The symphonic tone poem "Tapiola" was written one hundred years ago. It refers to Tapio, the god-spirit of forests and wilderness.
To be sure people unfamiliar with the folklore of Finland understood the reference, composer Sibelius included these lines on the title page of the first published score:
"Wide-spread they stand, the Northland's dusky forests,
Ancient, mysterious, brooding savage dreams;
Within them dwells the Forest's mighty God..."
Listening to "Tapiola," you can almost hear the wind moving through those northern forests.
The evergreens of Finland — and our own eastern white pines — have evolved to weather the weather.
Our Northland forests are not quite as widely-spread as those in Finland, but as we learned last week, our eastern white pines share many of their remarkable adaptations.
When repeatedly stressed by wind and gravity, they develop compression wood: denser, highly specialized wood that helps keep trunks and branches upright.
During storms, the lower trunk remains remarkably rigid while the canopy can sway wildly with every blast of wind. Sometimes a horizontal lower branch is sacrificed.
But the canopy itself acts as a flexible sail. White pine bundles of five soft needles fold against the twigs as the wind rises, allowing more air to pass through the crown.
The upper branches don't all bend and recover at the same time. When they crash into each other — and they do — they absorb some of the wind's force without breaking one another.
A single evergreen can be vulnerable in a violent storm. In a forest, usually — not always, but usually — the canopy breaks the wind, protecting the community below.
Perhaps that's why "Tapiola" ends in peaceful calm. After all the tension and power of the storm, the music settles into stillness. And here in our own Northland forests, our stately pines remind us that community can foster survival.
