What to make of them. They provide a blog post of course. I dreamt last night of trees, especially a large old tree. The life of an oak, three hundred to grow, three hundred to live and then three hundred years to die. All very romantic. Sad thing is we are losing trees in these wretched storms, they will be replaced of course by saplings but will never come to fruition in our short lives.
There is a book called 'Remarkable Old Trees', it features very old yews in church yards, hollowed out by time and Wordsworth yew trees in Borrowdale.
There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale,
Which to this day stands single, in the midst
Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore:
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| The Borrowdale Yews. Courtesy of The Independent |
It foreshadows the question whether there is anything to be had in the after life, or that parallel worlds exist running alongside each other, I shall never know, only wonder at that which is inexplicable.
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I remember when I walked in Bath, there was an old beech wood I took Moss to, I found it rather creepy and the ground was clear of any vegetation, there was an old beech tree felled by a storm. Its plate of earth and roots were upended and I had read somewhere that the roots were the same circumference as the top of the tree. I never liked that wood because of the singular growth of one species, it did not nourish the plants. But another tree high up on the hill in a little copse, called Kelston Round Hill, a tree had again fallen over but this time in the earth clinging to the roots was a mass of stones, probably uncovering an early Bronze Age barrow, for there was a barrow field not far away.
Trees have a symbolic nature think of 'cloutie' trees. In earlier times a place to take an offering for a cure of whatever ailment you were suffering. The willow tree near Silbury alongside the Kennet River holds a mishmash of offerings, and the occasional religious letter of warning against paganism (don't giggle). Also the rowan tree has magical powers, and grows all over the North York moors. I think this is because it produces so many berries and the birds drop them around the moors. There is a group just along the beck on Murk Mire moor, and there are a couple of small brass plaques tied to the tree in memory of someone.
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| A favourite, along the beck |
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| Gnarled by age. Murk mire moor. |
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| Bath, old tree covered in ivy |
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| Crab apple full of fruit |
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| A cool avenue in hot weather |
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| A mill somewhere in Wales |
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| Wherever the farmer can't get to, the hawthorn will set down its roots |
My favourite in Bath is the plane in Abbey Green. It owns the square.
ReplyDeleteAnd still lives under all that concrete, I always think that trees in cities surrounded by concrete must have a hard time of it, but not the plane tree Tom.
DeleteMurk mire moor looks like a place would like to sit and listen as the water flows by. I wonder who walks there and keeps the grass path worn just right.
ReplyDeleteWell to explain its position. Drive over the empty parts of the moor either side and then downhill to where the beck wanders across the lane. There is a small open area for a picnic, and people do come and walk there. Plus the sheep, I have many photos of them. It is a sanctuary of calm below the moors ;)
DeleteWe have lost middle aged trees with the heavy wet snows this year. Some just lost their tops, but may not survive.
ReplyDeletePeople get sad when they lose their trees Tabor, I suppose it gives a familiar face to the landscape, our trees when we lose them are blown over by the wind.
DeleteI love the idea the trees I plant now won't mature in my life time and be those wonderful old examples you pictured. Carry acorns, walnuts, anything about in your pocket and push them into suitable bits of ground. If one is the grand old tree of a future generation you've done a fabulous thing.
ReplyDeleteVery true of course Tigger cat, there are others in different countries that have planted acres of land just by pushing nuts into the soil.
DeleteRead this and a long forgotten memory arrived of being taken for walks "up the fields" by a neighbour near where I lived and her telling us the tale of a hollow tree where people used to leave messages for each other. Wonder if it was true?
ReplyDeleteRomantic trysts perhaps Sue? Days before the telephone - what bliss.
ReplyDeleteThat sleeveless jerkin that Paul used to wear makes him look like an explorer in some distant land. He should have worn a pith helmet too. Our relationships with particular old trees form what is indeed a rather mystical phenomenon.
ReplyDeleteHe was terrible for old clothes;) I knitted him a couple of sweaters and he constantly wore them for comfort but definitely not for style. Being exceptionally neat probably due to his Japanese training in a studio, where everything was lined up meticulously. Also notice the pockets, he needed plenty of them!
ReplyDeleteI wonder what he kept in those pockets - perhaps a compass, scissors, a magnifying glass, a bag of Werthers Originals, a handgun and a pet mouse...
DeleteIt took about 20 minutes to go out with him, I would sit and knit, my handbag had everything thrown in ;) Egyptian scarab ring first, watch, and then wallet, and phone.
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