City of Trees by Sophie Cunningham

Author:Sophie Cunningham
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Text Publishing Company
Published: 2019-02-15T16:00:00+00:00

All up, 113 trees were moved out of the genus Eucalyptus into the genus Corymbia, including the bloodwoods and ghost gums. Once you know what to look for, you see they look more like an Angophora (also a genus) than a Eucalyptus. Both genera have smooth skin in a variety of fleshy tones, and their beautiful limbs are as reminiscent of tendrils as of branches.

It was Rebecca Giggs who pointed out to me that Australian newspapers use ‘that’ for animals. The Associated Press style manual stipulates: ‘“who” is only appropriate when an animal has been given a personal name.’ If the tree I’m writing about has an individual name—some do—I use it. I assign pronouns like he and she, when that seems right. Time and time again, when trying to identify my #treeoftheday I’ve started out asking myself, ‘What is this tree called?’ and ended up wondering what’s in a name. From there it is a slippery slope down into the mire of language and meaning. I become philosophical, read my Dao: ‘Naming is the origin of all particular things.’

All this leads me to wonder: is a Florida puma still a Florida puma if Texan pumas have been bred into the population? Is P-22 an appropriate name for a heroic mountain lion? What does Killarney mean? Does it matter that I think of lemon-scented gums as Eucalyptus when they are Corymbia?

It was on this day, a day of thinking about the wild animals that are being forced into the cities and the ways in which they survive, a day of wondering how to write about P-22 and Killarney, a day when I saw my favourite gums bending in a gentle breeze above Los Angeles, that my brother called.

We drove back to San Francisco. I stayed one night, then got on a plane. Fourteen hours later, after a combination of sleeping pill, vodka and bad movies, I stood in a series of lines at Sydney airport trying to make my flight to Melbourne. The lines were long. I was going to miss my connection. I finally blurted out something about Dad’s imminent death, a card I had not wanted to play; but I did play it, and it worked, and they moved me to the front of the line. My brother picked me up from the airport and we drove to the home Dad had been living in for two years. My uncle sat by his dying brother. When I arrived he said, ‘I’ve been keeping him alive for you,’ then stepped outside for a break. A few hours later Dad died. There were four of us there. I’d been told many stories about people needing to be alone to die but I knew that was not what Dad would have wanted. He liked his people around him. If he’d been a tree he’d have needed a forest.

His decline was unspeakably grim. I can find no silver lining in it. (Will you write about your dad’s dementia? people ask me. What would I say? I reply.

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