August 2010 - The power of trees
What is it about trees that they can have such a powerful effect on the way we feel?
Often this can be a feeling of great calm.
I remember once, many years ago, skiing at Perisher with my daughter, Anna, who was then in her mid or late teens. I hadn't seen her for some time and was wondering if she were alright when I heard her voice seemingly coming from nowhere. "Hi, Mum!"
She was sitting in the middle of a clump of snow gums. "What on earth are you doing?" I asked. "Nothing," she replied, "just being with the trees."
She was, she said, so much at peace. I must admit, snow gums are some of the most beautiful trees on earth, with their pink and grey trunks twisted into unbelievable contortions, and the snow on their branches glistening like dainty lace caps. On a sunny, windless day just being amongst them can induce an incredible sense of well-being and calm.
Here in the Valley we have the most amazing variety of trees, from the somewhat stunted banksias of the drier areas to the giant sandpaper figs and casuarinas of the wetter parts. Of course, originally the crowning glory of our trees must have been the giant cedars. They would once have been a magnificent sight. There are still pockets of them left, but, unfortunately, more common are the vast stumps that still hide in the bush, a silent reminder of their former greatness. I sometimes see areas where they are regenerating, but neither I nor my children will see these young trees grow to their full majesty.
Down along the river near Flat Rock, giant casuarinas have escaped the cedars' fate.
Their huge limbs spread defiantly above the floods of man and nature, cradling gently the enormous birds' nest and staghorn ferns that flourish along their branches. The angophoras and sassafras, coachwoods and lillipillies all stand proud in the success of their survival.
Away from the rivers and the rainforest there are magnificent examples of Sydney Blue Gums, their colour changing according to the season from ghostly white to warm salmon.
We camped one year in the Blue Gum Forest in the Grose Valley of the Blue Mountains, the largest surviving forest of blue gums in Australia. It was an unforgettable experience, mist enshrouded ghosts wavering metres above us, almost, but not quite, silencing the dull thud of brumbies' hooves as they passed through the night. Here we don't have such large areas of these trees, but from my verandah I can see enough to always remind me of that camping spot.
I can also see a giant cabbage tree palm that we were told by locals must be at least 200 years old. It is certainly the tallest I have ever seen. There is a National Register of Australia's Big Trees Website that has on it a specimen that looks half the size of this one. When the wind really blows it bends over from side to side like a vaulter's pole, almost becoming horizontal until it springs back up and over to the other side.
Trees certainly can become more terrifying than calming when they are reacting to the forces of nature. We've all seen trees throwing a temper tantrum, teetering on their toes as they thrash their arms wildly through the air, the whoosh of the wind through their branches screaming in sympathy.
They wave their arms in sudden fury and creak and groan as they lash back and forwards. How many children's fairy stories had menacing forests of angry trees to frighten both the characters and the readers? A distinct feeling of unease can descend on me when I drive along Upper River Road on a dark night, the overhead branches seeming to press down hard upon me.
In a book I've just read, an old man had spent years in his own forest carving animals and faces into the trees. He was attributing to each tree a force or personality that he felt was intrinsic to it. As the trees grew the faces became completely distorted, changing with age like the man himself. He felt himself reflected in these trees; perhaps they were also reflected in him.
Trees are forever changing; maybe that is one of their attractions. At times, when the reddish bark is hanging down amongst a stand of gums alongside the river, it seems I am wandering through a Disney-coloured world of alien intruders. When the mist is slipping silently through the white trunks of the Blue Gums I feel as though I am lost on the set of Mick Jaggers' old Ned Kelly movie and almost find myself looking furtively over my shoulder for the familiar tin mask manifesting itself behind a tree. But when the sun is shining? Then once again a feeling of calm descends and the trees become protectors. The beauty of the bush and the rainforest asserts itself. The same author who wrote about the old man said "You can find your soul in a rainforest." I can find mine here, as my daughter could find hers in a stand of snow gums.