He stands proudly, gnarled, twisted, whispering in the breeze. He’s been here for one hundred years or more. He’s steadfast, strong and rather unattractive. My late mother would say how much she hated him. His red needles would drop all over her grass and the brick patio. Annoying sweepings required. He extends and thrives. His branches keep stretching out like tentacles, weighing down roofs with dry, grey leaves and flower buds like kitchen scourers. He needs a trim, a hack with a chainsaw. Yes, he’s flourishing in our garden.
What is your green-fingered secret you ask?
Well, this bugger feasts on our water and sewerage. His steel roots sniff out the breaks in the post-war pipes and gorge themselves. As a result, he is Herculean in size and strength and provides a living for local plumbers.
Cut him down then?
Oh, how COULD you? I know he’s not pretty but…
This old red bottle brush tree is central to the garden. Countless children have climbed him, swung from the frayed rope swing and played in the gargantuan tree house. The tree house extravaganza is every fathers’ envy. Hand constructed by my brother in law, it’s complete with two doors, windows, a ladder, trap door plus a sandpit reached from a very high slippery dip that would contravene most health and safety regulations.
Children are not the only devotees. In spring, when the flower buds open to crimson spikes, there is a mysterious hum in the air. If you look closely, you will see hundreds of bees hovering around the stamens and pollen, popular amongst indigenous Australians to suck on, or make into a sweet drink. Birds also compete and flap through the branches; nature’s feast.
So, when it comes to the conversation about our dilapidated house and unkempt garden, I say, you can knock down the house but save the trees. The many: camellias, hibiscuses, oleanders, nectarines, orange and cumquat. You can replace crappy floor-boards and walls, but you can’t replace years of nature’s nurturing love and devotion. That’s why I will never sell, regardless of revolting bathrooms. I need to save the trees from reckless developers and ignoramuses that don’t appreciate our leafy friends.
Long live the trees, no matter how annoying.
Burnside Writers Group 