshour\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Both a love song to trees, an exploration of their biology, and a wonderfully philosophical analysis of their role they play in human history and in modern culture.” —\u003cb\u003eScience Friday, “The Best Science Books of 2017”\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e \"Haskell trains his breathtaking observational skills, his eloquence and his capacity for hourslong contemplative practice on 12 trees around the globe . . . Haskell's sentences drip with poignancy and poetry. It's as if the whole world--every dust mote, every molecule of air, each reverberation of birdsong, rainfall or urban jackhammer--is slid beneath his magnifying lens. We see and hear beauties otherwise unimagined.\" —\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eChicago Tribune \u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Reveals the surprising – and surprisingly fascinating – arboreal secrets hidden in the canopies of ordinary trees . . . Haskell [leverages] three remarkable strengths – vast scientific knowledge, prodigious literary gifts, and a deeply meditative approach to fieldwork.\" —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eOutside\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Haskell proves himself to be the rare kind of scientist Rachel Carson was when long ago she pioneered a new cultural aesthetic of poetic prose about science . . . it is in such lyrical prose and with an almost spiritual reverence for trees that Haskell illuminates his subject . . . a resplendent read in its entirety, kindred both to Walt Whitman’s exultation of trees and bryologist Robin Wall Kimmerer’s poetic celebration of moss.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eBrain Pickings\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e \"Rich, often stunningly beautiful prose ... astounding powers of observation ... powerfully arguing against the ‘otherness’ of nature that denies our own wild being ... pushes the genre of nature writing in a welcome new direction.\" —\u003cb\u003eThe Burroughs Medal jury\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Over the course of ten graceful and fine-grained studies of different tree species, Haskell makes our relationship with the trees lambently obvious . . . \u003ci\u003eThe Songs of Trees\u003c\/i\u003e has the diverse busyness of a thriving woodland. It is hard to think of a recent scientifically-inflected book on nature that is as fluent, compelling, and intoxicatingly rich.”\u003cb\u003e —\u003ci\u003eTimes Literary Supplement\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “\u003ci\u003eThe Songs of Trees\u003c\/i\u003e is the equal of [\u003ci\u003eThe Forest Unseen\u003c\/i\u003e] in its scientific depth, lyricism, and imaginative reach . . . Haskell’s intention is nothing less than to explore interconnection in nature across space and time, and to observe how humans can succeed, or fail, in the co-creation of networks of life that are more intelligent, productive, resilient and creative.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Guardian\u003c\/i\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “A great read for those wanting to be swept away to new locations while gaining a greater appreciation for the impact a single tree can have.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eAmerican Forests\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “The ceibo is the first of a fascinating litany of the world’s trees we come to know through the extraordinary observations of Haskell . . . This is a wise and eloquent reminder of the interconnectedness of all things and a lesson in how being open to the wisdom of trees, the great connectors, can help us understand ourselves and our place in the world.” \u003cb\u003e– \u003ci\u003eThe Minneapolis Star Tribune\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Haskell writes with a poet’s ear and a biologist’s precision . . . like Rachel Carson’s \u003ci\u003eSilent Spring\u003c\/i\u003e and Stephen Jay Gould’s \u003ci\u003eWonderful Life\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe Songs of Trees\u003c\/i\u003e is greater than the sum of its parts:  it forces readers to consider complex, interrelated networks of the natural world, the scope and sweep of evolution, and the measurable effects of humanity on both.” \u003cb\u003e– \u003ci\u003eThe Knoxville News Sentinel\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “David George Haskell is a wonderful writer and an equally keen observer of the natural world. \u003ci\u003eThe Songs of Trees\u003c\/i\u003e is at once lyrical and informative, filled with beauty and also a sense of loss.” \u003cb\u003e– Elizabeth Kolbert, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Sixth Extinction\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Here is a book to nourish the spirit. \u003ci\u003eThe Songs of Trees\u003c\/i\u003e is a powerful argument against the ways in which humankind has severed the very biological networks that give us our place in the world. Listen as David Haskell takes his stethoscope to the heart of nature - and discover the poetry and music contained within.”  \u003cb\u003e-- Peter Wohlleben, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Hidden Life of Trees\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e \"David George Haskell may be the finest literary nature writer working today. \u003ci\u003eThe Songs of\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003eTrees\u003c\/i\u003e - compelling, lyrical, wise - is a case in point. Don't miss it.