When we first visited Yellowstone National Park last Summer, I had little to no understanding of its vast and incredible ecosystem. What some might see as a strictly inhospitable landscape, and certainly can be to us humans, is actually an abundant and diverse biome supporting a plethora of flora and fauna and is one of the most unique habitants on earth.

Lodgepole pines are one such inhabitant. Native to Yellowstone, lodgepole pines have shallow root systems and tend to grow outward and sideways, rather than down and deep, even though perhaps paradoxically they grow very tall and straight. This type of root system is especially useful to those in the central part of the park, a giant volcanic caldera, where there’s precious little soil sitting atop the lava rock. 

Here, these pines grow only a bit before waning and eventually dying. The area’s eerily beautiful and compelling, and the bottoms of the trees make them look like they’re wearing (what old-timers, certainly not us, might’ve called ’em) bobby socks. As the trees soak up the silica-rich mineral water, and once evaporation does its thing, only the minerals remain. The silica builds up in the tree’s lower xylem (akin to blood vessels) and eventually chokes off all water flow, leaving the bottoms of the trunks white. I found their stark black and whiteness a compelling contrast to the plethora of colorful pools of the lower geyser basin that we had been photographing. In a weird way, they gave my eyes a brief respite, as well as also reminding me that not all the action happens where we can see it. 

Just as we can’t always know what’s going on beneath the surface, I’m reminded that we rarely know what our neighbor is feeling underneath their—perhaps prickly—surface. It may be cliche, but it’s an important reminder for me to lead with empathy.

Find this and more from Yellowstone National Park.