THE JOY OF TOUCHING MY BABY BAOBAB TREE
Have you ever touched a three-day old Baobab tree?
Not? Me neither; except for this morning, touching my own little big-tree. I
now battle to think law, to think about my “mob-justice” matters and murder and
serial rapists and so on. How difficult to think on the ConCourt’s latest
judgment on the doctrine of common purpose; ten judges sitting; five in favour
and five against.
What is now on my mind?
My baby baobab. Two days old.
Or, for that matter, have you ever touched a sprouting
Franschhoek Oak tree [that is in all probabilities an off-spring of the South
African oaks growing in Delville Wood cemetery, that in turn hails from our
flagship botanical garden in Capetown, Kirstenbosch; the oaks there, were
originally brought from France to my country during the 1600’s] and now growing
in Rivonia where Nelson Mandela was hiding at Liliesleaf; my Oaks at just on 2
years old are far too small for anybody to hide under or to sit in its shade; I
have to sustain them otherwise … no, I don’t want to think about the
”otherwise.”
Or, have you ever touched a baby Mopani tree
sprouting somewhere?
Or a baby impala lily tree?
What about a sambokpeul-tree? Well, I don’t even
know what it looks like, yet I am growing it.
All of these “babies,” except the Oaks, are a couple
of days old. The oaks are almost just on 2 years old and doing well.
I am not a botanist, nor an arborealist or a gardener
of longstanding. In fact, I am at 74 years a very young gardener: I only
started gardening with five vegetables [tomatoes, basil and something else] on
the 1st of January 2013. Later on, my gardener brought me five
“Malawi-pumpkin seeds” that turned out to be ordinary butternuts and that, you
can buy in abundance from your local grocer. The second lot were indeed from
Malawi and I tended one that grew and grew and grew. During covid-19 lock down,
I donated it to MES to make food for the street people: 15 kg pumpkin soup. Several
others were averaging 7.5 kilos.
Then my sister, who lived in Wellington Western Cape
passed on, and, on the way back from the funeral we stayed over at Franschhoek
on a kind of a farm and that’s where I picked up the oak seeds.
My wife: “What are you doing?”
Me: “Picking up oaks.”
She: “What for?”
“To grow.”
“It grows slow and gets big.”
“I know.”
“The root system are huge and probably extremely
invasive?”
“Yes.”
That was just more than two years ago and my five oaks
are still babies standing on a home-made, tailor-made trestle-table for my
maternity ward plants; during winter they lose their leaves, just like their
big brothers and big sisters; come spring, they spring into life with new
leaves just as their big brothers and sisters. The first seasonal change from
summer to autumn, all their leaves fell off; I was heartily disappointed in
myself; that was the definitive proof of me being a failure to grow oaks. My
brother-in-law, put my mind at ease: “Don’t worry, that is what oak trees do in
winter.”
Then we attended a 70th birthday party and
met other oldies having a whale of a time with weird and wonderful stories and
using cell phone cameras sending WhatsApp images to their children in New
Zealand [or other places] bragging that we oldies can have parties and we can
enjoy it; eating ice-cream, drinking coffee or perhaps tea, some even had
rooibos. Some oldies were sharing pills that were prescribed by their doctors,
whom are the best in South Africa, and helped them a lot; “you should try it as
well, my brother tried it and it was spot on, try it.”.
Thea, her husband Pierre was officiating at our mutual
friend’s wedding 45 years ago, was telling me how she collects seeds; always
collecting; always stopping her vehicle to get out and to harvest seeds; not
only collecting but cultivating them at the retirement village, later on
planting them out into the wild. She re-introduced trees that were extinct, on
her brother-in-law’s farm; new life sprouted around these indigenous trees and
wildlife is returning to where they belong.
She sent me three different seeds using a very
unwilling, recalcitrant “courier” an ex-professor in geology who promptly lost
the seeds. “Who does she think she is to use me as a courier? I’ve got better
things to do” [yes, he is an expert on searching classical music on youtube]. Renosterkoffie-tree,
huilboerboon-tree and pronksterttuitpeulboom-tree [on the list of
threatened trees]. Undaunted, she couriered other seeds, using a willing and
well-paid courier and three days later I got them: VanWykshout-tree, sambokpeul-tree,
kremetart [Baobab], adenium lily [impala lily], koraal-tree,
mopani tree and a snail vine tree.
Now, my baobab seeds are starting to sprout, and
already my friends are worried about the space it is going to fill: “You
obviously forgot it is going to be gigantic?” I think their worries are
unfounded and definitely pre-mature. My baobab is only two days old. Have a
heart. And when my tree is an adult, I won’t be here to tend it. When this tree
is mature, nobody who is alive now, will be around to look after my tree. When
it reaches old age, nobody for the next 400 – 450 years will be around. Stop
worrying. In the meantime, I would ask somebody to look after my trees: “Please
cultivate my trees with a long-term view of life and of trees.”
Let’s get back to the baobab. I touched the sprout
this morning. I am an ordinary guy who is intrigued by this thing we call LIFE.
Life is very simple: you either grow a baobab in your backyard [aka a maternity
ward], or you don’t. Easy and simple.
What is so strange about growing an acorn from
Franschhoek?
Is it strange to grow a baobab in “captivity”? Goodness
knows where the seeds came from originally. What matters now is that it is growing
in Rivonia Johannesburg and it is in its pot in my maternity ward among my
other plants. My neighbour is kind to me; his angel’s trumpets are crouching
over the boundary wall, guarding over it with its bright yellow trumpets that
last a day or so – then others get the opportunity to guard over the very young
baobab.
Looking on at this lot, I am flooded with emotions:
can it be true? Can it be real that I am growing this tree? I have seen very
young upside-down-trees in Zambia who look like teens hanging around in Hyde
Park, sporting an iPhone – trying to look and act as if he/she is an adult.
When I was driving past them in a rental car on my way to Kariba Dam to see for
myself the dam that the Late Queen Elizabeth II visited in the 60’s, I never
had the faintest of an idea that many years later I would grow some [I am still
waiting for four seeds to sprout].
The story of a baobab? Do you really expect me to tell
you that? No, I am not going to, because I know that you, my reader, have
already asked Prof G. O. Ogle for an expert opinion. Or, if you use chatgpt, it
gives you more than you can chew. How to grow a baobab from seed? How to tend
it? And lots more. These artificial intelligence guys will tell you that you
should soak the seeds in hot water overnight [how do you keep the water hot?];
I haven’t because, so my reasoning goes, it does not happen in the veld, so why
should I do it? My seeds love me for not soaking them.
At this point, I am just basking in the sunlight
shining on my two baobab seedlings and my five Franschhoek acorns and on
my impala lily and my Vanwykshout-trees and my sambokpeul-trees and
others that are still labouring under the crust of the soil to break free to
see the light. Walking this morning in my maternity ward, I was welcomed by my
neighbours bright yellow angels trumpets voluntary. If you worry about me and
my trees, for instance where to plant it, I am of the opinion that you are
pre-mature. Or, if not premature, why don’t you think SMALL for a change? That
is what the Japanese are doing for centuries: thinking small then you are
really thinking big.
All of a sudden it makes sense, not so?
If you are suffering from being a left
brain-cerebral-type-only, click on this link for starters: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adansonia
Neels Coertse
Rivonia
Wednesday
23 October 2024
E-mail account: neelscoertse@wirelessza.co.za
