By Sara Wright
​Reprinted from Abiquiu News 3/20

​Scientist Diana Beresford Kroeger proved that the biochemistry of humans and that of plants and trees are the same – ie the hormones (including serotonin) that regulate human and plant life are identical. What this means practically is that trees possess all the elements they need to develop a mind and consciousness. If mind and awareness are possibilities/probabilities then my next question isn’t absurd: Do trees have a heartbeat?
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According to studies done in Hungary and Denmark (Zlinszky/Molnar/Barfod) in 2017 trees do in fact have a special type of pulse within them which resembles that of a heartbeat.

To find this hidden heartbeat, these researchers used advanced monitoring techniques known as terrestrial laser scanning to survey the movement of twenty two different types of trees to see how the shape of their canopies changed.

The measurements were taken in greenhouses at night to rule out sun and wind as factors in the trees’ movements.

In several of the trees, branches moved up and down by about a centimeter or so every couple of hours.

After studying the nocturnal tree activity, the researchers came up with a theory about what the movement means. They believe the motion is an indication that trees are pumping water up from their roots. It is, in essence, a type of ‘heartbeat.’ These results shocked everyone. At night, while the trees were resting slow and steady pulses pumped and distributed water throughout the tree body just as a human heart pumps blood. It has been assumed that trees distribute water via osmosis (a process that defies gravity and never made sense to me) but this and other new finding suggests otherwise.

Scientists have discovered the trunks and branches of trees are actually contracting and expanding to ‘pump’ water through the trees, similar to the way our hearts pump blood through our bodies. They suggest that the trunk gently squeezes the water, pushing it upwards through the xylem, a system of tissue in the trunk whose main job is to transport water and nutrients from roots to shoots and leaves.

But what "organ" generates the pulse?

Recently forest science researchers have found that the pulse is mostly generated by diameter fluctuations in the bark only. This was somewhat surprising, as traditionally it was thought that bark is totally decoupled from the transpiration stream of the tree. To better understand this mysterious situation, we need to have a closer look at bark.

Bark can be divided into a dead (outside) and living (inside) section. The living section contains a transport system called phloem. The phloem relocates sugars – produced during photosynthesis in the leaves – to tissues, which require sugars for energy. The direction of transport then leads to a downward directed stream of sugar-rich sap in bark towards the roots. The phloem uses water as transport medium for these sugars, and under certain conditions it appears that this water can be drawn out of the phloem into the transpiration stream of the stem. Plant biologists were able to show that these conditions are most likely to occur during the rapid increase of transpiration in the morning hours. During this time, the tension in the capillaries that transport the water upwards in rapidly increases.

Just like a rubber band, too much tension would cause the water column inside the capillaries to burst; this is one horrible way that trees can die during drought.

To prevent this snapping, water from phloem is drawn into the capillaries, and the loss of water from the phloem causes the stem to shrink. Once the tension in the capillaries declines as a consequence of decreasing transpiration, the formerly lost water will be replaced back into the phloem, and so the stem expands again.

 The exact pathway of this water transfer takes place within the phloem that acts like a sponge that gets saturated and squeezed continuously.

 The only difference between our pulse and a tree’s is a tree’s is much slower, ‘beating’ once every two hours or so, and instead of regulating blood pressure, the heartbeat of a tree regulates water pressure. Trees have regular periodic changes in shape that are synchronized across the whole plant.

It seems obvious to me that the ‘heart’ of a tree extends through its entire trunk just under the bark, the place where the pulse of a tree beats continuously.
 
Part 2   Trees Sleep?
In 2016, Zlinszky and his team released another study demonstrating that birch trees go to sleep at night (now we know that all trees – at least all the trees that have been studied so far - do sleep at night).

