There is hope; unlike a lover's sustained neglect, such a tree as your Ethel Street rebel could live again. Take it home, repot it with some good compost, nurture it and it may return to life and flourish.
At my house, dominating the garden, stands a huge, tulip tree. I cannot imagine the house without imagining the tree. In a garden in Kent, there’s a beech tree, where my childrens’ grandparents’ ashes were scattered. I cannot bring the house to mind without the tree. In England, where I lived for many years, there was a field with an ancient oak tree where we would picnic under its branches. I cannot recall that landscape without visualizing the tree.
And yes, trees can be wonderful metaphors. Whilst living at the hospital with my partner during the final days of his life, I reminisced how he, like those trees, was as necessary to me; how he was a reminder of how my own landscape had been enriched by him. In honor of him, I read this poem by Maya Angelou at his memorial.
Awesome... The things that we take for granted... - I too can recall the various trees which grew around our home, in particular a 'Paddoux' tree - when I first climbed it in the early '70's.. it was on that main branch, which, now, thinking of it I can describe it as a 'ledge' and on that ledge, embedded within it was a metal-box that I had easily surmised, even back then, had been placed over the area where said tree was planted many moons ago to protect it from either fauna [mainly dogs] or from the traipsing of the human species... that metal box was of the kind that covered the stop-cork for the water supply to houses and was way before it's time in Waterhole, Cocorite... for it would be 9 years or so before a stand pipe appeared on the hill - it gave water for a short period before the pipe disappeared entirely!
I still visited the Paddox tree just to see that embedded metal box or was it to pick of its delicious fruit which was coated in a brown-fur covering?
[PS: I tried to google a photo of said fruit with no luck...
I've never heard about bougainvillea minding other people's business but I do know that we possess the smartest plants in the world: Ti-Marie or Mimosa Pudica. I wrote about her in "Heaven in a Wildflower": https://eshu55.substack.com/p/heaven-in-a-wildflower?r=1fjjf
I ask you - how yuh know? “Maybe it’s some mango tree you scaled illicitly like a child of the universe, or from which you swung as free as your early ancestors.” I was a rebellious girl child who liked nothing better than climbing trees & being cradled in their limbs! Beautiful ode to the majesty of our trees
There is hope; unlike a lover's sustained neglect, such a tree as your Ethel Street rebel could live again. Take it home, repot it with some good compost, nurture it and it may return to life and flourish.
At my house, dominating the garden, stands a huge, tulip tree. I cannot imagine the house without imagining the tree. In a garden in Kent, there’s a beech tree, where my childrens’ grandparents’ ashes were scattered. I cannot bring the house to mind without the tree. In England, where I lived for many years, there was a field with an ancient oak tree where we would picnic under its branches. I cannot recall that landscape without visualizing the tree.
And yes, trees can be wonderful metaphors. Whilst living at the hospital with my partner during the final days of his life, I reminisced how he, like those trees, was as necessary to me; how he was a reminder of how my own landscape had been enriched by him. In honor of him, I read this poem by Maya Angelou at his memorial.
When great trees fall
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.
When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses eroded beyond fear.
When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words unsaid,
promised walks never taken.
Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance, fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance of
dark, cold
caves.
And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be better. For they existed.
Thank you, that's lovely.
Awesome... The things that we take for granted... - I too can recall the various trees which grew around our home, in particular a 'Paddoux' tree - when I first climbed it in the early '70's.. it was on that main branch, which, now, thinking of it I can describe it as a 'ledge' and on that ledge, embedded within it was a metal-box that I had easily surmised, even back then, had been placed over the area where said tree was planted many moons ago to protect it from either fauna [mainly dogs] or from the traipsing of the human species... that metal box was of the kind that covered the stop-cork for the water supply to houses and was way before it's time in Waterhole, Cocorite... for it would be 9 years or so before a stand pipe appeared on the hill - it gave water for a short period before the pipe disappeared entirely!
I still visited the Paddox tree just to see that embedded metal box or was it to pick of its delicious fruit which was coated in a brown-fur covering?
[PS: I tried to google a photo of said fruit with no luck...
Gracias for allowing my simple comment....
I’ve heard of “paddoux” but I didn’t know that was how it’s spelt or even what it looks like. I’ll have to rectify that. Thanks.
Brilliant. The one thing I miss from my youth - the ability to climb trees…
It was recently speculated that trees and wood are the most valuable substance in the universe; not known to exist anywhere else.
And with all the talk of “disclosure” and “non-human intelligence” in the air now, boy do I have some tales about a macocious bougainvillea next door…
I've never heard about bougainvillea minding other people's business but I do know that we possess the smartest plants in the world: Ti-Marie or Mimosa Pudica. I wrote about her in "Heaven in a Wildflower": https://eshu55.substack.com/p/heaven-in-a-wildflower?r=1fjjf
I ask you - how yuh know? “Maybe it’s some mango tree you scaled illicitly like a child of the universe, or from which you swung as free as your early ancestors.” I was a rebellious girl child who liked nothing better than climbing trees & being cradled in their limbs! Beautiful ode to the majesty of our trees
I have daughters.
Beautiful. And yes, the more I ponder the more those special trees come into focus: survivors, protectors, ghosts, storytellers, collaborators…