The Phoenix - Myth or Metaphor

By Vic Downton

Thoughts on cities and conservation

        I love the mythology of the Phoenix; such an inspirational symbol of hope and renewal. Imagine a bird living for a thousand years, before destroying itself by sitting in the midst of its burning nest, then rising, newly formed, from its own ashes. It works as a metaphor in human life and it works as a metaphor in nature. I recommend Wikipedia's page titled, 'Phoenix (mythology)'. It describes most eloquently how this fundamental idea of destruction and renewal, death and resurrection has arisen independently in so many cultures across the world. Also embodied in this mythological story is the idea of cycles of birth and death, not just in an individual sense, but in the patterns of nature and the workings of the universe. One can see how such a myth could have arisen. Our ancestors would have lived much closer to the cycles of the seasons and the rotations of the stars than we do today, and they would have witnessed the Phoenix rise from the ashes of forest fires and volcanic conflagrations in the form of new growth, new life. Nothing, we know, will last forever, but the Phoenix shows how, in endless cycles, death is followed by resurrection.

        Well, our garden is hardly a pile of ashes, but over the past six years it has suffered a substantial conflagration through the felling of trees, both in it and around it. I think we counted five in all. Under the circumstances, the name 'Phoenix Garden' was almost inevitable as a new garden is to be born from the ruins of the old. But as we began to engage with the philosophy of conservation, (our phoenix garden), we realized how the loss of these trees has had an impact on the wider environment, especially in terms of wild life habitat. How many creatures have had to relocate or die as a result of this loss? It would take decades to restore the trees, even if we could plant more, so will our 'Bees, Butterflies and Blooms' project actually do any good?

        I'm fortunate to live on the top floor of our apartment block, which is sited on the top of a hill overlooking the city. I have a wonderful view, across the eastern suburbs of Bristol to the cities edge and the ridge of rounded hills a few miles distant. I see a forest of rooftops and chimnies, high rise blocks and television aerials and scattered across the city, poking up above the red roof-tiles, I see the upper branches of trees, probably thousands of them, but I've never counted. In the summer sun, they glow emerald against the terracotta rooftops.

         Bristol is built on seven hills, like Rome, according to the man in the pub. From my window the terracotta tiles and the green trees lie upon these undulations like a tapestry. The loss of our five trees has made a small hole, like the ashes of a Phoenix nest, right in the middle of the pattern. I wonder how many holes there are that I cannot see?

        As cities go, I think Bristol does pretty well on the conservation front. In large part we have to thank the BBC and heroes such as Peter Scott, David Attenborough and the 'Spring Watch' team for inspiring British people to care about the natural world the way that we do. As a nation we have become very concerned about conservation issues and here in Bristol people are rightly proud of the fact that the BBC has chosen to locate its Natural History Unit here. But most of the time all we can offer is sentiment. We might worry about polar bears and snow leopards but what can we do? Nothing. I think too, that, given their limitations, the City Council leans positively towards conservation imperatives, but in the end, this is still a city with all the negative implications of the motor car and urban sprawl. If there is a battle between the natural world and our own it is taking place on an epic scale that no individual has the power to influence. Indeed, the red warnings are out for life on Earth itself. True, we have only recently been awakened to the dangers facing our global environment, nevertheless, the rate at which we destroy the natural world still far outstrips the rate at which we replenish it. Across Bristol's green and terracotta tapestry, how many destructive conflagrations have resulted in the birth of a Phoenix? I suspect, not enough. With the decline of natural habitat in the countryside, scientists are now warning of the dangerous decline in populations of pollinating insects, especially bees. This, they say, could lead to a catastrophic collaps in plant species which could herald a mass extinction event. The Phoenix's nest is on fire, could the urban landscape come to the rescue?

        The task seems monumental, but in this small sense I am optimistic, I have faith in the Phoenix. But we too must rise to the challenge. I know that many Bristol people campaign for environmental improvement both municipal and private and that hundreds volunteer their time, year on year, to conservation projects. Now gardeners and horticulturalists are turning their attention more and more towards the plants that support our endangered pollinators. A straw poll of people I know reveals a big thumbs up for Sarah Raven and her philosophy of 'Bees, Butterflies and Blooms'. I can see wildflower seeds being a big seller this year. I'm sure we are not the only Phoenix garden, there must be many spread across the city, just ordinary people like us doing the best they can to mend the holes in the tapestry. The zeitgeist is conservation. Could it be, the Phoenix is rising?

