and the process starts right in the palm of my left hand: their official name is Vachellia Acacia Sieberiana Woodii. Sounds more like a Michelin star-rated menu recipe, or perhaps Cleopatra’ s birth name. But as my eldest granddaughter, Nava age three, says:“ Doc, when in doubt, Google!” which of course, I did. The Google search( within a millisecond) replies:
Description: Formerly known as Acacia sieberiana var woodii, this is a semi-deciduous to deciduous tree with a large and spreading flat crown. The bark is light brown and corky, peeling off in interesting, large flat sections. The flowers are cream-coloured, scented balls, which attract a host of insects.
The ten-meter tree, Vachellia Acacia, starts always with the planting of a seed. I still get weak at the knees when I hold a tiny seed and compare it to the grown-up version.
On the day I planted the trees, Nicolas my wise, methodical gardener from rural Zimbabwe disassembled, then moved dusty steel shelves from the garage to outside our dining room, where he re-assembled the bits into my new potting shed, sans roof. Beautiful north sun and high walls to protect from gusty winds. Near a tap for watering purposes. My urban farm in situ. My grandchildren are captivated!
Then beetled off to my favourite garden nursery to get a short, sharp tutorial from their genial horticulturist, encyclopedical, brilliant botanist David, on how best to get the seeds to germinate, what fertiliser to use, and how long to boil and excoriate the skin of seeds with sandpaper. This is basic prep work to release the genetic material from its hard outer kernel, and for the endosperm to communicate with essential environmental factors – chemicals, water, oxygen, unpronounceable micro-organisms, and the heat of captured energy to jump-start the metabolic pathways. Oh, the marvels of nature!
The DNA – trapped within the kernel – has to get out of its comfort zone! The kernel must break down, which seems chaotic, painful and noisy. This is an exciting new world of knowledge for me.
Exciting times ahead as I started this new adventure: from seed to crown; from sapling to birds nesting; from seasonal flower to bees collecting nectar; from carbon emission to carbon sequestration. I have a dream that we as a nation can grow millions of such 100 m 2 tiny forests.
But, of course, the contrarian psychiatrist from Africa always finds the metaphor( and the silver lining). These trees, hopefully,
are not for me, but for my grandchildren and their children and grandchildren. These trees, hopefully, will capture tons of excess carbon to reduce global warming. These trees, hopefully, will teach me about patience, about allowing things to unfold in their own time. These trees will open friendships I never could imagine. It all starts with the idea, then the careful execution of the plan. Can you remember holding seeds of a great idea but did not, could not, persuaded not to plant them? We all have such regrets! Some of us take the plunge, eventually. And that makes all the difference.
* Update after seven months: Not all the seeds germinated, six died on transplantation into the soil of the pavement, and one was stood upon and broken by a pedestrian. But a few are growing slowly, taking root and enjoying the sumptuous rainfall and capturing energy from the sunshine. My grandchildren insist on observing them on every visit – one day they will learn and appreciate the life lesson: that not all seeds germinate and grow into adulthood but getting one or more to do so can make all the difference.
Dr. Jonathan Moch
17