Roots, branches, and green, growing things

Tree books, a new magazine, and a tree history exhibition

Apr 03, 2025

Hi, all.

We’re only a quarter of the way through the story of 2025, but the outlook is not looking bright for a redemptive arc for the year. The things happening in US politics - the dismantling of rights and values I believe in, aggressive and politically motivated deportations, the chaotic gutting of vital organizations like the EPA, CDC, and NIH, not to mention the wild abandon with which the current administration seems to be trying to start trade wars and tank our economy - feel like a series of unfortunately predictable gut punches.

In more immediately personal news, I have been following the learning curve of post-fire remediation processes after being evacuated due to the LA wildfires. (We are incredibly lucky to be able to return, but things are not the same.) I learned which possessions I would grab in a fire, and that, apart from a few sentimental objects, my possessions are almost entirely replaceable. What I took with me were the irreplaceable artifacts of the people I love, especially the ones who are now gone. Also important life documents and a few changes of clothes, although somehow I forgot socks. I went to a big box store to buy some the next day and ended up wandering around in a daze, feeling utterly divorced from the crowds of people doing their everyday shopping while a few miles away in either direction, the city burned.

During that period, I also finished installing and opening an exhibition on the history of trees that I’m very proud of. The process of researching and curating this exhibition has entirely reshaped how I look at trees and the world around me. Oh, and I think LA Art Week happened somewhere in there, which felt sort of like a dystopian week of ‘the show must go on.’ Not that I think it shouldn’t have, economically speaking, it was just a weird time to be cold-showering with a water jug, or relying on generous friends’ and family’s facilities, and then meandering the art-celebrity- and posture-filled aisles of fairs. But that also dovetails with the general “bread and circuses” vibe of the US right now, where we can buy $20 strawberries and $6.2 million conceptual bananas but can’t get health insurers to cover basic procedures.

Anyway. I’m now diving into some revitalizing new projects, including launching a literary magazine, chlorophyll, with my thoughtful, caring, brilliant friend, and incredibly talented writer,

Apoorva Sripathi

. Our first issue, themed around “sugar and spice,” allowed an amazing cohort of writers to explore the personal, historical, and colonial implications of those ingredients. I am intensely grateful that Apoorva proposed starting a magazine many months ago, and that we’ve made it a reality! It feels really good to make something creative, hopeful, and entirely human as the field of writing grapples with the onrush of AI. And it’s been a truly easy and joyful collaboration, iterating off of each others’ ideas and taking artistic leaps just for the fun of it.

I realize that I have drifted from this newsletter because I have gotten a little nervous about putting more personal writing out there; writing for outlets with great editors to provide structure, keep you honest, and tell you what’s working and what isn’t, provides more of a buffer. There are so many independent writers I admire putting out smart, thought-provoking, funny, interesting work regularly, but between my various jobs I have not prioritized writing just for the fun of it, just because I have something to say.

So, back to a book recommendation (I think the reason you’re still here?). I am happy to use this newsletter to recommend a bunch of tree books, given that green, growing things - California tree history, chlorophyll, and seeing spring start to bloom from the post-fire rains - have been some of the best parts of the year for me thus far.

Trees in Paradise, Jared Farmer

I am pretty sure that when people who don’t live in California (and many who do) imagine the state, they think of palm trees.* LA Times writer Peter King once suggested that the symbol of LA should be “a palm tree with bullet holes.” And yet, all but one species of palm is not native to the state, and that one just to the Mojave Desert. Scholar Jared Farmer’s exceptionally good book looks at the history of California through four tree species that have been important ecologically and culturally: the majestic, native sequoia or redwood; the Australian eucalyptus planted by eager state boosters; the idyllic and mythologized orange tree, and, of course, the emblematic, now-ubiquitous palms.

Farmer delves into how California came to be shaped by its forests and trees, from the impact of Spanish and American colonization to 20th century tree planting trends. Both rigorously researched and engagingly written, it elucidates how much human history has impacted the landscape, and that it’s not a simple story: in addition to clear-cutting and exploitation of natural resources, California has also been afforested by waves of horticultural trends and industries. There are many delightfully bizarre historical tidbits - like how LA tried planting plastic trees in the ‘70s(!) - and I highly recommend getting the hardback for the color plates, if only to appreciate the vivid, voracious advertisements selling the illusion of the “California dream” through its orange groves (the migrant laborers tending them notably absent).

Farmer’s book was a key resource for my exhibition research, too. Although redwoods and oranges weren’t as significant to the development of the westside of LA where I focused, eucalyptus and palms have had a big impact along the coast. I also highlighted native species like coast live oaks and water-loving sycamores, which fueled important aspects of Indigenous peoples’ diet and traditions in strong, reciprocal relationships between people and nature. The late 19th and early 20th century boom of non-native species in effect mirrors the story of California immigration: how the state, and LA, came to be places with such diversity among trees and people. The exhibition will be on through December, and, if you go, I hope you watch the three videos that narrate the perspective of a coast live oak as it grows through all of this history, from a young tree before colonization, through the eucalyptus craze(s) and into the modern era of urban forestry and climate change. I was also able to include some photos of the recent fires, which felt important since there has been some panicked advocacy in their wake to ‘tear out’ all non-native species, especially eucalyptus. I’m not an arborist (although I had some really great ones advising on the exhibition!), but I will share that the best advice I’ve gotten from them has been that, rather than destroying healthy trees, we should to continue to plant native and other well-adapted species for our climate, including fire-resistant trees.

*Technically, palms are more closely related to grasses than trees, but that’s another story.

If you like it:

City Trees, Henry W. Lawrence’s academic study of the roots (forgive me) of city tree planting from the Renaissance through nineteenth century America provides a fascinating map of how urban forests came to be shaped around the world: through European colonial projects, shifting cultural values, and the imposition of power, class and money on the natural world.

If you don’t:

The Lorax, by Dr. Seuss, because if a better morality tale exists about the importance of trees and fighting environmental extraction, I have yet to find it. (Please share if you have!)