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?

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