Trees follow circadian cycles responding primarily to light and darkness on a daily cycle. The researchers believe the dropping of birch branches before dawn is caused by a decrease in the tree’s internal water pressure while the trees rest. With no photosynthesis at night to drive the conversion of sunlight into simple sugars, trees are  conserving energy by relaxing branches that would otherwise be angled towards the sun. Trees increase their transpiration during the morning, decreasing it during the afternoon and into the night. There is a change in the diameter of the trunk or stem that produces a slow pulse. During the evening and the night tree water use is declining, while at the same time, the stem begins to expand again as it refills with water.

When trees drop their branches and leaves its because they're sleeping. They enter their own type of circadian rhythm known as circadian leaf movement, following their own internal tree clock.

Movement patterns followed an 8 to 12 cycle, a periodic movement between 2 – 6 hours and a combination of the two.

 As we know, plants need water to photosynthesize glucose, the basic building block from which their more complex molecules are formed. For trees, this means drawing water from the roots to the leaves. This takes place during daylight hours.

The movement has to be connected to variations in water pressure within the plants, and this effectively means that the tree is pumping fluids continuously. Water transport is not just a steady-state flow, as was previously assumed; changing water pressure is the norm although the trees continue to pulse throughout the night as tree trunks shrink and expand.

The work is just one example of a growing body of literature indicating that trees have lives that are more similar to ours than we could have ever imagined. When we mindlessly destroy trees we are destroying a whole ecosystem and a part of ourselves in the process because we are all related through our genetic make up. A sobering thought, for some.

​By Zach Hively

Early peek at big book announcement.If you can *bear* it!Zach Hively

Okay okay okay, I have some big news a long time coming, and I don’t want to bury the lede, except to say that I appreciate you all SO MUCH for subscribing to my writings here that I want you to be the VERY FIRST to know:

I have a new book coming out.It’s called Call Me Zach Hively Because That Is My Name. It will come out in September of this year. And it looks beautiful, thanks to designer supreme Hayley Kirkman.

Call Me Zach Hively is a collection of Fool’s Gold columns, edited (yes, the columns are really edited! if you can believe it!) to fix all the things I realized I could have done better the first time. These have never all appeared in one place before, so if you have always read me exclusively in the Durango Telegraph or the New Mexico Mercury or the Four Corners Free Press or in the john, you’ll find new things here.\

My publisher, Casa Urraca Press, and I are also trying something new (for us) with this book. We’re going to be launching it on Kickstarter, which means a lot of things for you: you’ll have a chance at early advance reader copies (ARCs) of the book, exclusive hardcover editions, and getting your name ruined celebrated in the book itself.

I’m going to announce this book & the Kickstarter launch to the general public soon. But like I said, I want to let you know first, because you care enough to subscribe. (Thank you, mil gracias, and dankeschön — endlessly.)
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What can I do to get my copy & support your awesomeness?Great question! You can:

• Check out the Kickstarter page. Click on the “Notify me on launch” button and log into (or sign up for) Kickstarter. (It’s free, and I’ve found Kickstarter is really good at sending you only the emails you ask for.) This helps tell the algorithm that Call Me Zach Hively is a popular project that should be amplified. And this is a MASSIVE help in connecting with new readers.
• Tell your friends how much you enjoy my writing (if you do) (and even if you don’t) and point them to this here Substack. You can do this on social media, but it’s far more meaningful if you do it in person or with a personal text.
• Be one of the first to pledge support when the project launches at the beginning of April. Backers get to choose their tier of support, along with what they receive for it — including ebooks, printed books, signed books, and other exceptional goodies. Early support can help boost exposure and find other supporters.
• Keep reading your emails from me. I will share excerpts from the book and updates on how & when to get involved. (Including the general public announcement, which will be a lot like this email, only later.)

A little slice o’ historyEvery book is a journey. This one, no less so. Some of you have been pestering me for literal years, asking when this book will come out. “Soon!” I say, which, in cosmic time, has been very true.

