The Girl, the Ash, the Plantation… and Wilding

The Girl, the Ash, the Plantation… and Wilding - theHumm February 2020

By Susie Osler

The Girl

She used to sing as she walked past and up the hill, to the rock where she would sit, looking back towards me, and I towards her. We grew up together. She’d walk by me with her dogs in the beginning, when I was barely noticeable, then years later ride by with friends on horses. Then later still, under the spell of boyfriends, she’d walk past, oblivious to my outstretched branches. Now she has a husband. I stood by that year, watching their guests arrive on their wedding day — a river of polka dots and colours flowing down their laneway in front of me.

When she walks out alone, she stops sometimes to listen and gaze towards things that catch her attention. Some days this happily includes me — especially now that I have grown tall and sturdy. And especially in springtime when, perched in my highest branches, towhee or grosbeak sing. Sometimes she speaks joyful notes to us all. Sounds or no sounds, I can feel the warmth of her heart.

But lately, when she passes by I see her looking at me strangely. Her heart now feels heavy. She touched me one day not long ago — at the spot where two men tattooed an orange symbol I don’t understand on my trunk. She uttered something that sounded like a prayer, or maybe a sorrowful lullaby. Something feels wrong.

The Ash

For the past few months, each time I leave the driveway — on foot or in the car — I cannot avoid seeing a big H tattooed in orange spray paint on the trunk of a lovely adolescent ash tree. There is a moment in a tree’s development when it begins to come into its own and says “I’m here!” That is the case for this lovely white ash. It grows nicely at the foot of a rocky outcropping on the other side of the road, with sumac, oak saplings and honeysuckle gathered around it. It’s a handsome tree, with a presence that has now become integral to the place. But sadly that orange H spells the imminent end for the tree, as it has grown inconveniently close to the hydro lines and shall be felled come spring.

I’m noticing that I’ve become increasingly sensitive to just how extensively we humans (myself included) bend nature to suit our needs — even in places that we call “natural” or even “wild”. From forest plantations to hiking trails and parks, we “get back to nature” with our cars, boats, RVs, mountain bikes, snowmobiles, ATVs, pets, and our abundant gear. Nature has become a comfortable and well-worn backdrop for our human activity, for our pleasure, for our selfies, at least as long as she behaves and looks beautiful. Amazingly, she has put up with our efforts to control and contain her for a very long time. But it is becoming apparent that this is changing. What are the costs of control — to human and beyond-human life?

The Plantation

Roughly thirty years ago, a rough swath of well-worn pasture was planted with white pine — one of three such sections planted simultaneously as part of a Managed Forest tax break scheme being offered by the Ministry of Natural Resources. When I first moved here almost twenty years ago and was learning to use a chain saw, the first trails I made were walking paths through these young plantations, made simply by limbing the dead branches from the trunks. I loved opening pathways through the enveloping forest — the dimness and muffled soft sound created by the rows of young pines evoked scenarios from fairy tales — a sort of magical and liminal space that the imagination could step into and emerge from.

But now, after two decades of spending time with the native forest that surrounds these plantations, it is difficult to duck into the dark infantry-like rows of these sections without a twinge of dismay. What is immediately apparent is the stark lack of plant diversity. Linear grids of staid and struggling pines line up like disheveled but well-behaved children living out their lives seated in rows of desks, rather than exploring the dynamic edges of diverse, symbiotic communities. Everything about these plantations speaks sadly of efficiency; a one-size-fits-all mentality and a certain “get-er-doneness” — all of it designed and managed for the benefit of humans.

Wilding

Recently, I read an article about a woman in Ireland who is “rewilding” a small pine plantation where she and her husband live. For several years, she has used video, photography and writing to respond poetically to what is unfolding on her land as a result of their interventions within the plantation. Ash seedlings have starred in her story as the first succession tree species to arise spontaneously in response to increased light levels in places that have been opened up. To many, her efforts may not look like “art”, but in this time of ecological upheaval the world is calling for us to inhabit our lives, our work, and our places differently — in ways that honour, attend to, and serve life with greater reciprocity. This woman’s art practice to me is holistic — a weaving together of ecology, creativity, and a deep ongoing relationship to place in a manner that is refreshingly slow, quiet, and unpretentious. I believe this is a way of doing art that is entirely suited to these times.

Many folk around the world are now heeding the call to rewild with all sorts of small but similarly soulful actions. Here on the farm, my partner and I have begun our own gesture towards “wilding” our plantations by opening pockets of light within the pines to stimulate the emergence of dormant succession species that have been waiting patiently for the right conditions to arise for germination. It is early days yet, but to our delight we recently realized that the few young whips we’ve found sporadically growing up amidst the pines are ash. For me, their presence — in spite of the many challenges facing ash trees today — is a sweet affirmation of the incredible tenacity and generosity of life.

In memoriam – Dr. Bill Buttle - theHumm February 2020

By Kris Riendeau

I honestly can’t remember when Bill Buttle first started contributing Artbeat cartoons to theHumm, but I think it was some time within our first year of publishing. So for the past two decades (give or take a year or two), his humorous take on the world of art and music has had pride of place here on page 2. On Sunday, January 19, Bill passed away peacefully in Arnprior at the age of 79, leaving behind grieving family and friends as well as legions of Artbeat fans throughout......

The Girl, the Ash, the Plantation… and Wilding - theHumm February 2020