Astonishing the Park-Keeper

So long as we regard a tree as an obvious thing, naturally and reasonably created for a giraffe to eat, we cannot properly wonder at it. It is when we consider it as a prodigious wave of the living soil sprawling up to the skies for no reason in particular that we take off our hats, to the astonishment of the park-keeper. – G.K. Chesterton

[Some gum nuts and blossoms of Western Australia] 

There is much Chestertonian astonishment to be had in Western Australia, particularly in spring. That such poor soils can send “sprawling up to the skies” such a variety and beauty of forms and flowers is truly astounding.

There’s a metaphor in there, to be sure. But leaving that and metaphysical matters to whisper from the wings, why should Western Australia’s flora be so astonishing? Isolation is one reason. Long ages of separation from other parts of Australia have given the flora of WA time and space to deal with the difficult climate and soil conditions in their own unique ways.

The age and relative stability of the land has helped too. The glaciation, tectonic movements and other earth shattering episodes of the east have largely left the west unscathed. For perhaps 250 million years the west has known the kind of stability that has allowed its plants to develop and adapt successfully to nutrient poor soils and often dry conditions.

The very richness of species – 13 000 and counting – adds its own competitive pressure. Species push to outdo each other in the race to attract the relatively low number of pollinators, be they birds, invertebrates or mammals.

[Spring in karri and marri forests, WA] 

Adaptable as it is, the west’s amazing flora is under threat from many quarters, most of them human in origin. Land clearing, salination, climate change and inappropriate fire regimes are all obvious and potent threats. A less visible but dire threat comes from a fungus-like pathogen called Phytophthora cinnamomi. Known in the west as dieback, or cinnamon fungus, it is spread in soil and through water and mud. It attacks the root systems of some species – and not others – causing death in susceptible species. In the west that’s 40% of all native species. Boots, camping gear, vehicle tyres and earth-moving equipment are some of its major means of spreading. Once established, it cannot be erradicated.

[Spring blooms in Western Australia]

As we drove through the south-west, two things were obvious. One was the incredible number of four wheel drives, seemingly more than 50% of all vehicles. While most were probably not genuine off-roaders, the potential for spreading die-back by that means alone looks frightening.

The other obvious thing was that we could not, at a glance, see the effects of dieback. But they are there: there in the displacement of the susceptible species by other species; there in the slow disappearence of susceptible species; there in the slow spread of dieback from infected areas to uninfected areas.

[More spring blooms in Western Australia] 

Thankfully we can do something to keep the threat to a minimum, bearing in mind that dieback is a menace in many parts of Australia. We can become hygience conscious with our boots, our vehicles, and our camping equipment. And we can be aware of when we are moving into or out of a dieback infected area. That way we can maintain the park-keeper’s – and our own – astonishment at these wonderful, free floral gifts.

Tenacious Tenuiramis

[A silver peppermint tree clings to the edge of a stone quarry in South Hobart]

What a vantage point we have, caught as we are between earth and sky! You might technically call our dwelling place superficial, but taking into account the vastness of the universe, it is an extraordinarily uncommon superficiality.

There are some trees near home that highlight for me this amazing event horizon; this junction of heaven and earth. Both are humble trees, silver peppermints (Eucalyptus tenuiramis). One stands atop an old quarry in Strickland Avenue. Perilously close to the edge, the twin-trunked tree clasps the crag with crooked hands like Tennyson’s eagle moreso than a tree.

Often eucalypts have shallow roots, and certainly lack the tap roots that we associate with many plants. Rather they splay out strong, sometimes buttressed roots that give them a good toe-hold against storms. This particular peppermint stands on mudstone with a very shallow soil overlay. Both rock and regolith are poor sources of nutrient, and highly prone to drying out. So the tree has grown used to the botanical equivalent of thin gruel. And yet it has done far more than eke out an existence.

It has a handsome golden-flecked double bole, each trunk creased and rumpled, stretching and tapering with a slow and crooked patience towards the sky. Its irregular branches, some clean and straight, others arthritic and contorted, seem all well-covered with narrow grey-green leaves.

Here and there past difficulties have produced failed branches, some hollowed out to owl’s-nest perfection; others still pointing in mute accusation at an unblinking sky. The tenacity of tenuiramis is illustrated elsewhere in our local woodland, a place much put upon by fire, feet and mountain bikes.

[A reclining tree? This Eucalyptus tenuiramis has a very unusual growth aspect]

This tenuiramis seems just a sapling in terms of height, although a hard life may have stunted it. It faces up the slope, almost recumbent, as though it's about to succumb to fatal wounds. Yet on closer inspection I can’t help smiling as I see a nyad extracting her feet from a hole, or a dryad frozen in the act of escaping. No, this tree too is thriving, with a good covering of leaves, and a fair chance of weathering the prevailing nor-westers for decades to come.

I find G.K. Chesterton’s fanciful description of a tree very apt here. It is when we consider it as a prodigious wave of the living soil sprawling up to the skies for no reason in particular that we take off our hats. Tenacious tenuiramis, I dips me lid to you!