\" \u003cb\u003e-- Deborah Blum, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Poisoner’s Handbook\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Inspiring . . . Haskell’s study of interconnectedness reveals as much as humans about it does trees.” \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e– Publishers Weekly\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“Haskell’s thoughtful prose lulls readers into extraordinarily in-depth studies of the molecular breakdown of dying trees, the sounds created by their great branches, and their manners of germination . . . Haskell is elegant in his observations . . . Blending history and science with the grace of a poet, this is nature writing at its finest.”\u003cb\u003e \u003cbr\u003e – \u003ci\u003eALA Booklist\u003c\/i\u003e (starred)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e“Engaging and eye-opening. . .Haskell’s message is straightforward and important:  we are a part of nature, and the trees with whom we share our environment are vital parts of our lives.” \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e – Kirkus Reviews\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"David Haskell has opened up a new dimension in sound - and given us a powerful tool to rethink the way we look at the roots of our reality and how trees are the best way to guide us. A tour de force of sound and symbol. Read. Listen. Learn.\"  \u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e--Paul D. Miller aka DJ Spooky\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e“With a poet’s ear and a naturalist’s eye Haskell re-roots us in life’s grand creative struggle and encourages us to turn away from empty individuality. \u003ci\u003eThe Songs of Trees\u003c\/i\u003e reminds us that we are not alone, and never have been.”  \u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e —Neil Shea, writer, \u003ci\u003eNational Geographic\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"David Haskell does the impossible in \u003ci\u003eThe Song of Trees. \u003c\/i\u003eHe picks out a dozen trees around the world and inspects each one with the careful eye of a scientist. But from those observations, he produces a work of great poetry, showing how these trees are joined to the natural world around them, and to humanity as well.\" \u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e —Carl Zimmer, author of \u003ci\u003eA Planet of Viruses\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"David Haskell writes with uncommon insight and sensitivity: listening and giving voice to the ineluctable networks in which trees and all human experiences are embedded.\" \u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e —Peter Crane, President, Oak Spring Garden Foundation\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eDavid Haskell\u003c\/b\u003e’s work integrates scientific, literary, and contemplative studies of the natural world. He is a professor of biology and environmental studies at the University of the South and a Guggenheim Fellow. His 2017 book \u003ci\u003eThe\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003eSongs of Trees\u003c\/i\u003e won the John Burroughs Medal for Distinguished Natural History Writing. His 2012 book \u003ci\u003eThe Forest Unseen\u003c\/i\u003e was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize and the PEN\/E.O. Wilson Literary Science Writing Award, and won the 2013 Best Book Award from the National Academies, the National Outdoor Book Award, and the Reed Environmental Writing Award. His new book, \u003ci\u003eSounds Wild and Broken: Sonic Marvels, Evolution’s Creativity, and the Crisis of Sensory Extinction\u003c\/i\u003e, will be published in March of 2022.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e To listen to a collection of sounds from the trees in this book, visit dghaskell.com.\u003cb\u003eCeibo\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e Near the Tiputini River, Ecuador       0¡38'10.2\" S, 76¡08'39.5\" W\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Moss has taken flight, lifting itself on wings so thin that light      barely notices as it passes through. The sun leaves not a color      but a suggestion. Leaflets spread and the moss plants soar on long      strands. A fibrous anchor tethers each flier to the swarm of fungi      and algae that coats every tree branch. Unlike their crouched and      bowed relatives in the rest of the world, these mosses live where      water has no skin, no boundary. Here the air is water. Mosses grow      like filamentous seaweeds in an open ocean.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The forest presses its mouth to every creature and exhales. We      draw the breath: hot; odorous; almost mammalian, seeming to flow      directly from the forest's blood to our lungs. Animate, intimate,      suffocating. At noon the mosses are in flight, but we humans are      supine, curled in the fecund belly of life's modern zenith. We're      near the center of the Yasun’ Biosphere Reserve in western      Ecuador. Around us grows sixteen thousand square kilometers of      Amazonian forest in a national park, an ethnic reserve, and a      buffer zone, connected across the Colombian and Peruvian borders      to more forest that, seen through the lofty gaze of satellites,      forms one of the largest green spots on the face of the Earth.