THE ARTIFICIAL TREE

Otago Witness, Issue 2895, 8 September 1909, Page 71

THE ARTIFICIAL TREE

From to-© splentkmr, the gracious greatness and freedom of our own wild trees — > the mighty kauri, Ahe .gorgeous pohoutakawa, "the slender-shafted' v imu, the stately kihikitea (those " thoughts "• of God) — turn for a moment- to, .some trees which are modelled to the thoughts of man, - l which «a.ye, as Mulford 60 ex-_ pressively puts^it, "too much of man's leader mind in/them, the mind that -be-" lieves- it can. improve the universe." Wa could not find, any better example" of this ihan. the dwarjf. trees -to which th« Japanese ' devote lifetime of incredibly I patience, and an expart Knowledge whicfi,. |to tie . reni&ins a "secret. Books and maga-.. zinc "articles have made everyone familiar^ with, these .quaint, arboreal abortions., .Usually., belonging- to .«specjes of. the oak,-; yew, cedar, cherry, and plum, these? patriarchal midgets are rarely more thanr two feet in height, .though, they may h#» absolutely hundreds of years 61-d. Japan« ese- families follow the profession of dwar"ing trees from generation to generation/ and the secrets of the art, combined vritK j special gifts, give as much distinction ta | such families as may be attained in any; • other art or profession. For example, it you go to a really good house, it is said to be quite possible to purchase a dwarf oak tree, five hundred years old, from a direct descendant of the man who first? planted the acorn. Standing in their quaint Japanese poti-, these grotesque ca-ricatures of the great! gracious trees they represent maj now b» purchased in London, where they ar« fashionable for house and table decoration, and their presence has launched English florists on a scheme of growing dwarf flowering trees, especially the doubleblossomed cherry and plum trees, ior tabl< . decoration in winter and early spring-i The entirely artificial course of growth, forcing and development, however, to whicli these unhappy little victims of fashion ar* subjected, soon destroys them, and in thre* or four yeans they are useless. * Quite apart from whims of fashion, and t 'full of the deep interest- that attaches > to all scientific experiment, were those •» trees, grown in water, which formed the basis of a series of interesting demonstra- ■ tions of the immense amount of growth v and- nourishment which trees obtain front ; -the air alone; The trees were grown from* seed m jars 1 of water. Their roots had ' neve-r know]? the. sustenance of the earth, :i , only from time to time certain clvsmical " ! fqod was mixed with the Water, and the", seedlings grew to young saplings, three, « four, five feet in height, with lusty, well* '- : developed foliage, and spreading ix>otr s innocent of the earth. • r - ■• SPECIMEN TREES. ; Here Nature does a horns for me erect, Nature, the wisest Architect, Who those fond artists does despite That can the fair and living trees neglecf Yet the deed timber prize. Here let me, careless and unthoug-htfn! lyings Hear the softr winds above, : me flying 1 , . With all their wanton boughs dispute, And the more tuneful birds to both replying* ' Nor be myself tob mute.'' " •, Abraham Cowley fc> a well-nigh forgotten poet so far as we are concerned, but he is wonderfully in tune with oui} ' theme to-day? J he might- have yawned in the face of the Timber Commission, who—* - Can the fair and living tree neglect, , Yet th« dead timber prize, but he would surely be heart and soul with the Conservation of Forests and the ' Afforestation of Waste Lands, with all their far-reaching and beneficent possibilities. Better than the poet of nearly; ' three centuries ago, we know our Amaru.' can essayist of- yesterday, and the "Auto-:" crat of the Breakfast Table" was a "real \ for_est lover. His sentiment concerning trees is neither too poetic for the practical, -nor too practical for the poetic, but strikes ' a delicate balance, and breathes a wholehearted Catholicism. v " I shall speak^,of.- trees, as we -see- them* love them, adore them in the fields, whsr.t>" they are alive, holding their green sunshades over our heads, talking to us witbi their hundred thousand whispering tongusg, - looking down on us with that sweefc meekness which belongs to huge, but limited!, organisms. . . It won't do to be ex-f elusive in our taste about trees : ther* is hardly one of them that has not pecrJiai beauties in some fitting place for it." That is it — " the fitting place for it.' r The great auracaria in his native forests/ a wonderful -and stately tree ; not a grotesque "puzzle-the-monkey" in 9 dusty. > suburban square of lawn no bigger than, a carpet: the Norfolk Island pine, serene: and celestially-minded, spreading his ever-j green cross beneath the gracious sun and 4 the wandering winds, his grey roots andt mighty trunk set firm amid the rocks of the steep hillside, as the Cross is set firm in sorrow and in sufferingj not a cramped exile, stunted and dwarfed, beside the bow-windows of the villa Teeidence The tendfic beauty of the tree-fern setj J in its own sheltered home," 'its delicate fronds rising above; " and breaking the more sombre tones of. the WQodland with its voluptuous tropic suggestion ; notf dragging out a parched and naked e'xis-" ter.ee, a dwarfed and stunted alien in! some- -little garden - plot.- All- trees, like all people, should be lovely. When we, isolate them, deprive them of the kindlyj graces of their neighbouring trees and*} creepers and undergrowth, we want thern^ as "specimen" trees, they must be sym-i metrical and well-grown, healthy and ful|s of vitality, or they are failures; just as; our public men, the specimen trees thatil we select to represent the human forest.