        ~~~

The Planting of the Gingko Biloba

            How exciting, we've just got a new one of these!!

                             ...but will we live to see it grow like this?

                              Probably not, but we've planted it anyway.

            It is Thursday, 8th March, 2012. We knew this was the day of the planting, but the tree-men were here before we'd finished our cornflakes. Thus we failed to capture for posterity, that first cut of the spade. Nevertheless, a digging man will always attract an audience. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it.

                                        It has to be said, it was a lovely day for it...

          ...but it's no good waiting there, Richard. It could be thirty years before the birds nest in it.

     The sun burned down but our digger dug manfully on inspite of the heat.  (About 10deg C)

Down and down he dug until he hit a snag!
     Is it a water pipe, is it a drain...?

No! It's a massive root from the old tree.
     
      Given that the Cedar was only 32 years old, see how quickly it had grown in our wet climate - this root must be six inches in diameter. It makes one realize just how much of the old tree must still lie burried. Keep digging, keep digging...





                Stop everything! I've found a bit of old brick.
     

Quick! Call for 'Time Team.'                                                                  













Typical isn't it. You wait hours for an assistant  then three come along at once.


                                            'Wow! That's a big one.'
                                            'It's deep too.'
                                            'Did you remember to pack the chain saw.'
                                            'No. I didn't think we'd need it.'
                                            'So, what are we going to do?'
                                                                     A scratching of heads.
                                                                                                  'I know...

                    ...let's 'ave a cuppa tea.'
     










           'Have you remembered the tree?'
        'Of course, it's in the truck.'

                    
                        'Call that a tree?'

                                                                       'Call that a truck?' 

Now, now boys, love and peace, love and peace. Let's see what it looks like in the ground. 

'Butiful!'

                                                                                                                                   

'Bit small isn't it? Like a tooth pick with split ends.'
'It's only a baby, give it a chance.'
'A baby! Ahhhh...













'What I need is a nice steak.
            'Yer, wiv onions and mustard.'

                    'No, you muppet! To turn the tree.'

                'Oh! I see...

...to turn the tree.

               Frotunately JJ is on hand to explain that the branches have to be orientated the right way in relation to the surrounding walls. (Know all)

It's also good that James is keeping an eye on things, there's no one knows a wall from a window better than James. Takes a pretty mean photo too, but we have not yet mastered the transfer from Apple Mac.

Now comes the tricky bit, the staking of the tree.

                  Four hefty stakes are driven into the earth at angles to cross beneath the root-ball, forming a basket with deep rooted legs. These stakes will remain in the ground to rot away while the Gingko roots negociate their way around them. But they will stay strong enough for long enough to hold the sapling firmly and invisibly in place, by means of a cunning ploy.

                                                                  Two pieces of wood are placed either side of the trunk to protect the root-ball from the wires that will hold it down.

.                                  

                             The wires are secured and tightened.


 Then the steaks are driven home with a big hammer...

... and the Gingko Biloba stands tall against the sky...

...its young buds just bursting to pop.

     Well, we thought, now the exciting bit is done, we'll have a quick cuppa tea then watch them fill in the hole. But before you could say 'Jack Robinson'...!!! a glitch in my computer blocked the transfer of pictures and brought the narative to a stop! #*!!pht computers! ... To be continued.

Garden Wars

Ronan O'Snodaigh 
recites the title poem from his new collection the garden wars 

Taking a look around

       




        It is early February, the skies are grey and, quite frankly, the garden looks miserable. Dominated as it is by the massive red brick apartment block, which is more a statement of municipal power than a work of art, one can't help but wonder how any garden could turn this spot into a desirable place to be. Anna Millar, our contract garden designer has her work cut out. Still, she has left her first draft plans with us and we do like her ideas so far. It looks as though we're talking the same language. I have photograped her drawings and will look at them in the next blog. We look forward to a more in depth talk with Anna at a meeting on 21st March.

