Of course, I see its beauty. A lone tree, framed in a natural dip alongside Hadrian’s Wall against the northern sky. But why so much grief? India and Pakistan are on the brink of war, there is a new American Pope, a controversial Trump trade deal, worrying 28-degree spring temperatures, and the rise of Reform UK. Yet, this is the story that everyone seems to be talking about. Really? But, as so many people I love argued it mattered, something in me shifted.
And, it can. Consider my late mum’s fig tree. It’s not grand. Just a twisty, stubborn, extraordinarily fecund giant in her former back garden, planted years ago via a cutting from Italy. It drops sticky, juicy fruit, attracts wasps, disturbs patio paving stones. If the new owner chopped it down, I’d be gutted. The tree is home, “her”, a rare living link with my Italian Heritage.
square SYCAMORE GAP TREE Two men found guilty of cutting down 150-year-old Sycamore Gap tree
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I was wrong about the Sycamore Gap. Those who mourned understood it wasn’t just a tree. It was that tree: one, we’d collectively visited, photographed, symbolised. In rare national consensus: we agreed this was beautiful. It was in Robin Hood Prince of Thieves, for God’s sake. Now, it’s gone – not due to nature or a change in ownership, but senseless destruction. The culprits haven’t given a reason, because there is no reason. In an age of cultural division and environmental despair, small wonder the felling felt like a personal blow. A severing with our culture.
Trees don’t shout, they don’t demand. They simply stand — until they don’t. So yes, mourn the tree. Plant new ones. Rage at the idiocy that brought it down. Let’s not be ashamed of our sentimentality about nature. If anything, we need more of it. Those Romantics had a point. Nature is the essence of our lives.
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