The Great Takeover of the Place

22 Tenacious species

Emerald City part four

"Forest is the root of all land use. Its green sprawl reclaims and heals the damaged hillside and mountain. From its last retreats the trees regather, swell, push out once more. Along every verge and hedgerow a linear web laces the land. Then, given the long awaited chance, these genetic stores reseed the enclosed fields. The winged messengers are excited; the forest has come out of hiding, it is everywhere.

Here the forest meets with six lanes of motorway and concrete. Something goes in first, pushing up through the tarmac, roots seek out every crevice. Taller plants lean in, over the roads, lay themselves down, covering the hardness. More set seed, germinate and grow on these previous bodies.

Here is a city. The green comes lazily down the canal banks in old twisted willows and drifts of meadow sweet. Every forgotten corner is a reservoir of forest. Given the slightest opportunity it overflows, floods out in a green tide, swamps empty lots, derelict buildings. Structures are dismantled to provide more room. Town and country draw together. Not difficult is this, for forest."

Konsk: from 10,000 Definitions Of True Forest.

Once more descending into another great river valley, Trueman remarked on the differences. Here, with distance, the forest was more fragmented, divided by scars, great brown streaks that looked like fresh, bare earth and black V's, broadening towards the summits of the more distant hills. Tendrils of smoke arose from over the skyline.

“Drought, followed by fire,” Rhia explained. “Burns off the vegetation and the humus.. Leaves the earth exposed to flash flooding. Took a few thousand years to create soil up on the hilltops and now a downpour of a few hundred millimetres in half a day and we're back to bedrock and a million tons of soil is off down to the sea.”

Trueman was aghast. It was like seeing the disaster of his attempt to start a garden magnified to a vast scale.

“What can be done?” He managed.

Rhia just pointed ahead and went on. A distant, hissing, chugging beat grew to greet them. Rounding the next bend revealed the northern valley side. Here, the slope was boiling with activity and Trueman could make out a large number of people of all ages, colours and abilities, busily engaged in various activities.

To Trueman, it all looked completely chaotic and disorganised but Rhia pointed out that some of the workforce were extending the access paths across the hillside and that these functioned to intercept run off and allow it to be absorbed into the soil. Being slightly off contour, they directed excess water either into existing streams or depressions in the slope of the hill, forming hanging bogs. A number of crews were creating small dams where the diversion drains reached larger streams and installing pipework that was to feed micro-hydro units lower down.

Others came on digging shallow pits. Behind were more with small, pot grown trees and shrubs, planting them along the contours. Next came people carrying more containers who watered in the plants. There seemed to be a lot of children dotted about, making considerable noise and scattering handfuls of pellets or something from shoulder slung bags.

“Seeds,” Rhia said. “Its useful to include some random elements.” She was smiling. “Young folk are especially good at that.”

By the track side, stripped to shorts and bra, a woman with an artificial leg wearing ear defenders, tended a noisy machine, shielded from the glare of the sun by a large umbrella. The heat from the machine's boiler shimmered the air. The mechanism was concealed behind guards. Trueman saw that a succession of folk arriving carrying cut branches which they thrust into a hopper; a stream of chips blew out of an exit funnel into a growing heap. Several people appeared to be breaking up blocks of whitened chip and adding bits to the pile.

“See, said Rhia,”the flash flood brought down a lot of timber which adds to the forest's fuel burden. We're chipping what the carpenters can't use and adding a mix of beneficial fungal mycelium. The chip goes down on the path surfaces where the mycelium binds the material to the earth or as mulch for the new plantings.”

Looking up the operator saw the approaching caravan and laughing, waved. She turned wheels and moved levers and the machine slowed. The cloud of steam that billowed up caught Toby momentarily unawares and he stopped suddenly, planting his feet, ears pointing forwards.

"OK, boy," Rhia laughed and Toby swivelled his left ear back towards her. "The monster won't hurt us, its only a steam engine.”

Much of activity on the hillside continued but nearer the machine there was a downing of tools and Trueman stiffened as people began to move towards them.

“Don’t worry,” Rhia tried to reassure him. “I’ll protect you.”

Somehow this wasn't very reassuring to Trueman, raising as it did, the question- why should he need protecting? Images of a pitchfork wielding mob arose in his imagination agaiin. He backed against the side of the caravan, leaving Rhia in front as a small crowd gathered.

A woman towards the back appeared to be involved in an internal struggle. She kept staring pointedly at Trueman then turning away, shaking her head, the tangle of her dark locks momentarily obscuring her face. She was hugging herself and finally she spoke.

“Look, I know that the design for this INCO has been decided, a multi-cantrefi thing and all that and that we're not supposed to interfere and I'm really sorry for speaking up or out of turn but I'm just not happy with this.”

Most heads turned towards her. Catti paused then spoke very carefully.

“That is perfectly fine and understandable but I would suggest that the decision has been made and this is not an appropriate time or place to either raise or address your concerns.”

“I disagree,” she was not to be dissuaded. “This is the perfect time and place, being now and here, as the object of concern is present, as you well know.”

There was a general stilling of movement as the gathered crowd gave their attention to the exchange. Trueman, observing the slim back of the young woman who called herself Rhia, noted first a slight stiffening of her posture then a relaxation, as though a decision had been made, almost as if she had stepped back from the exchange. The space left room for an older man who spoke up.

“Your use of the words object of concern is a misnomer and rather unhelpful in this situation; the concern is internal, the object a projection of that internal concern. If you would like to examine your internal concern I am quite happy to be of assistance.”

The woman was not to be persuaded. She tossed her head.

“I know what you're saying, Gareth, but it isn't right. He,” a dirty finger stabbed at Trueman. “He's a murderer and getting away with it, while she,” the finger swung to Rhia. “Is shielding him!”

