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By John Trott
The Virginia Naturalist
to become a part of the soil in which the tree grows.
It is odd how a chance comment can give insight and clarity. I never gave thought to the gratification I received as I shuffled my way through dry oak leaves in November woods. The pleasure was there, not yet analyzed. It had no name.
The name was given by a young naturalist I met in Oregon in the late 1970s. His name was Kit Gillem, and I met him while working for the U.S. Forest Service. It was an accidental encounter. We found ourselves on a trail under ancient evergreens on a National Forest on the coast of Oregon. Kit was naturalist and this was his natural habitat. I had questions about this forest so new to me. Kit could give me insightful answers. A friendship was formed, and I invited him east to experience our oak forests. Hehad expressed fervent interest in
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