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Rain. Every few hours, rain, speaking a language unique to this      forest. Amazonian rain differs not just in the volume of what it      has to tell-three and a half meters dropped every year, six times      gray London's count-but in its vocabulary and syntax. Invisible      spores and plant chemicals mist the air above the forest canopy.      These aerosols are the seeds onto which water vapor coalesces,      then swells. Every teaspoon of air here has a thousand or more of      these particles, a haze ten times less dense than air away from      the Amazon. Wherever people aggregate in significant numbers, we      loose to the sky billions of particles from engines and chimneys.      Like birds in a dust bath, the vigorous flapping of our industrial      lives raises a fog. Each fleck of pollution, dusty mote of soil,      or spore from a woodland is a potential raindrop. The Amazon      forest is vast, and over much of its extent the air is mostly a      product of the forest, not the activities of industrious birds.      Winds sometimes bring pulses of dust from Africa or smog from a      city, but mostly the Amazon speaks its own tongue. With fewer      seeds and abundant water vapor, raindrops bloat to exceptional      sizes. The rain falls in big syllables, phonemes unlike the      clipped rain speech of most other landmasses.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e We hear the rain not through silent falling water but in the many      translations delivered by objects that the rain encounters. Like      any language, especially one with so much to pour out and so many      waiting interpreters, the sky's linguistic foundations are      expressed in an exuberance of form: downpours turn tin roofs into      sheets of screaming vibration; rain smatters onto the wings of      hundreds of bats, each drop shattering, then falling into the      river below the bats' skimming flight; heavy-misted clouds sag      into treetops and dampen leaves without a drop falling, their      touch producing the sound of an inked brush on a page.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The leaves of plants speak the rainÕs language with the most      eloquence. Plant diversity here reaches levels unrivaled anywhere      on Earth. Over six hundred species of tree live in one hectare,      more than in all of North America. If we survey an adjacent      hectare, we add yet more species to the list. Every time I have      visited, my anchor in this botanical confusion and delight is a      Ceiba pentandra tree, a species that many local people call ceibo,      pronounced SAY-bo. Twenty-nine paces take me around its base,      steps that circle buttress roots radiating from the center, each      root starting head high at the trunk, then sloping down into the      forest. The trunk is three meters across, wider by half than the      columns that support the Parthenon. Despite its impressive size,      the tree is not nearly so ancient as the pines, olives, and      redwoods that live in cold or dry climates and count their years      in millennia. In the fungus- and insect-filled Amazon, few ceibo      live more than a couple of hundred years. Ecologists estimate that      this tree is between 150 and 250 years old. The tree is large not      because it is old but because young ceibo lance upward by two      meters every year, sacrificing wood strength and chemical defenses      for speed of growth. The ceiboÕs crown, its uppermost branches,      form a wide dome that rises ten meters higher than the surrounding      trees, themselves forty meters high, the equivalent of about ten      stories in a human building. From a perch in the crown I see a      forest canopy unlike that of relatively smooth-topped temperate      forests. A dozen other ceibos grow between my eye and the horizon,      each one a hummock protruding from the uneven, fissured surface      created by the surrounding trees.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The tree is a giant. An axis mundi? Perhaps, but the rain's sound      refutes any attempt to use a single idea to isolate the tree from      its community. Every falling water drop is a tap against leafy      drumskins. Botanical diversity is sonified, calling out under the      drummer's beat. Every species has its rain sound, revealing the      varied physicality of leaves of the ceibo tree and the many other      species that live on and around its massive form.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The expansive leaflets of flying moss tick under the impact of a      drop. An arum leaf, an elongate heart as long as my arm, gives a      took took with undertones that linger as the surface dissipates      its energy. The stiff dinner-plate leaves of a neighboring plant      receive the rain with a tight snap, a spatter of metallic sparks.      A rosette of lance-shaped leaves sprouts from the tip of a Clavija      shrub, each leaf twitching as the rain smacks the surface. The      sound is flat, tup, with none of the urgency of less yielding      leaves. The leaf of an Amazonian avocado plant sounds a low,      clean, woody thump.