Minnewaska Musing

Paul Gremmels

I was once standing on the north shore of Lake Superior in the month of July, looking south, out onto the lake, toward an unseen Wisconsin. A stiff wind was in my face, when it began to snow – cottonwood seeds. The closest land or cottonwood tree in that direction would have been over a hundred miles distant. Looking upon Lake Superior is indeed an amazing sight, but this was a marvel in and of itself.

There was a study done by Princeton University entitled “The Long Distance Dispersal of Tree Seeds by Wind.”  I wouldn’t advise reading it, unless you are into scientific and historical research papers written by undergrads. In it, they claim that cottonwood seeds travel on average, up to a mile. The researchers then throw in a caveat conjunction; “But, if conditions are favorable, can travel much farther.”  I believe that day on Lake Superior fell into the ultimate, in favorable conditions column.

The other day, I was sitting on our door step, watching the giant cottonwood in front of our house. This tree is massive and I have named her “Chomolungma,” as it is what the Tibetans call Mount Everest in their native tongue, meaning “Mother Goddess of the World.” She is very old, and the man who’s family homesteaded this farm told me once that his father had said that; “He could never remember a time when it wasn’t there.”

As I sat and watched her, she was releasing countless clouds of seeds into the south wind. It was remarkable, creating a near white-out in our front yard. The tree is a big one, eighty feet or better. And by looking toward the top of the tree, I could see seeds being released at the very crown and seeming to gain altitude from there. Probably grabbing some type of thermal of the hot summer air, pushing toward the blue, heavens. There were of course seeds drifting about at eye level as well. One seemed to float just in front of my face, swirling slightly from the crosswind in the alcove of the entryway. I reached out and grabbed it with a lightly closed fist. I brought it close to my chest and slowly opened my hand. The seed, about the size of a pinhead, was surrounded by a wisp of white fiber, and hovered, levitating just above my palm. I watched it for a moment, transfixed by its denial of gravity.

Considering that this is how Chomolungma began her journey in life, I wondered how far the seed she sprung from had traveled and how long ago it had come to rest from where she towers today. I marveled at how such a massive tree could come from such a tiny seed.

Another gust of wind caught the seed in my palm and rushed it upward and away across the yard. I kept my eye on it as it rose higher and higher until it disappeared into the summer sky.