There are two fir trees guarding the entrance, efficient doormen with their green tuxedos, tall and proud they stand, swaying in response to any wind that conjours their movement. They are like twins, only feet apart, and over the course of twelve months have moved skyward fast, sapping water as firs do, to quench their thirst and fuel such growth.
Many other trees are visible from my vantage but only six line the hawthorn / holly hedge that border the field. The other hedge skirts a well trodden canal footpath which after 200m meets the fence marking equine territory.
Walter, one of the oak trees is situated to the left of the firs, he stands majestic, mighty limbs supporting a myriad of life, from the acrobatic squirrels performing daily to a colourful range of birdlife that flutter amongst the branches waiting their seat at the (bird) table, which almost all year round is as busy, lively and cultured as one may imagine an upmarket contemporary cafe in Salzburg to be, old friends meeting new friends, sipping coffee in the fresh morning air, vibrant chatter as others come and go about their business.
To the right of the firs the other oak stands, Arthur is strong, still fending creeping vines that would strangle the very life from him given a chance. Arthur however is a mighty oak, a symbol of wisdom accentuated by the little owl that frequents it. A sparrow hawk hunts from its crown, a mirror of the powerful legacy that this traditional and familiar tree represents as found right across the length and breadth of the British countyside.
When I first saw these oaks, in the cold throw of Winter, the oaks were infact visibly strangled, one could see evergreen on deciduous, breath restricted by ivy entwining its parasitic glue-like clutches to the branches in a bid to blanket the life and claim Darwinian victory, killing one life to make way for another.
In the following summertime the combined foliage blocked sunlight, too many leaves competing, both Walter and Arthur overwhelmed and almost consumed, near gasping, they were in need of ressucitation.
The simple act of cutting the vines at their base has, almost eight months later, paid dividends. Although more is required on Arthur, Walter is now flourishing and simply more alive.
Arthur too, but just a month in between the original vine removal has set Arthur back a year; it will be another four seasons until Arthur experiences the freedom of self growth that Walter now has, that is to be rid of the vines thus providing more life to burrowers, diggers, hoppers, scrapers, scamperers and all the creatures great and small that call the oak their home.
That makes four trees in total. The remaining two are situated at each corner of the field, to the very left and the extreme right of the hedge. On the left, next to Walter is another oak, with no name and almost wasted into submission as a wrestler would overwhelm an opponent, the ivy has won this contest and provides balance as nature does.
To make the sixth is arguably not a tree. The ‘father of all herbs’ as is sometimes known, marks the entrance to the towpath, the Elder survives, just. Complete with ‘Jews Ear’ so called as belief historically states that this is the tree that Judas Escariot hung himself from!
To the medicinal practicioners, the elder is of great importance, not a hedging tree for its gapping ability but nonetheless an important addition and to some symbolic of history and healing, both the oak and the elder steeped in mythology and magic!
Nature provides, the six trees reflect their own tales through the seasons, the life they support, the heat they give when their droppped wood is transformed in a winter’s fire. The prescence they emit by just being, nature in all it’s facets brought to recognition by proximity and time.
Spring 2010
