6th photo in the 6th folder - a tag

I’ve been tagged by Karen of Border Town Notes to locate the 6th photo in my 6th folder and talk about it. I'm guessing we're talking about my photographic folders here - which are many!


The photo above was taken a year or two ago in the arboretum just up the road from where I live. The arboretum was created in the 1886 by J Storr-Lister, the planter of the first commercial forests in South Africa. It covers an area of approximately 28ha, contains over 600 species of trees, several of which are over 100 years old, and it is a declared Provincial Heritage Site. The arboretum abuts an old manor house which dates back to 1795 and rise up the slopes of the Constantiaberg Mountain. The arboretum was originally created to test the adaptation of species from countries with a similar climate to South Africa, which means there are plenty of Australian specimens in the arboretum.

This shot is of one of the many eucalypts in the arboretum – there is something about these silvery-brown trunks which soar into the sky which makes them very photogenic. Limited as I am by the terms of the tag, I have to point out that this is not one of my better shots of these lovely trees. (Lovely trees, I should point out, which have a nasty habit of dropping heavy branches without warning!)


I first became well acquainted with the arboretum when, together with several eminent academics, I started and ran a small NGO - the aim of which was to try and prevent, amongst many other things, the South African National Parks (SANParks) from felling all the pines and eucalypts in the Table Mountain National Park. Although not indigenous (and thus out of line with botanical biodiversity objectives in an area described as a biodiversity “hotspot”) the plantations provide an invaluable shaded recreation area for the people of Cape Town – particularly those from disadvantaged backgrounds. For many, the plantations have become a fundamental part of their cultural heritage. In fact, recognizing the significance of these shaded areas, the government had promised just a few years earlier, after having consulted with the people of Cape Town and several scientists, that these plantations would remain in perpetuity for the benefit of the people of Cape Town. It should be borne in mind that the plantations only make up about two percent of the entire Park and are effectively managed by a local forestry company. As such, their impact on matters “biodiversical” is minimal and, one would think their value in a hot and generally treeless environment, is significant.


Sadly, politics being what it is, the zeal for alien eradication (fauna and flora, and some would say human…) in the new South Africa being what it is and mad botanists being, well, myopic and mad, most of, if not all, the pines and eucalypts will be gone by 2020. Even the eucalypts in the arboretum are potentially under threat, including the one in the photograph.

Enjoy admiring this tree while it still stands and remember that few grasp the concept of balance and fewer still are able to accept that change and evolution are inevitable.


In time honoured tradition, I'm supposed to pass this tag on - but I know many of you have already done this one - if you haven't and would like to, consider yourself tagged.

Landscapes 2 - Trees (KNP 12)

Alone on a hilltop

Trees always speak for themselves. If you don't believe me go and hug one and listen.
By the way, it was winter here which is why leaves may seem in short supply!

Bushveld starkness

White blossoms

Nest in me

White bark

All shapes and sorts and sizes

Into the distance

Dawn tree on the Sabie River

Blues and greens and gold and grey

Next it will be birds...

Everywhere

I met God today.
He told me he was from Burundi.
His face was dark and shiny.
He said he had no money, asked if I could give him a job.
He said they were going to evict him from his house if he couldn't pay his rent.
I said I had no job for him but I gave him some money and promised that if I heard of anyone who could offer work, I would come and find him.
As I drove away he smiled. His face lit up and so did mine and the heavens shone above us.



I hugged God today.
I touched the vastness of all we beheld.
He whispered love and peace to me, as I wrapped my arms around his girth.
As I gazed at him in wonder he scattered golden leaves in my hair.



I smelled God today.
She was fresh and pure and took me to ecstatic heights of chocolate, vanilla, peaches and roses.
My heart sang as I swam in the scent of love.




I cried with God today.
She told me she was from Zimbabwe.
Robert Mugabe had burned the market where she worked.
She has a six year daughter whom she'd left behind.
She came here to look for work and her husband ran off with another woman.
Now she has no place to live.
She looked at me with eyes filled with pain.
And I felt her heart crack and ache.

