Wednesday, 3 January 2007


We both have particular trees which we love. The kind of tree that we are just aware of as we go past. That make us wonder what they are, when and how they grew, how they have survived. Trees with a certain magnificence. Trees we touch and hear.

These trees embody a past, a culture, a changing landscape and microclimate. They mark the passage of fire, or the coming of the track and plough, the rise of suburbs, the collapse of an ecosystem, the policies of government, the stubborness of a landowner, the defensive tangle of understory.

They tell us we are not important in their scheme of things, but we can easily do great harm, and good only with vigilance and patience.

They give us scale in place and time.


For us, this blog is a reason to take a camera, to consider landscape again, and step aside from the hurry of our lives. It is also a modest and informal Register of Significant Trees, since the official versions don't post the images on the internet.

We are committed to the value of botanical diversity in our managed landscape, and wish to celebrate the oak and the monkey-puzzle as much as the blue gum and the Eucalyptus regnans of our title.

We hope you will join us. Email your own favourites, add more information to existing entries, share your own experience. Send us useful links at trees[at]themeda[.]net

If we do it together, this could be a place that speaks of significant things.

(The image is a detail of the bark on a roadside paper-bark in Park St, St Kilda).


Robert said...

Reaching, thrusting, poking into the soils of our being are the roots of our thoughts. Drawn up, gathering, clashing, gaining ultimately to express themselves as the strength of a philosphical trunk, the reflected reaching of persistent and tested branches, or the playful splay of leaves and the shining of occasional flower.

What of the firmanent from whence they come? Sandy, shifting? Cold, cruel rock? Rich quick mossy peat or the depth that is the valley shed of our forefathers and mothers gathered still and tending yet, higher, protecting as on hill or mountain surround.

Our thoughts are like trees.

What would a tree make of its place? What would it make of the rain and sun, bearing upon its manifest thought as to nurture, challenge or lay peace? The air, open free to the heavens and gripping in absolution each pore of being, at the same time - and evolving with each ever? The birds lighting on the branch, answering to the call of thought as gift of hope in seeking worthiness, granted, then flying into some distance somewhere to set seed and deliver the ultimate statement of faith: renewal.

What would trees make of these things? Trees would love these things, in communion, for they make both identity and generation. The singular and the many, as one, through time no less.

Our hearts are like trees.

But there's more. There's the strident urging bristling in every vein and pore and there's the fight to claw - within to without - in flood- or fire-fucked chore, day by day, minute by minute, just to live. There's receipt of oppression, bended down at the seat of a wind not sought, acceptance strained to merely stay. And forgiveness in its state of peace ever the following day. The joy. Simple; profound. Just being.

Our spirits are like trees.

mummabare said...

And our trees are spirits, our spirits are trees :)

lovely blog

Claire Girodie said...

I found your blog by looking for images of tree bark, cross sections, unusual fruits, etc....
Check on my blog header, this picture of paper-bark tree looks son much like the pic of my artist book!
(and btw, thank you for the wonderful image source you are providing :D )