GLENCOE BAOBAB TREE

 

Can you see the matchbox on the trunk?

We went in search of this tree: we made our own long weekend of it. I did a bit of reading about champion trees of cities and countries. A fascinating subject. Glencoe — not Glencoe in Natal; this is the Glencoe tree near Hoedspruit.

At one stage it was the champion tree of our country, South Africa, and then the old fellow fell over — and someone wrote that it was all over and that it was no longer worth visiting. It is indeed worth the effort to find and see the tree. But in our modern internet world, it is no longer much of a search — you sit in the comfort of your own home, contact the owners, and they send you the so-called “pin”, and there you are, jumping into your car and driving there at a respectable speed.

Do go without a tour guide, because there are tour guides who do not know where the tree is, even though they are standing only a few paces away — and then they see another baobab. Look at it. Sigh and click their tongues. Look. Take a bunch of selfies, jump back into their tour vehicles and move on to the next item on their journey through the TO-DO list for the day.

You know the TO-DO list, don’t you? Every morning you get up and look for your TO-DO list and start working at it like a madman because you are chasing “experiences” — that is what this mad rush is called: experiences for you and your little children. The more, the better. The more superficial, the more important, because then you can tick it off on your TO-DO list; also lovingly referred to as MY BUCKETLIST. Your list does not get any shorter because your other friends keep urging you to chase after even more things. Life is all too short and the BUCKET LIST is growing.

I have a simple concept in my head about this merry-go-round and this mad chase after the winds of change. People shout: “You are surely inseparably part of this rat race. Aren’t you?” You know, I have not been part of this silly game for so many years now that I no longer feel bad about it. Why not? As I said, I am not part of any rat race. The reason is very simple: I AM NOT A RAT. I was created in the image of Almighty God and not in the image of a rat — rats get rat poison.

I am not a rat.

It is abundantly clear that my wife and I are not rats

So, my wife and I quietly drove at a maximum of 100 kilometres per hour north from our home in Rivonia to Hoedspruit to go and look at the tree.

We spent the night in Middelburg, Mpumalanga, and chatted with family. One of my nieces asked where we were going, and her sister answered: “He is going to look at a tree.” Indeed. That is the purpose: to go and look at a tree.

[This reminds me of the time I went to Britain in 1975 to look at specific pieces of furniture and to look at a rare book: the first-day edition of William Shakespeare’s work; it was not available; I found a first-day publication of THE CANTERBURY TALES, written by Geoffrey Chaucer between 1387 and 1400.]

That afternoon I went for a walk around the guesthouse and looked at a crumpled-looking tree. Behind the generic concrete fence, a woman with curlers in her hair stood shouting at me: “Sir, do you have a problem?”

I thought to myself that, even if I did have a problem, I was not going to discuss it with her.

So, I answered her: “Madam, I am looking at the tree on the pavement.”

Then I simply walked off.

Early the next morning, just after breakfast, we set off on our way to the Tree.

We slept in the tented camp. Needless to say, it is not the standard of our home, but that was not what we had gone there for either.

The owner received us as though we had known one another for years — and pointed us in the general direction of their pride: that way.

 

The seedpod

And she gave me a seed pod, with compliments from her husband.

For the next five days I probably walked around four or five times every day to go and greet this old giant. My cell phone camera worked overtime.

I had the idea of using a matchbox to provide a sense of scale — the moment I put it against the trunk, at that very moment I felt downright silly. Surely this was the most grotesque piece of visual imagery I could possibly have thought of.

As I took the photographs, a thought seemed to hit me over the head: get something else for scale, get something else for scale.

No! This is not right.

Yet I left it, and carried on taking photographs. These are the most bizarre photographs yet — and I discovered that bizarre imagery tells a story far better than I can do with words.

The age of the tree was analysed using carbon dating, and the scientific finding is that it is between 1,850 and 2,000 years old — the article was published in 2012. Here is the link to the article: Scientific article on the Glencoe baobab https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0168583X1200273X

The old tree broke in 2009.

Wilma Stockenström wrote DIE KREMETARTEKSPEDISIE, and J. M. Coetzee translated it as THE BAOBAB EXPEDITION. This book was the first item I packed for our expedition. And I introduced this Old Giant to Wilma’s book.

That Old Giant messes with one’s head — now I am very proud of my photographs because I have captured the true image of this enormous old beast.

Do have a look at my gallery of photographs.

Please write me your story and send it to neelscoertse@wirelessza.co.za