Tree Encounters: A Beautiful Tribute to South Africa’s Remarkable Trees
Top of our gift list this season is Tree Encounters: Portraits and Stories from South Africa - author-photographer Brita Lomba and author Ruth Parker’s second book collaboration. Both knowledgeable conservationists and avid adventurers, Tree Encounters is a richly diverse collection of images and stories devoted to protecting the remarkable legacy of trees, says Heidi Bertish.
Showcasing a visually arresting collection of 45 anecdotes, stories and tree musings, Tree Encounters is the result of an extraordinary journey through awe-inspiring destinations across Southern Africa to photograph important and unique trees. These stunning images reveal the sycamore fig they discovered in the ancient fig forest in Mkuze, northern KwaZulu-Natal; a revered yellow, peeling plane tree or 'mutavhatsindi', the most sought-after medicinal tree in Limpopo; and Modjadji cycad (named after the Rain Queen Modjadji), found in the mystical realm of Modjadjiskloof - hidden in the Lovedu Mountains, part of the Balobedu kingdom.
The story of each tree is told by awarded authors, environmental activists, poets, wilderness guides and prominent voices in South African conservation and botany. Tree Encounters is guaranteed to provide intrigue, insightful information and food for the soul. This hardcover is one you’ll want to hold on to for a lifetime. Here, we share an extract on the Cereus cactus, entitled, ‘Queen of the Night’, by author Diane Awerbuck.
In the desert were you and your walled garden, my mystical sister, my second wife, my night-ridden goddess of the grove. Every paradise must have its four rivers streaming out from the centre: love, sorrow, mercy, regret. Leiwater, they call it in NieuBethesda, furrow water, led out to irrigate the kitchens and gardens of the daylight faithful, flowing open or shut as each household takes its appointed share. At sundown we began with boiling that water.
Under the peach tree we drank cups of tea poured from the enamel pot, blossoms falling around us white as blessings, white as the skin under your arms. I told you that the place was named for the healing pool at Jerusalem: in Bethesda all sickness and history are washed away and we emerge healed after our long travails, memorialised, transported, Venetian.
In my dark window now I sit and remember you, a dryad wandering the paths between the sparse bush, the moonlight silvering you and the iron watering can. You wet the peach’s thirsty roots. It doesn’t belong here — peach means from Persia, though it comes from China. In the flesh of the fruit is its long provenance and the journey of the one who eats. See how it flourishes for you. Oh, my love, I will walk the empty road to your bleached house again as the darkness falls.
You will wait for me at your side gate, the cement owl winging over your head. I will mount the steps to where you stand – tiny, smiling, immaculate – and you will lead me inside by the hand as if I am water. Then out, out, to the hard garden beyond, with its Queen of the Night and its prickly pear, along the paths to the gritty wound where the peach tree stood until your father cut it down. There will be other places, and other trees, and we will sit beneath them, and you will comfort me.