But frankly, it has been a while. I finished the first complete draft of this book more than six years ago. I holed up with my dog Wally in an Airbnb in Albuquerque between Christmas and New Year’s Eve to finish it off. And then I printed it. And then I awaited my fame, fortune, and riches.

Moderation, schmoderation​

By Zach Hively

Anything will kill you,
eventually.
Sunlight, oxygen,
arsenic and uranium
in the water.
Heartbeats wear the heart out.

Anything, that is,
but pleasure,
too much joy,
love, gratitude
for this chance
to burn poison for fuel

and become,
for a while,
a wondrous beast
of delight
and
awe.

Via newfangled moving picture technology
​ZACH HIVELY

You never know what to count on when doing a poetry reading. I mean, yes, I can count on not selling out Hyde Park or Madison Square Garden. But will people show up for free snacks, then feel guilty enough to stay through a couple poetry readings?

Sometimes, though, people delight you. I was delighted yesterday at El Rito Public Library, up the road from here in northern New Mexico. This is not a large community. But still, more people showed up than I could count. (Remember: English major. I can’t count that high.) They all paid attention while I read. And then the ones I didn’t drive away stayed for another poetry reading with my friend and neighbor, Oro Lynn Benson (author of Because of the Sands of Time).

I saw people I communicate with by email frequently. I met people in the flesh I’ve only ever seen on Zoom. And then we all signed up for library cards, because that helps the library’s numbers for funding.

Also, I gotta say: the El Rito Public Library is a gem. It’s the warmest, most welcoming adobe, with gorgeous wood floors and rich sunlight and at least three friendly librarians, who did not shush me once — and I was not exactly quiet.

It got me wondering about a road trip with stops at every small-town library. Wouldn’t that be delightful, in its way?

Anyway, here is a video of my poetry readings yesterday afternoon, from Owl Poems and Desert Apocrypha. Thank you to Lynett, the El Rito library director, for making this (and so much more) possible, and for the greatest introduction I’ll ever have. Thank you, Oro Lynn, for inviting me to read with you. And thank you to everyone who attended, not only for supporting us poets, but for supporting libraries.
​
If you need a pick-me-up this week, go check out a book from yours.

​Thank you for reading Zach Hively and Other Mishaps. This post is public so feel free to share it.
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By Jessica Rath

​There are so many fabulous people in our little town of Abiquiú. When I chatted with Analinda Dunning a little while ago, her late husband Napoleón Garcia’s oldest son, Leopoldo Garcia (called Leo, for short), joined us and shared many stories with me about his life and his family. I remember my first Abiquiú Studio Tour,  in 2001, and  I visited Leo’s gallery, the Galeria de Don Cacahuate, the peanut gallery, as he explained. I had just moved to New Mexico from California; the carved wooden sculptures of Saints – bultos – and the paintings (retablos) were a form of folk art new to me. I learned from Leo that he has continued a tradition that had been in his family for generations. 

“My uncles, my father's brothers, were all woodcarvers”, Leo told me. “On his side of the family, the Garcias, they were all sheep herders. They would carve wood when they would take care of sheep. But it ran on both sides of the family. On my mom's side, the Ferráns, they were French and Spanish. They were painters, they still are. My cousins and others from that side are painters. But I taught myself the basics of woodcarving”.

Analinda elaborates:  Leo’s grandfather on his mother's side is Joe Ferrán, the Gym in the Abiquiú Pueblo is named after him. Joe Ferran collaborated on many village projects in the first half of the 20th century with  Martin Bode. Leo inherited artistic talents from both sides of his families.

Leo’s children continue the family tradition: “My granddaughter Gabby is  a fantastic artist, and my son, Joe Paul, is an artist as well. The only one in my immediate family that doesn't do any art is my daughter Jennifer. But Jennifer excelled in other things. She has been a long-time department manager at a Smith’s Grocery in Albuquerque. She owns her own home and is the caregiver for her younger brother, Leo. My son Leo was a fantastic artist. We did a lot of art shows together.Actually, he was better than me. But then he got sick. He's still doing art, where he lives in Albuquerque.  My son Joe Paul also does wood carvings. My brother Howard and some of my other brothers also carve! So I’m really fortunate to be part of this inspiring family.”   

