Carol’s Column

Not out of my tree, just the opposite

This country is becoming a growing nation in more ways than one. Reconstruction, the spouting forth of small businesses, the creation of job opportunities.

In the words of President Thabo Mbeki, now is the time to create something new for the millennium.

I have taken him literally and am attempting to create something of value. In this case, a millennium tree. Hopefully, in 1 000 years, at the end of the next millennium, will be standing a great tree planted by a small South African. Now you don't have to have a doctorate in agriculture to work out that trees, like people, grow well if they have comfortable accommodation and are well fed.

I visited the local nursery where Green Masemola is known as the tree guru and discovered him talking quietly to a rather spindly looking Cape ash standing beside a robust cedar.

"He was feeling depressed," he explained, "so I tried to perk him up. A little tree-speak helps."

"I'm feeling depressed too," I muttered.

"Sit quietly and I'll give you a little tree-speak too." Both the ash and I felt better after his chat which was on why cellphones pollute public places.

What, I wondered aloud, did Mr Masemola think would be a suitable indigenous tree to plant as a celebration to the third millennium.

"Have you read Thomas Pakenham's book Meetings with Remarkable Trees?" he queried.

"Mr Masemola, you mean the same Thomas Pakenham who wrote The Boer War?"

"The same," exclaimed Green Masemola. "And, hey, call me Green," he added. "Only my bank manager calls me Mr Masemola."

"Pakenham's book is filled with old and large trees he has travelled the world to meet. Such as the ginkgo tree which has existed for 350 million years. In China, many ginkgo trees live for much longer than 1 000 years. As do the ancient cedars of Lebanon, some which are two or three thousand years old."

"Aha, that's exactly the kind I'm looking for," I enthused. A tree with longevity, but something indigenous to South Africa. I'd been extremely keen on a baobab, the upside-down tree so quintessentially African.

"No, it needs a hot, dry climate and only grows well in the most northern parts of the country. Rather go for a milkwood, yellowwood or a stinkwood," Green suggested.

I chose a gracious, well-shaped apprentice stinkwood.

I planted it where it has plenty of room to grow and have fed it diligently with kraal manure. They say that in Africa elephant droppings are the ideal food to ensure quick tree growth, but elephants have disadvantages as these large pachyderms tend to consume through their front orifice what they have fertilised most adequately through the rear.

Most important of all, explained Green when he handed over the small but sturdy stinkwood, is that daily I should place my hand upon Samson's trunk (we named him thus for longevity) and talk gently or even sing something soft and pleasing.

Due to familial conflict, it has been difficult forming an intimate relationship with a stinkwood.

"You're mad," complains my spouse, who cannot understand my need for daily tree-speak. "Do you think you're Prince Charles?" he mutters.

I confided to my good-friend Betty that actually I preferred conversing with Samson. "The conversation's better and, besides, he never answers back. He just keeps growing and quivers for joy."

"Well, that's more than we can say for our husbands," murmured Betty. Quite.

What's more, Sam will still be around in 1 000 years. Give me Sam any time.

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