I of mere nobodies, must be straight am true, well and healthily developed, men tally and morally, or we have no use fo _ them The specimen tree, like the publi " man, must be able to stand alone; thtree must stand, the buffets of the wind the snows of winter, the suns' of summer and have about him air and space; thi man must be hardy enough for blame an< unpopularity, honourable enough for tin right though that right may cut him U the very marrow with the sharp wind o self-sacrifice, the iron post of duty, foi he is always in the open. The fores tree, compassed about by his fellows screens and is screened by them. H< n is only part of a whole, and fits into th< harmony of the forest oolonr and forre just as the* ordinary man and woman, witr. all their faults, short-comings, and "imr Terfections, fit into the plan of their social i and moral life and surroundings But the" woods? — our own woods, woods of the faint, sweet, tropic north, garB .landed with white rata and crimson _ kv.riwao, tressed with drooping ferns and B fragrant orchids,/ laced- together with clematis and tangle vines, — who knows them? Woods 'of the sooth, clear .and . clean and sharp, sun glinting delicately y down between the straight columns and - fairy tracery of the silver birches, here fc a cliff-face clothed with maiden-hair, and there a glacier-born stream, ite icy waters shadowed by black birches" and fringed with hardy ferns — who knows them? Who knows the soft carpet underfoot of the myriad fallen birch leaves ; the clear solemn aisles, the silence, the grey of the mountains, the gleam of the snow, the sound of the water-fall, the soft lapping of the lake along the shore? Ruined woods of north and south alike, blackened stumps of dead monarchs, shattered columns of forest temples lying prone among the bracken, bleached ghosts of vanished glories raising naked arms to sun and rain, storm and sunshine — who knows them? Here, in the south, the dreadful desolation of the forest fires, unheaied, remains a naked scar upon the face of Nature. Snows of winter, suns of summer pass unheeded. Nature has no balm to soothe her sadness, the torrents pour unchecked down the naked hillside, the thin earth crust is borne from the rocky frame beneath, the very grass that springs up along the watercourse is nipped away by the rabbits, and the burr spreads its crimson carpet, and weaves its soft green tapestry unchecked. As different in life as in death are the woods of the north * and south. Wrapped in her soft mantle of "the former and the latter rains," Nature takes but little heed of man's destructiveness on the long leagues of those wooded ranges that front the rollers of the Tasman Sea. The red scar of the last year's bush- fires scarce dies to black ere it is fringed again with green ; reeds and grass and creepers spring in the genial warmth, the' blackened stumps of the tree-ferns throw out frail fresh fronds, and unless it has been a "good burn," a year or two will hide the ugly ecai under a fresh mantle of "that exquisite woven embroidery of the broad earth." Here, too, in the woods as in the trees, are some of the rich analogies which link man's life with the life of the green growing thingis. • For the torture by fire, which devastates the woods, is but as the fire of adversity, which tries some lives. And her* will be the genial, gentle, trusting nature, quick to love and hope again and yet again, throw out fresh tendrils of affection, water with easy tears the young bjadea of hope, the new growths of toil and courage, so that in time the scar of the fire is hidden, the new growth, fed on .the elements of the past, is richer, stronger, and more beautiful — and "sweet are the uses of adversity." And here again, as in the woods and the trees, all the beauty of life may be destroyed by one catastrophe, and nothing but bitter- j ness remain ; the fire has burnt the roots ; adversity has embittered the springs; there is no second growth. Then there are' the historic trees, trees of mystery, trees of association, strange | living documents linking past to present ; ! but they, with their rich treasure of story j and suggestion, are too important a the~me to form - but an afterthought to our pil- j grimage in the woods. Let us consider j them some other day. I