A Grievable Life...
To live in this world You must be able To do three things: To love what is mortal; To hold it against your bones knowing Your own life depends on it; And, when the time comes to let it go To let it go ~ From In Blackwater Woods by Mary Oliver . I last visited the pond at the end of April 2022, I wrote a piece about how this body of water has become my Blackwater pond and posted a few photographs which attempted to capture it’s beauty. Amongst these milkwoods was my old acquaintance, the tortoise tree of which I wrote last year upon our happy reunion. (The Source). This place is at it’s most beautiful in mid-winter (now) when the arum lilies are in flower and the fresh green growth protrude through the marshy water. At this time all the old limbs of the milkwoods are draped in mossy velvet. Their idiosyncratic and sometimes cantankerous likenesses are rendered wonderous, and the stillness of this respite permeate the entire forest. When I left here at the end of April it was not without a sense of anticipation for the wonders I might find here on my return in winter. Today I went for a walk in the forest in the late afternoon. It soon became clear, that some work had been done, and were likely to continue. I wonder if they are going to build a boardwalk here, my daughter mused. I felt the hard egg of anxiety drop heavily. As I went through the entrance to the pond my heart sank. Heavy work boots had been through here. The arum lilies laid trampled. The canopy seemed thinned. There were very little green, everything seemed bleak and washed out. As I arrived at the tortoise tree, I realised that the overhanging limbs had been trimmed. The tree is still there, perhaps even a little relieved. The tortoise-like branch was not… It lay a little way to the side, dead, brown, discarded, not even a tuff of moss in sight. It had gone the way of all ephemeral things. The workforce had been there and with majestic efficiency had completed the municipal contract. They had trimmed overhanging, branched which could pose a threat to hikers’ safety. Men doing their work, to put food on the table. They had taken care to provide care. These trees are protected* and the dead and dying limbs must be trimmed. The best time to do this is in winter. The lilies will grow back. In time the canopy will close again. New growth will sprout from old branches. Yet my old acquaintance will not return. I have more than enough photographs of this branch. I could revisit the memory of the encounter at any time, by reading the piece I wrote. I know all things are ephemeral… Yet one question lingers. Can one grieve for a severed branch? What constitutes a grievable life? *This stretch of milkwood forest is part of the Fernkloof Nature reserve and is a protected area. This section provides a microenvironment rich in biodiversity. Special permission is needed to prune milkwoods in terms of the National Forest Act.
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AuthorLaurette de Jager is a Visual Artist working with the Ephemeral Nature of Things, in the hope of finding new ways of existing in a dying Archives
October 2023
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©2022 by Laurette de Jager
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