Brasil
Often in the course of a day, some word or phrase suddenly reaches your ears. It is completely at random and may come from a conversation not your own. But for some reason, you hear it clearly and those few words come to mean more than the speaker meant to convey.
"Fighting for room." What a perfect description of life in a tropical rainforest where vegetation struggles to share the same resources, the vital minerals, water and sunlight, to snatch its share before a neighbor does. Stout and sturdy, massive buttressed trunks seem to require little space upon the forest floor but if one extends the neck as far back as it will go the grandiose umbrellas of their crowns can be seen to shade most everything below. Lianas creep in almost reptilian style, their growth tips searching for anything solid to twine about, to aid their climb to reach the essential sol. Everything drips green. The plants of the understory funnel filtered moisture, directing its flow to drip gently from tips of leaves, to penetrate the soil wherein its own roots lie. Their leaves spiral about the stem, not one hides the other, each attaining an equal share of solar energy. But all primary producers do not claim a plot of land. Hundreds and thousands crowd together on branches or nestle in creviced bark living an epiphytic lifestyle in the aerial world above. Within this crowded world, monkeys and marmosets, coatis and tamarins, colorful birds and more seek food and shelter, safe from predators below.
We awoke this morning at the pier in Rio de Janeiro. Above, the sun and clouds were in a horrific struggle. Here and there the sun managed to punch the clouds away but those that remained were still dark and foreboding. To the north the clouds were winning but above the city patches of blue contrasted with billowing pillows of white. The battle waged the whole day through as rain alternated with filtered sun that brightened pink banana bracts and scarlet hellicornia.
The city itself sprawled along the coastline growing in amoeba-like fashion pushing ever further south. Seventy-five kilometers long, swarming with almost six million people, it butts up against a precious tract of land, the Parque Nacional da Tijuca. We fought the traffic to get to there and escaped the sounds of the city strolling within the manicured Botanical Garden and the second growth woodland that crept its way over hill and valley reclaiming land that had been formerly cleared for cultivation.
Beyond the neighboring city to the north, our friends and family slogged through mud and marsh to intimately become acquainted with a remnant of virgin Atlantic rainforest. Here, charismatic golden-lion tamarins are aided in their combat to preserve a place for them. Development threatens. Only five percent of their habitat remains. How much space is enough for them? How much is enough for us?
We are all "fighting for room.”
Often in the course of a day, some word or phrase suddenly reaches your ears. It is completely at random and may come from a conversation not your own. But for some reason, you hear it clearly and those few words come to mean more than the speaker meant to convey.
"Fighting for room." What a perfect description of life in a tropical rainforest where vegetation struggles to share the same resources, the vital minerals, water and sunlight, to snatch its share before a neighbor does. Stout and sturdy, massive buttressed trunks seem to require little space upon the forest floor but if one extends the neck as far back as it will go the grandiose umbrellas of their crowns can be seen to shade most everything below. Lianas creep in almost reptilian style, their growth tips searching for anything solid to twine about, to aid their climb to reach the essential sol. Everything drips green. The plants of the understory funnel filtered moisture, directing its flow to drip gently from tips of leaves, to penetrate the soil wherein its own roots lie. Their leaves spiral about the stem, not one hides the other, each attaining an equal share of solar energy. But all primary producers do not claim a plot of land. Hundreds and thousands crowd together on branches or nestle in creviced bark living an epiphytic lifestyle in the aerial world above. Within this crowded world, monkeys and marmosets, coatis and tamarins, colorful birds and more seek food and shelter, safe from predators below.
We awoke this morning at the pier in Rio de Janeiro. Above, the sun and clouds were in a horrific struggle. Here and there the sun managed to punch the clouds away but those that remained were still dark and foreboding. To the north the clouds were winning but above the city patches of blue contrasted with billowing pillows of white. The battle waged the whole day through as rain alternated with filtered sun that brightened pink banana bracts and scarlet hellicornia.
The city itself sprawled along the coastline growing in amoeba-like fashion pushing ever further south. Seventy-five kilometers long, swarming with almost six million people, it butts up against a precious tract of land, the Parque Nacional da Tijuca. We fought the traffic to get to there and escaped the sounds of the city strolling within the manicured Botanical Garden and the second growth woodland that crept its way over hill and valley reclaiming land that had been formerly cleared for cultivation.
Beyond the neighboring city to the north, our friends and family slogged through mud and marsh to intimately become acquainted with a remnant of virgin Atlantic rainforest. Here, charismatic golden-lion tamarins are aided in their combat to preserve a place for them. Development threatens. Only five percent of their habitat remains. How much space is enough for them? How much is enough for us?
We are all "fighting for room.”
