Derbyshire Trees

“A society grows great when old men plant trees in whose shade they know they shall never sit.”

It’s supposed to be an ancient Greek proverb, but it isn’t. I’m fascinated by the way these things twist and turn and a 1950s sentence in a book becomes both “ancient Greek” and a proverb. However, I’m just as bad – I often say that my grandmother told me something when she didn’t. She did tell me that the weather was bad due to Russian satellites, not to trust American servicemen offering nylons and not to buy rabbits without the skins. The last is the only really useful advice of the three. Despite “the spirit of the blitz” it was known that skinned cats were sold as rabbits, and butchers were prosecuted for it. I never really enjoyed rabbit meat as I always find it too sweet, so I haven’t eaten rabbit since 1982, when I was on an economy drive.

Backlit Sumac Tree in the MENCAP garden

I have planted a few trees over the years, but I’ve also had a few problems with one of the neighbours, who thought I could control where the leaves fall. I can’t, and the law, sensibly, doesn’t expect me to.  Over the years we have lost two birches, a hawthorn, a crab apple and a laburnum from the neighboring gardens. Suburban gardens really aren’t made for tree planting. I may write to the government and suggest they start community arboretums. Or arboreta.  That’s the trouble with Latin plurals – you add an “s” and it looks wrong, you change it to the correct ending and it looks pretentious. I have to be careful of my tendency to pomposity now that I have a conservatory.

You could plant, or have a tree planted for you, in a field on the edge of town where it had room to grow free and contribute to the view and the environment. More trees would grow, nature would benefit, and neighbours would not complain.

Meanwhile, they sky is grey, the back garden is moving in a stiffish breeze and it feels like November.

Trees on a hill near Slaidbirn