Leo is proud of his gifted children. “My granddaughter Gabby, she’s the youngest, she just turned 19 and she will go to the design school in Santa Fe,  where she plans to study computer graphic arts”.
 
Leo has two sons and a daughter, and a son who passed away. And he has four grandchildren; they all live around Abiquiú. Somehow, I assumed that Leo also had lived around Abiquiú all his life, but was I ever wrong! He actually had moved all across the United States.

While in the US Navy, he met his wife on Padre Island near Corpus Christi, Texas, where he ended up because he always loved the ocean, he told me.  They married in 1975 and moved to Gulfport, Mississippi, where  his wife’s family lived. But they didn’t stay there long, and in the late 80s or early 90s they returned to Abiquiú.

When he was in the military, Leo was stationed in Alameda/California. He often visited Berkeley, where I was living then – who knows, our paths may have crossed! “I loved the community in Berkeley, Telegraph Avenue, the UC Berkeley Campus. I remember the Hare Krishnas hopping and dancing around; they were so much fun to watch!”  Well, this certainly evoked my memories and we could have reminisced for hours.

But Leo has another feather in his cap I knew nothing about: he owned a plumbing business, and he also taught plumbing at the Northern New Mexico Community College for almost ten years.

“I had my own plumbing business, I did the plumbing for all the big houses up in the mountains.  I took a class in El Rito, way back in the early 70s. And then later on a friend of mine, Lorenzo Gonzalez who was the director of the industrial arts programs, asked me if I would be willing to become the plumbing instructor. I told him that I’d love to. So I would work in El Rito for the Northern New Mexico Community College, and I received my certification from the University of New Mexico. I taught there for almost ten years”.

 “I taught a lot of kids from around here; of course, they're not kids anymore. Some of them have gone on to have their own big plumbing businesses and are doing really well for themselves. It often happens that  I’d run into one of them and he’s telling me,  thank you for what you taught me. That gives me a lot of satisfaction. I also taught art classes in the Pueblo right at the Parish Hall. Over the years, I've taught a lot of people how to make St. Francis bultos,  and retablos, and other stuff. Some of them have gone on to become really famous artists and make pretty good money.”
​
“After I stopped teaching at the Community College I returned to my plumbing business, and I did this until I got badly hurt on a job; I ruptured some discs in my back. That’s when I decided to retire, and I opened my gallery which I’ve run for over 30 years now.”

Leo loves Abiquiú. All his brothers and sisters also live around Abiquiú. His father, Napoleón Garcia, had ten children, three daughters and seven sons. Except for one sister who fell in love with El Rito and lives there now, and another sister who lives near Truchas, they all live close to Leo.I

learned more about Napoleón as well: he had worked in Los Alamos for over 30 years. 
​
“When he retired, we talked him into opening a gallery, his own gallery, because he was always telling us all these stories. So he opened up the gallery, and before you knew it, people were coming from all over the world to hear my father's stories. He lived for another 20 or 30 years after he retired, whereas many of the people that he worked with in Los Alamos passed away soon after retiring. Well, my father was a very unusual character. After he opened the gallery  he started carving, making ladders, bultos,  and carving other things, painting things. He made a lot of walking sticks. Carving started  to come out of him, you know what I'm saying? So, he did carve, and I learned a lot from him, from him and from my grandfather, especially when it comes to work ethics.”

“People still come to the gallery looking for him. It kind of makes me sad, but it also makes me happy that people are still thinking about him.”
​
Thank you, Leo, for sharing your life with me. Abiquiú is like a rich tapestry with many distinct illustrations, all woven together. Only when one looks closely can one distinguish the details and begin to get a better understanding.
 
