Roots

I’ve often heard people say, after gazing with some sort of respective adoration for a seeming everyday defiance of gravity, how amazing it is that a tree so tall and thin, like a pine tree, is able to stand up, even amidst the incessant winds from the four corners of the earth.  I think that is because they’ve forgotten they are only looking at about half of the tree.  If the ground were to suddenly and magically become transparent, and we were able to see the whole tree and its immense root structure, that would make the spaghetti junction of highways near Atlanta, Georgia jealous, we would more likely compare a tree to a giant dumbbell than a giant umbrella or giant lollipop.  Forget the microeconomics of nutrient exchange that takes place at every square micrometer on the tangled organic fibers themselves, the roots serve a more practical macro-sized purpose beyond this:  stabilization.  If a cord of three strands is not easily broken, then a cable of a hundred cords is rather stable and a tree with a thousand arms can hug the earth quite firmly.  The shear modulus of a rope swing on one of the more fragile branches may cause it to break, but it will take a hurricane named Ophelia to have a chance at taking the tree itself down, rather than a little girl named Ophelia.  But if the roots are firmly planted, and sufficiently intertwined, even the fiercest storms will come and go, but the tree will still be standing for Ophelia’s grandchildren to swing from.