Valentina looked past Green to the window.
“Mr. Green, these mountains have a strong population of red oaks. A common, well-documented tree. Correct?”
“Yes, I think so.”
Green had no idea how common red oaks were.
“Some years, the oaks in this region produce massive crops ofacorns. Other years, they may produce none. Not on a tree-by-tree basis, mind you, but as a community.”
Green touched the lump where his acorn rested. Valentina continued.
“There are theories as to why this is beneficial for the trees. Predator satiation and so on. But, how, Mr. Green, do all the red oaks in this region decide when to produce a crop and when to wait? Moreover, how do they speak with one another to coordinate their actions among their community?”
Green shrugged.
“I don’t know, but somebody must.”
“No, Mr. Green. They really don’t. Not in any real detail. We do not know. We have no Rosetta stone for red oak language. The red oak is a common tree. Communication is a common behavior. And we do not know how they organize and plan their acorn crops. Scientists cannot predict when the red oaks will produce acorns with any degree of certainty. That’s the commonplace and inscrutable oak, standard nature. There are countless such mysteries within easy view as you look out that window, among species no one would classify as cryptonature.”
Green turned back toward the little round window and the mass of trees beyond.
“I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
“Look out there, Mr. Green. Don’t just see. Really try to look.”
Outside, the branches swayed. The oaks’ leaves, russet and brown, rattled and muttered, but kept their secrets.
“Trees, Mr. Green. Organisms that fade into the background of our lives from simple familiarity. What are they? Imagine you arrived on this planet this morning. What are they?”
Green weighed the question in his mind. It was big. Surprisingly big. Too big to hold. Green knew that he couldn’t even name the species of most of the trees out this particular window. He certainly couldn’t talk about the intricacies of how they lived or reproduced.
“Modern people so often see trees asthings. Fine then, let’s reframe them in a context familiar to you. Let’s imagine them as human technology,” Valentina said. “Self-replicating, solar-powered machines that synthesize carbon dioxide and rainwater into oxygen and sturdy building materials on a planetary scale. They lift tons of water hundreds of feet into the air without making a sound. Can humans build anything that compares to that in scope, subtlety, and efficiency?”
Valentina stood and joined Green at the window. Green looked down at her lined face, her dark eyes.
“We cannot, Mr. Green. Human ingenuity cannot re-create the most common of standard nature. Not even close. Do you understand? We cannot make, or even digest, our own food without the help of other species. Beyond that, the distinction between humans and our crafts and nature itself is an absurd fiction. We, ourselves, are standard nature.”
He didn’t answer. He looked back to the trees.
“Cryptonaturalists study a specific niche in nature because we’re the ones who can study it, not because it is any more important or amazing than the most common tree on earth. Do not rob yourself at this early stage in your career by turning away from seemingly commonplace organisms. Bats can hear the shape of their world. Pythons can see the heat of their prey. Bees can dance directions to one another at the doorstep to their hive. There is no such thing as standard nature here.”
“I think I understand.”
He thought about it. All nature felt new to him. Perhaps he could see all of it with new eyes.
“Um, Teacher?”
“Yes?”
“Is sasquatch real?”
Valentina nodded.
“Quite real. Sasquatch is a broad term for several species. Not terribly rare. There’s a long-running debate among cryptonaturalists ifsasquatch should be considered a cryptid. Something of an edge case.”
“Oh, so, possibly too standard, huh?”
“Common. You can use common as a sensible description, just not as a pejorative judgment of worth.”