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e These sounds come from the ceibo's understory plants, species that      root themselves under the spreading branches and amid the duffy      soil around the trunk. The water that strikes the understory has      already passed across many leaves above. In the treetops most      leaves have forms characteristic of the tropics: smooth surfaces      ending in sharp tips or filaments. These \"drip tips,\" combined      with slick leaf surfaces, gather water, drawing it into large      teardrops. As tears swell on the leaf tip, the water becomes a      lens, refracting light so that an inverted image of the forest      appears within. The drop has only a thin tip to hold, so every few      seconds the leaf releases the accumulated water, then another lens      bulges, flashing its image before falling away. The leaf thus      sheds water, drying itself and slowing the growth of      moisture-loving fungi and algae. These drip tips in the upper      levels of the forest enlarge the already-giant raindrops, sending      them down to understory plant skins. Larger leaves gather the most      water and drip fastest, so the rhythms of the understory are born      in the diversity of leaf shapes in the ceibo's crown. The myriad      sizes, shapes, thicknesses, textures, and pliancies of the leaves      below add texture to the sound. Even the litter sings with a vigor      that I have not encountered elsewhere. This ground sound is the      clack and tick of thousands of spring-wound clocks, each releasing      its tension with a tschak unique to the woody muddle of the      decomposing surface.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In the ceibo's crown, botanical acoustic diversity is present, but      it is more subtle. Drops are smaller and create a sound like river      rapids in the leaves of the many surrounding trees, obscuring      variations in the sounds of individual leaves. Because I'm      standing high up in the branches of an emergent tree, a tree that      arches over all others, the sound of the river rapids comes from      beneath my feet. I feel inverted, like an image in a teardrop,      disoriented by hearing forest rain under my soles. My ascent, up a      forty-meter series of metal ladders, has carried me through the      rain layers: The sounds of rain on litter and understory plants      fade a meter or two above the ground, replaced by the spare,      irregular spat of drops on sparse leaves, stems reaching up to the      light, and roots drilling down. At twenty meters up, the foliage      thickens and the rapids begin. As I climb higher, the sounds of      individual trees push forward, then recede, first a speed-typist's      clatter from a strangler fig, then rasping drops glancing across      hirsute vine leaves. I top the rapids' surface and the roar moves      below me, unveiling patters on fleshy orchid leaves, greasy      impacts on bromeliads, and low clacks on the elephant ears of      Philodendron. Every tree surface is crowded with greenery;      hundreds of plant species inhabit the ceibo's crown.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Human contrivances to keep away water are useless here and dull      the ears. Rain jackets may repel falling drops, but their plastic      magnifies the tropical heat and sweat soaks from within. Unlike      many other forests, there is so much acoustic information revealed      by the rain here that the crack, puff, or smack of drops on woven      polyester, nylon, and cotton become an aural barrier and      distraction. The yielding, lightly textured surface of human hair      and skin is silent, or nearly so. My hands, shoulders, and face      answer the rain with feeling, not sound.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When Western missionaries arrived here, they insisted that their      colonized, evangelized subjects wear clothing. An unintended      effect of this stricture was to reorient ears toward the self and      away from the forest, partly closing the door to acoustic      relationship with plants and animals. My conversations with      members of the Waorani, the local indigenous culture, have almost      without exception included unsolicited comments about the      awkwardness and constraint of the clothes required when visiting      town. The Waorani have lived in the forest for thousands of years,      but outsiders now threaten their lives and culture. Clothes      therefore weigh heavily for many reasons. I suspect that one of      these is the disconnection from the acoustic community, a      significant loss for people who live within multispecies      relationships. Just as factory millworkers are deafened by      machinery, given \"cloth ears\" by their work, wearers of the cloth      itself also sometimes lose the ability to hear.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In the ceibo's crown, animal sounds overlay the plant rhythms:      whine, murmur, howl, yelp, whistle, squeal, and whir. Every sonic      verb has its champion, and many species communicate with sounds      for which our language has no adequate descriptors. The blurred      wings of a fork-tailed woodnymph hummingbird drone, a sound edged      in whiplike squeaks. The bird, a thumb-size glint of iridescent      blue and green, dips its beak into the red arch of flowers      emerging from a zebra bromeliad. Between the bromeliad's fleshy      pineapple-top leaves a frog calls ko-ko-ko-UP!, a jaunty song that      awakens a call-and-response chorus from dozens of other frogs      hidden in the thickets of bromeliads that cover the ceibo's      branches. Unlike drip-tipped leaves, the erect rosettes of      bromeliads collect and hold water. Each bromeliad can contain four      liters in the gaps between the base of its leaves, a breeding site      for frogs and hundreds of other species. One hectare of forest      carries fifty thousand liters of water in treetop bromeliads, much      of this volume pooled along branches of the large, emergent trees.      