New Forest Memories

Born Free

Treebeard and Moss

Tree Tales

Gracious Silver Birch

Oak Story

Mother and Child

Pine Sentries

Calshot

Meeting Mr Despicable Opinion

I’m often left pondering the nature of humanity and no more so when encountering conflict. What is it about some people that leads them to assume that they know you, understand your motives and are entitled for form an opinion on the basis of no knowledge whatsoever – and then attack you?

I recall being sent to a Stephen Covey course, The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, many years ago. The one habit that struck me most was “Seek first to understand and then to be understood”. What is so remarkable about this habit is its ability to defuse conflict situations - would that more people put it into practice. But it strikes me this sort of approach is not in the nature of humans who would sooner shoot first and ask questions later.

So here’s the scene: a meeting in a breezy seminar room to discuss all things “trees”.

The matter is a contentious one. The trees are not indigenous. Yet they provide local communities, particularly impoverished ones, with much needed recreational shade. Others enjoy the plantations for walking, dog walking, horse riding, mountain biking, picnicking and barbequing. And, it should be said, that of the entire National Park that runs through the middle of the city, these pine plantations form only two percent. True, the indigenous vegetation is under threat and much of it has already been destroyed by urban development – along with the indigenous peoples who were wiped out by the original Dutch settlers way back in the 1600’s... But now, in an era of “biodiversity crisis” and after years of slumber, local botanists have finally decided to pop up and bellow loudly. I have no issue with this – but it’s the how of the matter that irks me.

My position is simply this: We live in a time of global warming in a city that already enjoys temperatures of plus 30 degrees Celsius in summer. It is a Mediterranean climate and the little shade there is, is much valued. Moreover, the plantations act as something of a green lung in a polluted environment – and of course, provide that valuable recreational shade. They have also come to form part of the city’s cultural landscape. The other critical point is that throughout my fight for the trees (accepting that plantations are a form of agriculture and the trees are regularly harvested) I have wanted to provide a voice for those who were given no voice – namely, those from “previously disadvantaged communities”. To this end I have, over several Sundays, conducted interviews amongst these people as they’ve picnicked in the shade of the pines. What struck and distressed me was the level of disempowerment voiced - the simmering resentment and hostility towards an authority who never consulted them – as in the bad old days and so now…

So in the meeting of all interested and affected parties yesterday I raised just that point and pointed out that the group of predominantly white faces sitting around the table was hardly representative of the majority of the city’s inhabitants, particularly those who live in dusty, treeless communities.

And so from stage right enters Mr Despicable Opinion.

I’ve been hearing about Old Despicable for the past few months, but having never met the man formed no opinion of my own. It is, I believe, a little unreasonable to accept others’ judgement without study of the subject oneself…

From the moment I closed my mouth, having made my plea, I felt something or someone’s energy directed at me - and it was not a well-meaning energy. It was resentful, bitter, angry… I ignored it, told myself I was imagining it…

The meeting over, I stood outside the seminar room in conversation with a friend. A man of about 60 with white grey hair stalked towards me. His body radiated contained aggression and he locked eyes with me as he began to speak. His the voice was measured - baiting a trap.

“Did you tell those picnickers the trees were going?” Despicable Opinion asked.

I knew where this was coming from. He was hoping I’d say yes – and nothing else.

So I said, “Yes, I did - but I also told them the picnic site would be moved and pointed out the proposed new picnic area.”

Foiled.

He tried again.

“Did you give a time frame?”

“No, I didn’t, I don’t know the time frame.”

My friend butted in. “It’s imminent – we’ve just been told that in the meeting.”

Despicable glowered at me. “I want you to know that what you’ve done is despicable!”

“You’re entitled to your opinion,” I said.

“You had no right to speak to those people! I’ve been speaking to those people. I know what’s right for them! You had no right. Your actions are despicable. Despicable!”

He was frothing and plumes of blue smoke billowed from his ears.

“As I said, you’re entitled to your opinion.”

“Thank you for letting me be entitled to my opinion!” he snarled and spun on his heel in a huff.

“My pleasure,” I said to his retreating back, “it is after all only an opinion.”

And so it is - just an opinion – of a man who knows nothing about me or my motives. Who has no clue how I conducted my surveys or the spirit in which it was done. The opinion of a man used to bullying others so he can have his own way.

