An Irish Diary

Out on a limb – An Irishwoman’s Diary on National Tree Week

Rinville Park, Oranmore, Co Galway. File photograph: Joe O’Shaughnessy

Mae Leonard
Thu Mar 26 2020 - 20:09

You will have to excuse me. I’m up a tree. My tree. My very own tree in the back garden.

Ever since I was a little girl, and that’s neither today nor yesterday, I’ve wanted a tree just like this. A tree that I could climb easily to be alone with my thoughts away from “the madding crowd” and be close to the sky to float on clouds and lost to reality for a while anyhow.

I suppose you could say it is a dream come true. A dream that was planted in my mind years ago because my best friend had a tree in her back garden that was climbable and it became our secret place.

On warm summer days we would sit up on the highest branch and the scent of roses wafted up to us from the garden next door to mingle the dank smell coming from the swamp of the church field behind us. It was heavenly to be up that tree.

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You will have to excuse me if I sound a bit daft. I’m living a dream. I’m thinking tree thoughts because it is National Tree Week. A “be nice to trees” time and I have climbed up my tree.

I discovered quite recently that the old apple tree in our back garden is strong enough to bear my weight. And it has branches that are strategically placed like a ladder up to the sky. And indeed, the sky’s the limit. I can be anything up there – lord or even lady of all I survey. I am invisible and invincible up so high. Nobody would even think of searching for me at this level.

If I sit very still the birds don’t even know I’m here. I observe the visitors on my bird-table without being detected.

The greedy greenfinch ousts all the feeding opposition and gorges on sunflower seeds. A pied wagtail, a thrush, a pair of blackbirds and a flock of blue tits are feeding on the ground perfectly satisfied with the crumbs that fall from above.

Yes, I’m up a tree. As close to seventh heaven as I can get and my Uncle Steph’s voice comes floating down on a zephyr from heaven above, his rich baritone voice enhancing Joyce Kilmer’s words – “I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree”. I couldn’t have put it better myself.

Once, while in Edna O’Brian country in the woods near Tuamgraney, Co Clare, someone introduced me to Brian Boru – he is an ancient oak tree. I have seen the Douglas fir in Powerscourt Gardens in Wicklow that is said to be the tallest tree in Ireland – what history that must have witnessed in its growing.

The most impressive line of trees that I have ever seen is the long avenue of redwoods that lead you up to the front door of Emo Court in Co Laois. They are a special variety called Wellingtonia and are thus named for the Duke of Wellington who died in the 19th century when the species was discovered.

So, Brian Boru, the Iron Duke and even Silken Thomas have trees of their very own – which make me wonder are there any famous female ancient trees?

The guy in the Tree Council scratched his head, when I asked him, and admitted that he was stumped.

I know I sound a bit cracked when I tell you that I really am up a tree. My tree. And it is not just any old tree. It is a Bramley apple tree. And wouldn’t you know? It is named for a man called Arthur Bramley who came to live in a house in Nottinghamshire where an apple tree in the garden provided the most marvellous fruit. The Bramley cooking apple. In fact, 95 per cent of all cooking apples sold today are Bramleys.

Mr Bramley claimed the credit for the cultivation this particular variety of apple but it was a woman – Mary Ann Brailsford – who was the original propagator of that very first Bramley apple tree. Arthur Bramley bought her house and moved in to claim her orchard too.

I’m up a tree today. I hug its smooth bark and thank it for the joy it brings me.

I thank it for its delightful pink blossom, for its shelter on warm summer days and the glorious fruit it produces in autumn. So go on and appreciate our trees today – it’s National Tree Week.

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