The ceibo is a sky lake.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Water pools are not the only habitat in the crown. There are as      many microclimates among these branches as exist within hundreds      of hectares of most temperate forests. Bogs accumulate in      sheltered crotches. Ephemeral wetlands fill and dry within      knotholes. Dozens of years of leaf fall have accumulated in the      ceibo crown, building soil as deep and rich as the litter on the      ground. The soil lies on wide tree branches and is caught in      tangles of vines. Rooted in this duff, a fig tree with a trunk as      wide as a human torso grows amid half a dozen other trees in the      confluence of ceibo branches, a forest rooted fifty meters above      the ground. These trees cluster on the northern and eastern sides,      where the crown's soil stays moist and the ceibo leaves grow      thickest, like a shady forest ravine. On the exposed southwestern      branches, a community of cacti, lichens, and razor-leaved      bromeliads endure the alternation between deluge and desert,      swelling in the rain, then crisping in the unobstructed equatorial      sun. On vertical trunks, vines interweave with orchid gardens,      creating water-holding mats in which ferns take root. Above all      this grow the ceibo's own leaves, each one the size of a child's      hand, fanning in eight or so elongate leaflets. The tree holds its      leaves on twig tips, creating a gauzy haze. The leaves seem      insubstantial for so large a tree, but unlike the sheltered plants      below, these leaves must withstand the wind of thunderstorms and      downbursts. Their small size and fanlike shape allow each leaf to      fold up and yield to the wind.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Most tropical biologists have worked at ground level. But lately      towers, rope ladders, and cranes have carried some scientists into      the treetops. There they've found that as many as half, and      perhaps many more, of the forests' species dwell in tree crowns      and nowhere else. \"Canopy,\" the biological term for the crowns of      many tree species in a forest, is too simple a word for such a      complex, three-dimensional world.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Maps of biological diversity give us another way to understand the      many lives of this ceibo tree. When the richness of plants,      amphibians, reptiles, and mammals-admittedly a mere subset of      life's diversity, but the subset that we know best-is tallied      across the world, a color-coded map of diversity reveals the      places with the largest number of species in each group. The place      where these maps converge, the glowing eye of the map, is eastern      Ecuador and northern Peru, the western Amazon. Tabular ranking of      categories of species within these larger taxonomic groupings      confirms what the maps suggest. By most measures this is the      modern apogee of terrestrial biodiversity, the result of life's      creativity incubated in tropical heat and rain. Evolution has had      time to elaborate its hothouse productions: the western Amazon has      been a tropical forest for millions, perhaps tens of millions of      years. The region's geologic history is poorly understood, but the      western Amazon's location between the uplifting Andes and the      shifting coastline of the Atlantic may have opened it to invasion      by new species from sea and mountains, further leavening the rise      of biodiversity.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A less formal but equally informative indicator of the diversity      of this forest is a walk with a professional botanist, either a      professor or an experienced forest guide. Their extraordinary      biological and cultural knowledge encompasses all the more common      plants, including the role of plants in the lives of humans. The      experts also bring specialized understanding of the identities and      stories of a particular subgroup, the plants that they have      studied for decades. But the task of identifying the majority of      species, let alone knowing the stories of these plants, is far      beyond their grasp. Species unknown to and undescribed by Western      science are all around. Botanists recently discovered one new      species on the walkway to the dining hall at a biological research      station. This forest is the place where biological hubris dies: we      live in profound ignorance of the lives of our cousins.","brand":"Penguin Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":44861704601829,"sku":"NP9780143111306","price":19.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780143111306.jpg?v=1767741590","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-songs-of-trees-isbn-9780143111306","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}