            

The winter has been mild, so far. Many plants have remained green, unburned by frost. Nevertheless, they look exhausted, as if their efforts to grow through the short dark days have tired them out.

         Only the ivy appears strong and vigorous. It lies like a brooding monster across the old rockery, watching for the first hint of spring so it may fling out it's tendrils to capture new territory. It will smother anything in it's path.
        I am told that, if this garden was simply left to it's own devices, it would not be invading species that take over but all the plants that are already here. Left to themselves they would simply compete and grow to dominate the spaces available. We have only identified one or two plants so far (we really are gardening beginners), but it is likely that most of them are hybrids, unsuitable as a food source for pollinating insects. If we are to establish a wild life friendly garden, we will have to import most of the insect attracting plants. An early task then, is to identify quickly what plants we have and which we want to keep. A walk around the garden reveals only a small number of spiecies, so perhaps the task will not be too onerous.

       

        A casual stroll, giving yourself time to pause and look at the garden from different points of view, reveals some interesting nooks and crannies. Take this Victorian brick wall, for instance, so full of time and history and character. Can we keep it, or is it too fragile to stand?

           I like it, just for the textures...

                       ...but what do we do about this?                     

              This steep bank has a fall of almost ten feet. It gets no sun and could even be dangerous. I know... let's cover it in ivy.



The Forsythia and the Parson's Stump.           This corner could be very pretty. The stone pillar is a memorial dedecated to The Reverend Joseph Wood, who died in 1869 and his good wife Maryann who died four years later. the Reverend Wood was vicar of the Victorian Methodist church that once occupied the site. The dedications were carved on the pillar when it supported the organ loft. When the loft was rebuilt the pillar was saved and set up in the garden as a memorial. In fact the history of this site goes back hundreds of years, we are looking into it. (More in the 'History' page, when we get to it.) The Forsythia is infected with a virus and is covered with galls. It's fate is in the ballance, but fear not, Anna, has plans for this corner. Behind it is a Buddleia, the 'butterfly bush'. This is what we want, isn't it? But this plant is so vigorous, we might be wise to get rid of it.                                    

             This is what you see if you stand rigt in the corner and look through the branches of the Forsythia and Buddleia.

                   When I look at this I think we should grow ivy over the entire orange ediface and have done with it. That's why they planted the conifers of course, to hide the oppressive architecture. I told you Anna has her work cut out. Still, this picture shows three of the garden walls, the old and the new houses at the back, the new wing to the right and the pink wall on the left. There isn't much we can do about the reb brick, but look at the pink wall. In the summer it gets full sun all morning...

                    ... What could we grow here, apples?

   

         

        Bleak and uninteresting as a February garden might be, one cannot take a camera outside without finding some wonderful little gems...

        ...like this.

You are being watched!

       





This is the pattern of rings in the bowl of the great Lebonese Cedar.
A dendrochronologist's heaven.
        I was told by the tree surgen, that it is because of Britain's wet climate that this tree has grown so rapidly. The width of each ring, shows the growth in a single year.


        There are a pair of doves that regularly inspect this bird house. I don't know if we should encourage them or not, (do they multiply like pigeons?), but this little wall is part of the garden's history.

         It has no function and the old morta has turned to soil, but surely we must try to save it.

        Just out of interest, this is the view from the other side of that same wall, showing the lifeless forest of red brick that surrounds the garden.













       Plants too catch the eye, like this red berry, left over, it seems, from the autumn feast. I don't yet know the name of the plant.



             The delicate seed head on this Japanese Anemone was too exquisit to miss. I am reliably informed that birds use the cotton-like seeds to line their nests. Perhaps a good reason to keep it for the new garden.

            And what about this ubiquitous weed, where does it fit in the eco-system? It provides a short but lovely display of purple flowers in the summer and seems to prefer to root in the cracks in walls. Could it play a roll in our conservation garden?

              This is the stump of the Robinia. It too has its roll in the cycles of life. Look at the plants gathering around its base. Should we try and save this too? 