We are complete strangers yet he chose to go to war because he felt threatened. And he made an assumption. And you know what they say about the word “assume” – ass u me. Nobody wins.

But Mr Despicable Opinion is not alone in the position he takes – it is the position of many an insecure person feeling threatened. You see, Old Despicable hates the pines. He wants to preserve the indigenous vegetation – scrubby grey bush – at all costs. It’s a noble view but it is unbalanced because biodiversity is not just about plants, it’s about people too. Biodiversity is about ecosystems and, whether one likes it or not, us humans are very much an integral part of those systems. Perhaps the next thing for Mr Opinion to argue is the removal of all humans from this part of the world too. That is, after all, the logical conclusion of his position. Now, I wonder what the opinion of others would be on that…

(Image used in this post... courtesy of a Google image search.)

Elderly gents and old farts

I don't know what I did to deserve it but in the past few months (I blame the trees entirely) I have found myself conversing with more elderly gentleman that I would have cared to do. What strikes me is the remarkable difference in types of male elder. Some of them are indeed true elders - statesmanlike figures, emeritus professors, one's even a Fellow of the Royal Society - hey, what can say, sometimes I keep intellectual company. Of these elders some are also real gentlemen - kind, considerate, considered, temperate and wise - men you can admire and wish there were more of - and in positions of power unlike some other pratts who got there god alone knows how (but don't get me started on him...). These are men who though inordinately intelligent don't claim to know it all - which is refreshing given their vast brain power.

Then of course there is the other type of old gent. This type of old gent is pure old fart material - hold your nose, put your fingers in your ears and protect your eyes so you don't see the crunchy stuff that collects around their hairy ears. There are two or three of these old geezers that particularly spring to mind. And I have developed a very particular hostility towards them. This says something; I'm normally a fairly cheerful, even-handed soul with a bright voice and sparkling eyes. But I'm afraid when I encounter these old buzzards my voice goes dangerously low and quiet and my eyes turn to flint. The trouble with this type of old codger is that it thinks it knows everything - whereas I know I know very little. The worst part about these old gits is that they fail to listen, seem incapable of reading and despite that still insist on knowing best.

I had a call from one of them this morning. Oh joy. And I hadn't even had my first mug of cocoa of the day. Nothing like taking on an old fart when one hasn't even been fortified. He must have realised he was, as ever, on dangerous ground - of course last time he hadn't had the insight to back down... Thusly, it can only be said that this time my tone was rigourously "professional". As I'd said to a friend, I'd sooner have nits than have to attempt a halfway intelligent conversation with said geriatric. I will, however - she said patting herself on the back - say this in my defense - despite using the low, quiet and very dangerous voice - I still managed to be civil. No, I won't go so far as to say "charming" - that I reserve for the genuine tribal elders.

What I found ironic was during the last conversation the old goat had assured me I didn't have my facts straight, hadn't a clue what I was talking about and had my knickers in a knot over nothing (unlike the view taken by those other elderly gentlemen). The tone has been patronising and pompous, the attitude bellicose. Hmmm - well as we know chickens come home to roost - well at least Atyllah always does... This time the silly old pratt wanted to be sure that I was attending a tree meeting to be held this Friday (oh yes, that should certainly provide plenty of satirical entertainment) since he can't make it and he wanted "to be sure that someone with all the facts and a strong voice would be there". Yours truly, no less, and if you don't mind. Hmmm... Perhaps my resignation from all things trees, my previous pointing to 100 meter high letters of doom in the sky finally made the old twit realise he wasn't the last word and the final authority on the state of arboreal destruction. I have, however, learned that in certain instances one should not live in hope.

As for the other silly ass, well a few choice words of description should suffice: parochial, belligerent, bombastic, pompous, self-opinionated, arrogant - oh you get the general picture. No doubt after Friday I should be able to manage a suitably acerbic post on this particular subject. Watch this space.

(Images in this post duly nicked off the internet -thank you to the creators/providers!)

