NEVER SAY NEVER
I had my first “climate crisis” dream last night. Walking with friends along a pristine cove, we rounded a cliff and entered a large public beach, only to find that the sea was completely obliterated, out to the horizon, by empty beer and soda cans. All through breakfast the image kept returning to me.
Nature. That which we visit for our own rejuvenation, pleasure and peace. And between visits, how easily we squander it. Nature. The vast bounty of it; so vast we take it for granted. Like the elderflower tree in the back garden here. It’s filled with berries now and I like to sit on the little terrace in the evening and watch wood doves come to feast on it. The new neighbours recently told us how they were looking forward to making elderberry wine and would bring us a bottle.
The miracle of this tree is that many moons ago, a seed buried in bird shit landed on this wall, which we share with the neighbours, and managed to root itself in the brick, sending roots out vertically and horizontally through the wall, growing limbs and branches some 15 feet high. Now, all these years later this root system is causing the wall to collapse.
The tree, having rooted itself in a shared wall, basically belongs to both the neighbours and the owner of the garden flat below us. It has been deeply moving to see how both parties have tried to save it. And I can’t help thinking that if we all made a bit of effort maybe we could still save the planet.
It's been a strange summer here in England. While much of Europe, and indeed the world, has been stifling to the point of combustion, here, until this week, it has been cold and rainy. Time has felt suspended as we all waited for summer to arrive. T-shirts, shorts, and sandals remained closeted while we took rainy walks in rubber boots and macs. We felt torn between missing the sun-kissed, carefree days of summer and gratitude that not only were the rivers and lakes filing up again, but that we weren’t fleeing fire and flood.
This morning we watched as a trio of experts carefully removed a section of the wall in the hope that by uncovering the roots they could be redirected in such a way that the bricks could then be put back thus saving both wall and tree. But within hours it became obvious that the tree could not be saved.
Maybe because I have been uprooted so many times in my life and yet have managed to survive, is why I felt overwhelmingly sad for the tree. It takes great effort to ground ourselves, to grow, and flourish and some of us to it against great odds. This tree did it against great odds. If found its way out of shit and in the dark crevasses between brick and mortar, managed to find just enough sustenance to keep on going; to become a thing of beauty giving pleasure to a few humans and our feathered friends.
And maybe I feel sad because only once I knew it was endangered did I take inspiration from it. I’ve been feeling creatively dry for months and have occasionally told myself to accept that I am old and of no use. In time, my time will end, like everything and everyone. But for as long as I am living, I owe it to the tree to keep on going. And so I went to my little desk and made a drawing.
There is a hole in the wall now and the roots are clearly visible. The wood doves will come for their dinner in a little while and the tree will give of itself one last time. And so, I write to you dear readers to give a little of myself and to say we owe it to ourselves to be kind to each other and nature; to honour our roots and keep planting seeds of hope.
With love,
Maggie
PS. 9th September 2023
I was just about to post this essay when I received an email
from our neighbour downstairs who says his wonderful crew think they have saved the tree and will now plant it on our side of the wall, where, lovingly pruned and cared for, it will grow even bigger. Somewhere in this story there is a lesson about the choices we make. Something to do with man-made walls, trees made from bird-droppings, and the power of love.