A warm Thank You to Analinda Dunning for providing the lovely photographs. 

Who has time for this? And can I have some of it?
​ZACH HIVELY
FEB 1, 2024

Listen up, especially if you have already fallen behind on, or off of, or under your New Year’s resolutions: It turns out that, in my own personal estimation, the concept of a New Year’s resolution is a stupid one that we should all feel free to ignore.

I mean, who is society to tell us that we need to become better people, anyway? The whole New Year holiday is probably just a product of Big Resolution, or the patriarchy, or Hallmark, or some other cabal that wants us to feel, generally, like we need to be better than everyone else, or at least better than ourselves.
​
New Year’s resolutions require me—and probably you, but let’s stay focused here—to imagine I will wake up on a specific date with a drive, efficiency, rigor, and timeliness heretofore unrealized in a lifetime of Januarys. Resolutions make as much sense as believing I will stop texting at red lights just as soon as my odometer turns over. But for real this time.
That said, I have decided this year not to be a better person, certainly, but to be a person better at time management. We’re already several weeks in, and I’m very nearly ready to get started.
And I am going to start with brushing my teeth.

Which, let’s be clear, I already do!—because I hate lying to my dental hygienist about more than just the flossing. But I have resolved to become better at managing my time while polishing up my pearlies.

Here’s what happens when I’m brushing my teeth: I don’t know what happens. I think I am getting to bed at a decent hour, sometimes defined as “still nighttime.” All that’s left to do is brush my teeth, which I have somewhere in my mind should take three to five minutes. I load up those bristles with paste and get to it, with all my focus and presence to ensure each tooth gets a fair shake.

I finish. I spit. I rinse. And I see that twenty, thirty, sometimes even more than fifty minutes have passed, and these I cannot account for.

This experience, not unlike intergalactic wormhole traveling, overwhelms me with ominous questions regarding the truths of time and space. Such as: if I brush my teeth for half an hour each night, do I still need to brush them in the morning, or have I met my daily aggregate quota? And: should I set a timer for myself to keep on track, or would I just brush right through it, much like I snooze through my A.M. alarms because I’m so tired from brushing my teeth all night long?

These are the great unanswerables. And, like the Carpenters, we have only just begun.
Because, in much the same way I have lost years of my life to long-form dental care, my entire morning typically passes by unaccounted for. Some nice public servant, like the woman at the post office or my therapist, can ask me how my day has been. “Good,” I will say. “I got up with my fourth alarm, made breakfast, put on clean pants, and here I am.”
​
To which they always say, “Zach, it’s three o’clock.”

They’re right. Many hours pass between getting up and leaving the house—and I cannot account for most of their whereabouts. But the hours feel full. I do not experience the wasting of time. Nor do I experience coffee taking 45 minutes to make, or breakfast two hours, or running out of time to put on clean pants so I fib about that part to save face.

The truth is out there. To find it, I think I need to make the mystery less personal. It’s not about how I, me, Zach, suck at time management, or executive functioning, or baseline life necessities. No, no! There is a cause here, a scientific one possibly, that I can puzzle out if I just become a dispassionate self-observer. Like a zoologist.

Jane Goodall is, unfortunately, both expensive and also unavailable to mentor me. So I have contemplated buying a nanny cam to record my mornings and chronicle what, exactly, I am doing around here. Do I stare at walls in a fugue state? Do I have a second identity living inside me who timeshares this body? Have I simply lived my life so far under extreme misconceptions of time and how much of it I really have?

This attitude makes me believe I have better things to do than order that nanny cam, and not only because I am too close to deadline for it to arrive before then. After all, there is a life to be lived, with whatever time I’ve got! Plus, if I record my entire morning, then I will spend my entire afternoon reviewing the nanny cam. And if my usual relationship with time continues its current pattern, it will take up my entire evening, too. And then I really won’t have time to floss.
Thanks for reading Zach Hively and Other Mishaps! 
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