The Very Small Gods of Not Much At All

Dave stretched, belched and scratched his bum. He yawned, hoisted himself to his feet and padded over to the lake so he could admire his reflection in it's shiny surface.
He rubbed his pot belly.
"Getting a bit flabby-saggy, Dave." Trixie's voice drifted over the water.
Dave glowered at the sprite as she blew a raspberry at him from the far side of the mystical lake.
She had a point though. And let's face it, being a god was tough. All that eating, lying around and meddling. But it was a good job. You got to take decisions that had profound impact. Decisions which often caused the humans below no end of bother. Dave chuckled to himself. He liked being important. And he knew he was good at what he did. He went to his tasks with vigour and passion. The more disruption he could cause the happier he was. And it amazed him no end how his current efforts managed to upset humanity. Who would have believed people could be so passionate about plants and landscapes?
He shambled back to his chaise longue and flicked his fingers. A small scene materialised - mid-air - before him.
"Starting work so early?" Alison yawned. She rolled over, plummeted and thumped on to the floor.
Dave sighed. The goddess the council of elders had provided to work alongside him was not exactly co-ordinated - or graceful. But she was remarkably self-righteous which was a strong point in any god.
He didn't bother to ask her if she was alright - of course she was - she was a goddess - immortal and invincible - just like himself. They were impervious to everything.
Alison picked herself up from the floor and padded over to Dave.
"Well, how're we doing this morning?" she asked, extracting a large bogey from her nose and inspecting it.
"We're doing remarkably well. Better than I expected," he said. "See this fellow here?" He pointed to a figure grubbing about under some trees. "I've inspired him!"
"Really? Do do what?"
"To remove all that shade. You know how much humans like shade. Well, it's all going to go!" His voice was triumphant.
"Ooh!" shrilled Alison, "let me inspire him too!"
"No!" snapped Dave. How typical of Alison to try and muscle in on his ideas. "Find your own inspiration."
Alison pouted.
"Tell you what," said Dave with an unaccustomed burst of generosity, "He's got a wife."
"Oh goodie! I can fill her head with theories which she's going to believe are true. She'll tell him and they'll set out to preach their truth."
"Wonderful," said Dave. "They'll be passionate. I just know it. Complete zealots."
"Exactly," chuckled Alison. "And we know just how much damage a zealot can do."
"Hey!" exclaimed Dave, "let's also inflate their egos."
"Ooh, yes! You really are on form this morning, Dave," said Alison batting her eyelashes at him.
Dave preened - and then farted. Loudly... gaseously. Alison did the same. They watched the image before them. The two small figures down on earth swelled.
The two gods slapped their hands together. "Good work!" they chorused.
"While we're at it," grinned Dave, "why don't we toss in a good dose of myopia - so that no one can influence their thinking."
"Bloody brilliant! And how about we add some arrogance too."
"Marvellous! They'll go around telling other humans that they're stupid and ignorant and that the two of them are the only ones with insight, intelligence and education - and should be listened to - because they know it all."
Alison laughed so hard her belly wobbled and her breasts jiggled - Dave's eyes twinkled.
The two gods turned their backs to the image, bent over and let rip. Each produced a long, loud and noxious stream of internal gas.
They turned around. The image had turned a murky shade of blue, green and yellow.
They waited for it to clear and then peered into the scene, listening intently.

#

"We'll tell everyone it's a biodiversity crisis," said the man as he ringbarked the trunk of a 100 year old oak tree.
"We'll tell the powers that be that global warming has nothing to do with trees and that it's in the planet's best interests that they're all felled," said his wife, lifting her chainsaw.
"Yes," said the man, tucking in his shirt around his sagging pot-belly, "We'll tell them that scrub is more attractive and important."
"Well it is. Much more important. Who needs shade. Tsk." She shook her head. "We'll also tell them trees cause fires and fall on people causing injury and death."
"We'll remind them we know best and that they're ignorant, stupid and myopic."
"Arrogant too," added the wife. "We'll make it clear we're the experts."
"Yes," said the man, "exactly. They need us. They don't know how lucky they are to have people like us advising them. And then we'll both write books and articles about how smart we are and what we've accomplished."
"Do you think we'll be able to afford a small island in the Caribbean once we're done?" asked the wife. She stepped backwards, tripped over a log, fell - and landed in a cow pat.
The man sighed. His wife was really not the most graceful creature on earth.

#

Dave smiled over at Alison. "We've done a wonderful bit of work this morning," he said, sticking out his chest with pride at a job well done. Oh he liked being a god, he really did.
In the distance something rumbled.
"Oh bugger," said Dave.
The earth started to shake...

