#sempervirens

NOMINATED BY: Lisa Sture

The Phoenix Tree. (Private site Royal Forestry Society) I have nominated a tree in mid-Wales close to Offa's Dyke Path, lying just a short walk down a track. It offers a rewarding and uplifting short detour. Locally, it is called the Mother Tree and is a Coast Redwood ( Sequoia sempervirens ) in the heart of this cathedral-like forest of towering giants. The Mother Tree is a fallen tree. It fell over in 1936 and was left. Delightfully, a number of the upward facing branches grew, forming a connected row of trees. It is sometimes called the Phoenix tree, however with it's giant claw - and being in Wales - it could also be called The Dragon Tree!

Whilst walking in the forest, this tree invites you to pause, and in pausing, the tremendous peace of this place can be felt and the songs of uncommon birds heard, reminiscent of the sounds in a rain forest. I felt this invitation to pause when I first saw photographs of it, and I knew I would visit.

When I sat with this tree, I found myself reflecting on these times of ecological fragility, and how this tree speaks of robustness, that nature will heal and regenerate over and over if left. Of course, 'if left' is the crux, and thankfully this grove is being looked after. The bark on redwoods contain tannin and is fibrous and thick. The bark on the biggest trunk actually feels hug-able, it is so like a teddy bear! Redwoods are some of the longest-lived trees and can live to 3,000 years old. I feel lucky to be able to experience the majesty of these trees and the sense of balance I feel around them. As I looked up through the canopy, it did indeed feel like a cathedral.

 Note: This grove was planted in 1857, just 3 years after the first redwoods arrived in the UK from California. It was planted with the intention that it would be the largest Redwood Grove in Europe - making this one of the most historically significant stands of trees in the UK.

READ MORE at the RFS website>

Nearby there are examples of how Coast Redwoods send up new shoots when the tree is cut down. This is called coppicing and is common in broadleaved trees such as oak, ash and hazel but is very rare in conifers. ©Royal Forestry Society

The site was gifted to the Royal Forestry Society on 17th October 1958. It's now a private site and permission must be gained to visit. Their website provides more details. Click here to go to the location of the tree recorded onto the  

Sempervirens photoset for @thegreyhenley

Hello, lovelies! I’ve posted this on my blog, but I thought I’d put it here in case my post got lost in the ether. This community is so fun and inviting. I hope you all enjoy!

Click here for Chapter One!

Click here for Chapter Two!

It isn’t hard to get lost in the Elsewhere University Library.

One minute, you’re looking for a window seat on the second floor. The next, you discovered a staircase you hadn’t noticed before, and find yourself in a maze of unfamiliar offices and bookshelves that aren’t organized in any particular way. It’s just something about the library. The layout makes no practical sense. If you don’t stick to the well-tread paths, you wind up finding a table with a wobbly leg squeezed inside a tight maze of bookshelves.

That’s where the Librarian had sent me.

The shelves of the northwest corner on the third floor were packed so close together, I had to take my backpack off so that I could slip between them. Books filled every inch of space, forming solid walls of written knowledge. It was as if I were entering some fortress of learning, or the Temple of Doom. I began to wonder why the Librarian had recommended a spot so secluded. Were my scattered thoughts so apparent?

As I slid through the narrow opening between the shelves, my nose passed inches away from a row of books. I squinted at the unusual titles. The Thirteen Principles of Wish-making, Faire Folke and Luminous Beings, Metallurgy for Auracular Protections, Wylde Gentrye… Some of the titles weren’t even in English. Some weren’t even in any recognizable form of language. Strange symbols whirled across their antique covers. I blinked and pushed my glasses back up to the bridge of my nose. The whirling stopped.

When I set my bag down on the nondescript-green painted table, it rocked to the side, threatening to topple over. I scowled in frustration. Stupid table. Stupid library that makes no sense. Stupid librarian telling me to sit at the shitty table. I hefted my books from my bag and spread them out across the surface.

About fifteen minutes into my Calculus homework, thick raindrops pattered against the window behind me. Absently, I checked the weather app on my phone. Sunshine all week, yeah, right.

Another hour later, I was bathed in golden light as the sunset poured through the window. At least, I thought it was an hour. It couldn’t have been much more than that as I was still slaving away over my Calculus questions. They day was flying away from me. As the moon peeked out over the tops of the buildings to visit my hidden corner, my head began to feel heavy. I blinked the sleep from my eyes. Blurry numbers smeared across the pages of my notebook. I gave myself a light slap.

Leaning back, I stared at the walls of books around me. Had the Librarian sent me to the Children’s Books section? Thin, brightly colored tomes lined the shelves. I pulled myself out of my seat and strode around the table. I reached out my hand and slid a book from the stacks at random. The Good Neighbours. I fanned the thick parchment-like pages through my fingers, stopping just to examine the pictures. A tall man with horns and hooved feet carried a girl away into the woods. Men and women wore heavy rings on their fingers and on chains around their necks. Milk and bread left on plates outside of doorways. A man ran screaming from white creatures on black horses, their hounds snapped at his heels with jaws like bear-traps. It was all so horrifically familiar. My hands quivered, but I could not stop turning the pages.

It all began to make sense, in a fantasy sort of way. Fairies. Goddamn fairies were stalking the edges of the university. Whoever had taken Jenny from Lot C was not a Someone, but a Something. Frigid sweat beaded on the back of my neck at the thought of the boy with the jagged, broken smile. I wasn’t paranoid. I had been right all along.

I spent the night skimming through pamphlets and old books. I took pages of notes. There were spaces between things, where time and dimension could Fold over on itself. Things that came through these Folds were glamouredto the human eye. There were ways you could see them. You didn’t want to see them. Protection, protection, protection.

It was dangerous to make deals with the Fair Folk. They could take things you didn’t know you could give, important things. Their gifts were impossible, beautiful, and terrifying. Those who managed to make a deal were forever changed.

When I squeezed through the gap in the bookshelves and returned to my dorm room, I had somehow missed the entire weekend and was running late for Chemistry 101. My greasy hair stuck up in all directions. Dark circles sagged under my eyes.

The Librarian smiled and waved at me as I jogged out into the morning mist. “Hope you found what you were looking for!” Her thin voice rang in my ears.

For the next four days, I was possessed by an unholy desire to Know. I searched for a Fold with single-minded clarity. If I could speak to one, I could find Jenny.

The nightmares got worse. The blaring of horns and yowling dogs got louder.

Last night I woke in the small hours of morning, drenched in salty sweat, and Something was sitting on my chest. It was the size of cat, but much heavier. The space it occupied was an inconceivable black mass in the darkness. The blurry, pale glow of my laptop screen was lost in its depths. A tiny black hole rested on my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut and reached for my glasses. My fingers pawed blindly at the table until they rested on the round plastic shape of my glasses. I stuffed them onto my face.

The Thing had gone. The weight, heavy and warm, remained. I gasped for air. Panic clutched at my lungs and stomach. I grasped my chest and felt something in my hands. It was a rock the size of a baseball. A dark brown coating of rust clung to its surface. No, it wasn’t rust. As I flaked a piece off with my fingernail I stifled a scream. 

The rock was coated with dried blood.

Name: Lorena ( @sempervirens )

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