Evolution of a Storyteller

Several weeks ago, I was set free. A huge report and a backlog of blogposts hung over me, so my first reaction was desperation. That was soon joined by fear and despair, which surprised me. But dependency is like that—insidious and ignored until the trap closes.

There weren’t twelve steps to recovery, just one: my computer began to self-destruct. All by itself, it filled its tired old hard drive, whirring loudly and feverishly (literally). Hours of diagnosis and treatment revealed the only cure was a new one. But it was Friday afternoon so I lived computer-free all weekend.

Well … not quite. I read email and news on my iPad. But it wasn’t the internet that had a hold on me. It was something much bigger, more encompassing—the storytelling imperative.

I fell off the wagon as soon as I got a new computer, but I’m not ashamed. I had no choice. Storytelling is an innate drive—we evolved to be bloggers! Our brains are wired to explain and learn via stories; we remember more when we hear a good tale. Empathy may play a role, and certainly our social nature contributes (more here).

But does effective communication fully explain a writer’s need to create a coherent, satisfying, pleasing story that is just right? Think about that feeling of intense satisfaction when a discouraging mess finally emerges as a masterpiece to be joyfully cast into the blogosphere … even with no guarantee that anyone will read it!

Evolution makes us do it. We’re rewarded emotionally because stories provide a strong adaptive advantage. When we make stories out of what we experience, we make sense of things. We can predict what’s going to happen in similar situations, and increase our chance of survival. Knowledge accumulates; stories beget science.

But this story about storytelling doesn’t tell it all. Many of our stories hardly qualify as useful for survival. Are we caught up in some kind of runaway selection? Does the powerful reward of making sense of things lead us to daydreams, fiction, rationalization, gossip, delusion, spirituality, blogging?

“Humans are inclined to see narratives where there are none because it can afford meaning to our lives, a form of existential problem-solving.” (from The Psychological Comforts of Storytelling)

In any case, now that the new computer is set up and personalized, browser downloaded, image editor installed, password manager connected, printer software updated, files transferred and organized, and pictographs uploaded, I’m happily back telling stories … though work has top priority, of course ;-)

“Writing is a sustaining thing … If I didn’t do it, I wouldn’t know what to do. Without it I’d probably croak.” (from great storyteller John McPhee's interview in the Paris Review

Are you driven to tell stories? Why?

Blog posts make good memories last longer.

Plant on a Pedestal

Awe-inspiring!

This month I’m making an oblique and tenuous segue from Tree-Following, for I have no news to report of my serviceberry. After a long vacation, all kinds of things have to be done right away! (of course ;-) Instead, this post is about one of its brethren growing nearby under challenging circumstances. Though it’s only a meter tall and technically a shrub, it’s as impressive and inspiring as a tree.

The serviceberry doesn’t sit directly on the ground but rather on a pedestal—which sounds lovely, but it was created by “erosion of soil from around the base of a plant such that it appears to be on a pedestal” (source). [Pedestaling usually refers to erosion, but frost heaving and accumulated soil or litter can create pedestals too. And I stumbled across a webpage that mentioned plants with pedestals of lateral roots—news to me.]

Plant on a pedestal created by erosion. Arrow points to exposed roots (source).

Range managers consider pedestaled plants indicators of over-grazing. A healthy allotment (pasture) has no pedestaling. If mature plants are on pedestals, the allotment is said to be at risk, and the stocking rate should be reduced. In worst cases, erosion has pedestaled all plants and exposed roots. These allotments are classified as unhealthy. Complete removal of livestock may be necessary for the range to recover.

The pedestal has all but disappeared, leaving the serviceberry standing on its roots.

But this serviceberry grows where no cow would ever think of going—on a steep slope where there's little to eat. However, slope and rock type make erosion inevitable. At the same time, the tilted beds of sandstone and siltstone offer benefits. Soil develops from softer siltstone. Seeds germinate, grow into seedlings, and send roots down to the water that falls as rain, and accumulates in underground fractures in the sandstone.

Serviceberry on Boulder Ridge (center of photo); Hutton Lake behind. Photos taken in August.

A wild currant grows here too, just visible behind the serviceberry.

In spite of the tough situation, these shrubs have enough vigor to produce fruit!

A wild currant (red) lies next to where the root enters the ground (click on image to view).

Serviceberries.

Boulder Ridge on the south side of Hutton Lake, Laramie Valley, Wyoming.

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