Chen Ming-yi: A Gardener of Old Trees

As we drive to Tali Rural Township of Taichung County, Chen Ming-yi, a professor of botany at National Chung Hsing University, keeps turning every which way to find trees by the roadside. It's as if he's introducing old friends: "Over that wall is a row of Mango trees over a century old. It's a kindergarten inside, and so the children can play in the shade."

The car turns into Yungho Street, which, he says, used to be plied by oxcarts going from Taichung to Tali. If you go further out it's Shuwang ("tree king") village, an area named for a big banyan tree.

The world in one tree:

That noble granddaddy of a tree is 200 years old and seven meters around with a wizened tangle of exposed roots. It plays host to many trees, one of which is so big that it takes two people to encircle it.

"One old tree is in itself an ecological system," Chen says. Some of its secondary and tertiary branches are as thick as the base of a fair-sized tree. A fertile mulch rich in organisms is made from the leaves that have fallen from the top of the tree and have been moistened by rain water. With birds dropping seeds they have carried from elsewhere or depositing fruit seeds with their feces, other trees have found room to grow piggyback on this big old tree.

"This would be a great topic for a master's thesis," he explains. Indeed, just how many plants can grow on one big tree? Which plants are parasitic and which are symbiotic? What plants grow in the shade of the tree? How does this small ecosystem centered around the big tree operate? What roles do birds play in this society? All of these questions are worth researching. While not every tree will have other plants growing on it, each tree is a wonder in itself--an ecology well worth investigating.

Among the old trees in Taiwan, Formosan sweet gums, which often serve as beds for mushroom spores, are favorites for such parasitic plants moss and lichen. Among the precious trees protected by the Department of Agriculture and Forestry, there is one old Formosan sweet gum that sits in the middle of a road as a traffic island. Although its surrounding environment is inhospitable, its trunk and branches are like nursery beds, covered with winding green beard lichen fern and lichen. Bird's nest ferns grow with an arrogant lushness, draping the tree with soft sheets of green. The branches are also covered with hairy ferns called "bearsfoot fern". When the weather is dry and water is in short supply, this fern's survival strategy is to take the water from its own roots and stems, which dry up and look like white rabbits' feet, though the plant is still alive. And so the plant is also called "rabbit's foot fern."

Suffering with the tree:

As the car approaches Tali, it stops on South Creek Road in Lotan Village of the Wujih Rural Township. Chen Ming-yi scrutinizes a large-leaved banyan and a hackberry tree that are so entwined they seem to form one tree. "I fear it doesn't have long to live," he says. Because the branches of the large-leaved banyan already extend to the road, they are cut open and infected, having taken a beating from the trucks going to and coming from the steel factory. The trees grow up on a ridge between rice paddies and relied on the water in the fields for moisture. Now that the irrigation ditches are choked with garbage and the road has been paved with asphalt, there's virtually nothing to nourish the roots.

Yet Chen Ming-yi can still see how this tree stands out from the crowd. "Look, at the top of the tree, there's a small bunch of flowers." It's a "trunk flower," something that only tropical rain forests have. The flowers of most trees are on the smallest twigs of the outer branches, but star fruit trees, wax apple trees, and mango trees all have flowers on the trunks.

On a small lane off of Taiming Road in Wujih Rural Township, there is a tree called the Grandpa autumn maple tree with its own temple underneath. Because the crown of the tree is so lush, Chen Ming-yi worries that the root system is not up to the task of supporting it. He fears a heavy wind might blow it over and damage the neighboring houses. Chen has suggested pruning some of its branches. "I think the tree's spirit would forgive us for doing this," Chen Ming-yi tells the local residents.

The last time he was here, he wanted to take one or two flowers home with him to observe, but he was told that he couldn't pick them or damage the old tree. So he knows that anything that might disturb it will be protested by the local residents.

Eyeing some cement under the tree, he broached an idea to the tree's caretakers. Would it be possible to remove as much cement as possible, "so as to let the tree breathe, drink and have a future? It is truly with the most virtuous of intentions. If I was the spirit, I am sure I would give my consent."

In order to prevent the huge tree from being struck by lightening, he queried, "What about giving the tree a lightening rod?" The response: "In that way, it wouldn't have to worry about being struck by lightening. How very scientific! But it would still be better to ask the tree's own opinion."

Chen Ming-yi believes that such beliefs are part of the life of this area and ought to be respected. The local residents are reluctant to prune the tree's branches, fearing that anything out of the ordinary might disturb the tree. "This spirit of solemn respect is proper."

Societies in the tree and under it:

The ecology of big trees is a small society that has caught Chen's scholarly attention, and he is just as interested in what goes on under them. He believes that protecting old trees is kind of social work. Today, agricultural villages are in a period of transition. The elderly are not accustomed to living with their children in the crowded cities, and they're unwilling to live in old folk's homes. If old trees and the environments around them can be preserved, the villages can remain semi-agricultural, the elderly will have places to go, and their spiritual needs will be taken care of, too.

Take the Shuwang Temple in the Shuwang Village of Tali, the site of that big old banyan. It has already become a gathering place for the elderly of the village. At any time, you can find them gathered there, wiling away the hours chatting, playing chess or practicing their calligraphy. As far as Chen Ming-yi is concerned, life for a celestial being couldn't be any more comfortable than the life here--where the elderly can invite their friends from outside the village into the temple to drink tea and chat, where, though their children may be off on their own, they can still come here to find company, drink tea and chew on beetle nut if it's their fancy. "This is peace and happiness." Every once in a while, Chen repeats his heart's desire: "When I retire, I too want to come here and practice my calligraphy, go for strolls and sit in the shade."

The car leaves the back roads of Tali and turns toward to the city and the endless rows of high rises spilling behind each other. Suddenly I have the strange sensation of being pressed down upon. "Very quickly Tali will be infected with a similar appearance," Chen says.

Is Professor Chen thinking what I am, hoping that the pastoral landscape of Tali will not already be lost by the time he retires?

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Chen Ming-yi (first from left), a professor of botany at National Chung Hsing University, researches plant ecologies, and he has a special soft spot in his heart for trees. (photo by Diago Chiu)