#

"Dave! Dave! Wake up!"
Dave Jackson, botanist inextraordinaire, rolled over and grunted. His wife, her face white, her brow creased, stood peering down at him, her hand on his shoulder, shaking him. "What is it?" he grunted.
"It's a posse of inspectors from the UN, a mob of angry people and the city mayor."
"What do they want?" muttered Dave frowning.
"They want to know what the hell we've been trying to do in forest."
"Oh, for heaven's sake - when will these people ever learn? How many times do we have to tell them? Trees are bad, scrub is good. We know best - and besides, I've an entire research project riding on this."
Dave rolled himself out of bed and shrugged into his dressing gown. He was grumpy, well on the way to being rabid. Why, he thought to himself, were people always so shortsighted? Who needed trees anyway? He'd give them all a piece of his mind - again. He marched down the hall, grumbling beneath his breath. The public were such ignorant fascists - complete xenophobes.
As his neared the front door his face paled. Awaiting him on the doorstep was a lynch mob. "Bugger," thought Dave, as the mob surged towards him, "why can't life be more like dreams...?"

#

In a place high above, grinning at her handiwork, a small sprite sat on a rock near a lake. Taking arrogant humans down a peg or two was such fun. But it was also hard work - there were just so many of them.

© 2007 Absolute Vanilla

(Image duly nicked off the internet, thanks to the unknown creator.)

Atyllah on "Talking about inspiration..."

Copyright 2007 Absolute Vanilla

Talking about inspiration...

No, no, let me talk about inspiration - you've done quite enough quasi creative-meaning of life-wittering for the past few days. Shove over. You remember the deal - your blog, but I get a chance to butt in.

Oh, what, like you haven't already done enough butting in?

You got a problem?

Me? Do I dare?

I wouldn't if I were you...


Okay, this is Atyllah posting - so pay attention!

As some of you may well be aware, prior to my departure from Planet Earth I was involved in a campaign to save some trees - very old trees many of them - oaks of various species, eucalypts, pines, poplars, willows... (did I ever mention that some of my bestest friends are trees?) - and not only that, I was trying, though the Corncob alone knows why, to save the shaded recreational space of the Mugger City - the place where my spacepod crash landed - damned thing. Since my actions came to the notice of the Draconians, nasty reptilian aliens who humans refuse to believe have infiltrated Earth, it became necessary for me to adopt a low profile and hand over matters to those in a better position to actually do something about trees and related schtuff. (And the Corncob knows, there is a bundle of related schtuff - enough to give any local politician damp dreams...)

However, talking of inspiration and thinking of trees and the various characters who popped up on the stage, I'm thinking of penning my own little parody... See, you just never know what sort of fodder can be turned into a tale...

At the moment I'm putting together the cast of characters...

The Evil Ones:
Brat Meerkat - an Evil Overseer
The Idiot Bluster Von Hot Aire - an infamous bottomist
Ding Dong Bell - oh yeah, that cat should really be in a well...

The Good Guys - mostly:
The Four Immortals - a group of brave and brilliant minds (and yes, I know in the feng shui folk say there are only three)
YT - aka Yours Truly - Atyllah the Hen, chicken with über-attitude
The Tree Doctor - a passionate human intent on saving the trees come bellowing Hot Aire or Draconians
Raving Rob Treebeard - he means well (I think...) but constantly forgets to take his medication...

The assorted and self appointed egos of several causes:
Wily Coyote - a supposed leader, who wouldn't know a lead if it strangled him
Dumcluck McPhuck - a Novapulsian meddler or the worst kind
The Ugly Phuckling - Dumphuck's brother and self proclaimed legal genius
Dennis le Menace - an old fart who thinks he knows best
Queen Deen - another fart of indeterminate age and with several personal agendas.

I'm thinking of calling it "Stupid is as Stupid Does"; "The Misadventures of Trees" or; "Fuckwittage Flows where anything Grows".

Now all I need to do is work on the plot. Any ideas and further inspiration would be welcome.
(My Corncob! I don't actually believe this, I'm asking humans for assistance! What is the multiverse coming to!?!)