Forest making

Trees always seem to be dreaming. That’s what I’ve got in common with them. It’s only their appearance because I can attest that there’s always something going on. As a grower of wild trees, I’m kept on my toes attending to their needs. Anyway absent-mindedness is actually a sign of deep thought in progress. The apple only served to awaken Newton to the originality of his ruminations. Maybe that’s what the other kids were thinking when they continuously lobbed rotten fruit my way as I wandered around the playground.

The green fingers idea is no myth. Some must have been born with a talent for this – my mate Alex is one – you should just see his Celtis africana arching skywards during the growth season – it gets quite irritating. Like colonial-era schoolchildren in their black bags, the little blighters stand uniform in their rows, leaves shimmering salutes to the African sun. Radiating preposterous levels of joy and well-being, each one assured of living a hundred and fifty years minimum, having ten thousand children and reaching forest crown status.

But we need people like him to grow perfect wild forest trees and fortunately there are more, because KwaZulu-Natal is home to hundreds of species of indigenous trees, perhaps three hundred of which find their ideal habitat in forests. The forests are mostly found on sloping ground on the south-eastern side of mountains and hills. They are smallish, often half a mile long, say, and typically bordered at the base by a rocky stream. Usually these forested slopes hide a number of little streams which run dry in winter.

Let’s pause beside this half dry stream. If we followed its course downhill, the forest canopy would cover us for another five minutes, until we reached the forest edge. See the great rocks embedded in the earthen banks to either side and in the stream’s course itself. Covered in dry, green moss with ferns in small clumps at their bases. Run your hands through the moss, the grey lichen and the cool earth and leaf litter that’s collected in the rock’s shallow basin. Actually, there’s a seedling taken root – a three-inch Cape Beech with two reddish leaves held flat as plates to be served. If we scan around I’m sure we’ll see several more of the same, a year and a half old mostly, with a few larger ones from the previous year, perhaps twice the height. Now let’s step up to where that tree trunk is holding the bank in place, her roots visibly dropping from the muscular fluting in the trunk. Our eyes follow the pale orange trunk, so contrasting the many black and brown neighbours, as it raises its many arms above them, its glossy little leaves catching the light of the sun. Olinia, princess of trees.

In her cool shade we wait. And give way to our dreams.