            

          But for me, it's the Reverand's memorial stump that symbolizes the old garden. It is, after all a link to the garden's past. The great cedar that dominated the garden until a month ago was a mere 32 years old, this stone pillar dates back to 1792 and has direct links to Captain Webb and the Methodist Church in America. I think we should keep it.

                        So, there it is, a little glimpse of the garden as it is today. In fact, we've taken these photographs just in time, for tomorrow, (Thursday 8th March), a new tree will grace the garden. We get little say in this, however. It is, after all, municipal land and the Council has strict planning rules concerning it's trees. If a tree is felled, it must be replaced with another of the Council's specification. We were given two choices, American Oak or Gingko Biloba. By popular vote we went for the Gingko. Fortunately, Anna has the last word as to where it will be sited.   

        Watch this space then for the planting of the Gingko tree, the onging identification of plants, the progress of spring, and Anna's plans for paradise.



The Blank Canvas

We're going to have a new garden. Whoopee...!

  
      This is the walled garden to the rear of our home, a block of  apartments, slap bang in the centre of Bristol where we diarists live. This picture was taken from the third floor balcony and faces south west.
     This garden was beautiful once. The devestation that you see comes partly from neglect but mostly from the felling of three great trees. In the central area stood the conifers. A huge Lebonese Cedar dominated eveything. So huge had this specimen grown after only 32 years (we counted the rings), that it endangered the building itself. Where it stood there remain just oragnge chippings. Beside the cedar, a very impatient Leylandii raced to reach the sky. We hate felling trees, but these two had to go. Almost hidden around the corner to the left, a beautiful Robinia enjoyed maximum sunlight for maximum pleasure, but being around the corner, no one could see it. Sadly this tree died, probably of some disease, and was cut down about five years ago. The cedar was the last to face the chain saw. What remains of its bulk is stacked against the pink wall. The ivy that grew in its shade still covers the rockery and the forsythia in the far corner is covered with galls.
       
        In the chill of early February, the whole space is drab and uninteresting. Surrounded as it is by red brick buildings, it is not an inviting place to be, but there is hope. The garden is to be re-modelled by Knightstone, the management company, and we, the residents, have been given a say in the planting. The question is, what do we do with it?

     With a blank canvas like this, we could do almost anything, but mindful of the plight of our pollinating insects, we have decided to follow Sarah Raven's conservation philosophy of 'Bees, Butterflies and Blooms'. Now, we (the residents) are not necessarily in the prime of our lives. Some of you might already know what I mean, the floor is getting farther away and once you get down you can't get up again. Truth is, we won't be doing much gardening, but if we can't 'do' we can at least watch. Day by day and season by season we can record the lives of the flora and fauna with dates for flowerings and first sightings of insects and birds accompanied by photographs and observations. As the garden matures we will be able to record the annual changes and watch for new species migrating north with the changing climate.

        Gardens, of course, mature over generations and we, the residents of Knightstone House, will not live to see this one in its full glory, but we are part of its conception, we will winess its birth, follow its infancy and bequeath it to the next generation. The object of this diary is to record the progress of the garden through time. We are setting out to chart the natural history of this little plot, bare of concrete and set in the very midst of a great brick city. Could such a space be a refuge for endangered wildlife, and could such an enclosed space form part of a wildlife corridor?

        We are not scientists, to be fair we're not even gardeners, but we can learn and with the right guidance, we hope to make some small contribution to the scientific program that is collecting such data from all over Britain. We hope too, to make contact with others who share these interests and concerns. This cannot be a new idea and there must be many people and groups who are involved with conservation projects. If such a network already exists, we hope to become part of it.

     The heavy brigade move in with their diggers in May. Between now and then the wilderness in the picture will be tranformed into a battle ground as everything bursts forth and competes for space. While it will all be swept away in a few weeks, our little group is on a steep learning curve so to record this first flush of spring will help us to organise our record systems, and get to grips with the technicalities of computers. (For instance, don't press 'publish' when you mean 'save to drafts'.) To record this process is the first chapter of the diary. We will try to update weekly.

        The next blog takes you on a tour of the garden as it is. There is some interesting stuff when you start to explore, so go easy with the heavy diggers, Mr groundwork contractor...

                                                                                ~~~