In her new book “When Trees Testify,” plant biologist Beronda L. Montgomery examines the ways trees are intertwined with Black American history as well as her own life story. For example, the pecan tree was domesticated by an enslaved African and sycamores were both havens and signposts for those fleeing slavery. We talk to Montgomery and hear from you: What’s a tree with special significance to your history?
Guests:
Beronda L. Montgomery, author, "When Trees Testify: Science, Wisdom, History, and America's Black Botanical Legacy"
Marian Johnson, former resident, Russell City, Alameda County
This partial transcript was computer-generated. While our team has reviewed it, there may be errors.
Alexis Madrigal: Welcome to Forum. I’m Alexis Madrigal.
History can be told from all kinds of viewpoints, but there are certain narratives that are very hard to access. Many Black lives, since the first enslaved Africans were brought to America by colonists, have gone unrecorded in official histories. Genealogies were lost — ancestors disappearing into the noxious mist of chattel slavery.
But of course, Black people transformed and were affected by the biological world. They had botanical knowledge and applied horticultural skill, and they too loved to gather under a giant, spreading oak in the heat of a summer. These are the stories that Beronda L. Montgomery, plant biologist and author, brings to the fore in her new book, When Trees Testify: Science, Wisdom, History, and America’s Black Botanical Legacy.
Welcome to Forum, Beronda.
Beronda L. Montgomery: Thank you so much. It’s a great pleasure to be here with you today, Alexis.
Alexis Madrigal: Great to have you. Great to have you.
So let’s talk a little bit about some of the encounters you had while writing this book as you traveled to different places. You encountered a majestic oak tree in a difficult place to visit — a plantation outside Charleston. What kinds of feelings were going through you as you encountered this tree?
Beronda L. Montgomery: You know, the whole day leading up to the trip, I was cantankerous, to say the least. I was visiting Charleston with my sister and my son, and they really wanted to go. They’re Black history buffs and were eager to revisit the history of enslaved Africans.
I pulled every trick I could not to go, but they insisted. It was almost rainy that day — overcast — and I felt a little gloomy. I think the biggest trepidation was that while I believe you can ethically visit these places, you don’t know who else will be there or how they’ll be interacting with the site. So I was really apprehensive.
As we started the tour, the guide began talking about plants. My son said, “Thank goodness,” because he knows that once we start talking about plants, I’m going to come out of whatever mood I’m in.
Alexis Madrigal: Now you’re in your comfort zone.
Beronda L. Montgomery: I’m in my comfort zone.
We walked by former agricultural fields where sea cotton and other crops would have been grown. As we approached this huge oak tree — massive, full of character, wide-spreading — the guide mentioned it was thought to be four hundred to six hundred years old.
It immediately hit me that this tree would have been there while people were enslaved on that land. Standing in its presence, I realized I was experiencing something they had experienced. That realization was deeply powerful. It was the beginning of thinking about trees as material beings that truly connect us in the present to people who were enslaved there in the past.
Alexis Madrigal: They really do change our sense of time. Rebecca Solnit might say they change the shape of time — because suddenly, these living beings connect us across centuries.
How important is it to understand the trees themselves — their botanical functioning? Is that part of the experience for you, or is it more about their presence as living witnesses?
Beronda L. Montgomery: For me, it’s both. Once you start to understand how trees function, you’re understanding the being itself. That’s part of reciprocity — living with them and understanding the science behind them.
I mention in the book, and even in a People magazine article that came out recently, that when you understand photosynthesis, you realize your breath can be captured — transformed into sugars that become part of the tree, whether in its leaves or its trunk.
So you’re not just standing with a tree that your ancestors once stood beside — part of their breath is physically captured in that tree. And your breath has the chance to be captured too.
For me, that makes the experience deeper. You’re standing with their essence. The science opens an invitation to think about whose breath is held there, what their lives were like, and how deeply connected we truly are.
Alexis Madrigal: When you were going through school — earning your PhD, becoming a plant biologist — did you imagine that your work would lead you to this kind of historical understanding? Or did those worlds feel separate?
Beronda L. Montgomery: They felt separate at first. But it slowly emerged through my experiences as a scientist.
In many instances, I was the only African American in a program or class — sometimes the first and only. That led me to ask how we invite others into these spaces and create representation.
In doing that work, I encountered what many African Americans experience as land trauma — where land and agriculture are tied almost exclusively to the violence of chattel slavery. I began to ask: is that all there is?
Of course it isn’t. There is also expertise, joy, and deep knowledge to celebrate. I started this journey to better understand what it meant for me to be a Black plant scientist, and then to reclaim and share that legacy so others might be enriched by it too.
Alexis Madrigal: Let’s talk about one of those stories — pecan trees. I didn’t realize that some of the most important early horticultural work around pecans was done by an enslaved man in the South.
Beronda L. Montgomery: Yes. I learned about Anton through historical research and through the work of others, including Tiya Miles’s book All That She Carried.
His story is powerful and rarely told. Many Americans might name George Washington Carver if asked to name a Black botanist, but Anton’s expertise was central to the early pecan industry.
He produced the first commercially viable pecan, helping establish an industry that remains robust today. Bringing his name forward again shows how essential enslaved Africans were to American agriculture.
Alexis Madrigal: And botanically, what he did was remarkable. He grafted early pecan trees — something I’ve tried myself, with very little success.
Beronda L. Montgomery: Grafting is difficult.
Alexis Madrigal: Very difficult.
Beronda L. Montgomery: I often wonder how Anton acquired that knowledge. Some grafting occurs naturally when plants grow together and their tissues fuse. Perhaps people observed that and carried the knowledge forward.
Like much science, it’s curiosity-driven. I wish we knew more about the roots of grafting knowledge — whether it existed on the African continent before enslavement. I know from personal experience that it’s painstaking work, but magical when it succeeds.
Alexis Madrigal: We’re in almond and pistachio country here. So tell us — what does a pecan tree look like?
Beronda L. Montgomery: Pecan trees are tall and beautiful, with distinctive bark. I especially love their compound leaves — we used to pluck them and use them as fans when I was young.
Watching the progression from flower to nut is a beautiful process. They’re elegant trees with identifiable features. And yes — I went straight to the reward.
Alexis Madrigal: You’re thinking of the ice cream.
Beronda L. Montgomery: Straight to the reward.
Alexis Madrigal: Growing up in Arkansas, were pecans a big part of your family life?
Beronda L. Montgomery: Absolutely. My parents grew up in the Arkansas Delta near the Mississippi River — rich land where pecan trees grew wild.
My grandparents harvested pecans annually, and every winter my grandmother would send boxes of nuts to her children. They’d sit in baskets around the house. They were my dad’s favorite snack and became part of our everyday life because of the abundance around us.
Alexis Madrigal: I love that.
We’re talking about how trees hold and reflect the history of Black Americans — and our own lives. We’re joined by Beronda L. Montgomery, plant biologist and author of When Trees Testify: Science, Wisdom, History, and America’s Black Botanical Legacy, out today.
We want to hear from you. What’s a tree that’s meaningful in your life — a kind of tree, or a single one you’ve visited? Give us a call at 866-733-6786. That’s 866-733-6786. Or email forum@kqed.org.
I’m Alexis Madrigal. Stay tuned.