Trueman caught the stiffening in Rhia's back again.

“That is not proven,” she replied and went on firmly, “The design for this response was made by representatives of The Last Resort cantref...”

“But this is Don't Give up Yet! We're nowhere near the Last Resort. We didn't make the decision!”

At this point another member of the crowd, a tall woman with smudges of soil on her cheeks spoke.

“We have agreed, as have all cantrefi, that on matters relating to internal security, delegation resides with The Last Resort cantref.”

It was not enough.

“He's not even tagged! How can we let an INCO just wander about in our land?”

“He is currently in my care,” Rhia said, “And poses no danger.”

The woman with dark locks was not satisfied.

“How can you be so sure? We all know they are unpredict-”

The complainant broke off suddenly, raising her right hand to cup her ear. She began nodding then shaking her head. After a moment she dropped her hand, apologised to everyone for her actions and asked the man who had offered assistance for twenty minutes of his time. He smiled and stepping over towards her, took her hand. Together they looked about the hillside, selecting somewhere some distance away, then made their way there and sat facing each other, whereupon the woman began to express her fury. There was a noticeable slackening of tension amongst the crowd.

Trueman, utterly baffled, was distracted by Rhia's strident call.

"Messages!"

There was quiet as she leaped up onto the front of the van and began to recite in a sing-song voice.

"Alan Hole in the Wall House has finished a batch of turned bowls from spalted beech and needs two pairs of hands to deliver them to We Saw It First! and pull out more timber. You can make contact though Wilbur the ambulance.

"Annie! Elain Little Grey House has finished your spinning wheel. You can pick it up any time.”

Annie gave an excited squeak. Rhia dragged the chest out from under the bed and handed over a folder of drawings.

"Can you pass these on to Martin, please," she asked. "Its that new bird Ross saw up by Cross Foxes.”

Rhia became thoughtful as she remembered her messages.

"This is an in-person reminder of important events, sponsored by Don’t Give Up Yet,” she sang.

“Homes are needed for more refugees, some permanent. Also temporary parents. Please contact Desert Healers.

"There's going to be tenacious species management on the hillside above Grove By The Lake Of Gems, beginning next month. The more the merrier, food and accommodation provided, as usual.

"Greenhouse is still looking for programmers to work on the planetary models project and there's a place for a speech therapist at Narrow Ford.”

Each of the announcements drew a variety of responses from the assembled crowd, some excited, others more thoughtful murmurs. Some messages evidently contained jokes as groups would burst into sudden laughter. Trueman noted individuals writing details on small pads or apparently speaking into their palms.

A general hush fell as the gathering sensed Rhia was preparing to conclude with something particularly special.

“The ongoing disaster on the Sub-Continental Peninsula is intensifying,” she said into the silence and then stopped.

Everyone became completely quiet. Trueman wondered what on earth this was about and why no further detail was being provided. Then, looking up at Rhia on her perch, he was horrified to find that she was crying, two trickles of tears running down her cheeks. She made no attempt to hide the fact. Trueman glanced at the other faces and found more than one crying also. He felt a cringe of embarrassment that clenched the back of his neck, pulling his head down and in.

The one legged woman hopped closer to the front of the van and placed a hand about Rhia’s ankle. In turn, Rhia looked gratefully down. The tears stopped and she continued, as though nothing had happened.

“Order is at the point of collapse. The international aid attempts have almost completely failed, only serving to worsen the situation. Short term help is getting through and being distributed but in the long term some four million people are homeless and facing starvation. There are reports that violence has again broken out between competing agencies.” This provoked groans from the crowd and Rhia paused momentarily to allow for more tears before continuing.

“A Major Intervention is being co-ordinated by the Last Resort cantref and volunteers are being called for. This intervention will not be time delineated. It will also be dangerous. You should consider carefully whether you can be spared. Parents are discouraged from attending.

"Thus endeth the messages.”

She finished and gave an elaborate mock bow to the burst of applause that followed. She was soon ready to get on.

"OK," Rhia began again. "Any messages or deliveries? I'm going to the Pre-Intervention gathering, via Narrow Ford and Fair Is The Place. Non-urgent, small item stuff only, please; I tend towards the erratic, as you well know.”

Speaking in turn, carefully and clearly, the requests were made. Rhia put on a thoughtful face and allowed each speech to sink into her memory, her lips moving silently. Trueman thought he could sense a rhythm being built into the information, as though they were incorporated in a song.

"Han Horse needs help to move ponies down from the fell above Don't Give Up Yet.”

"These data loggers are for Far-sighted Fay, yeah?”

"Dai the Mighty needs some bog oak, can exchange oak burrs.” One was passed up.

"Lucky Luke has a provisional remedy for dark throat; here’s the sample for We Saw It First research centre.”

As the messages and objects were gathered, Trueman was looking back to the west, into the sinking sun. The words spiralling around him. There was the slightest pressure in his nose, as though he wanted to sniff. Old questions reformed and beat at his fore-brain. What was going on here, he thought? These people seemed both content and yet deeply troubled, facing harsh challenges, uncertain futures. How could they contain such opposites?

He was broken from his reverie by Rhia who had dismounted from the caravan. She set Toby off at his steady pace with the familiar jingle of harness and Trueman was once more drawn to follow. There was much waving and cries of farewell, soon drowned by the rekindled beat of the steam engine.

Thanks for reading. I’m not sure about some of this. Would we use a steam engine? I suppose if one was available and still working. Tinkers’ Bubble, a low impact community, have a working steam engine which they use to mill timber- what a great circular system! I admit to jealousy…

As always, any comments or suggestions gratefully received. Not many pictures this time. Do you miss them? Does it make a difference? Please let me know. Till the next time, Hwyl! Chris.