You can email individual trees now in Melbourne, and thousands of people are doing just that from around the world. Not that the trees can read the emails, since as far as I know they have not yet been equipped with technology that translates into Tree.
The Melbourne city council initially started a project to help identify trees so that they could receive better protection and care – 70,000 trees were assigned individual email accounts so that citizens could report incidents of fallen branches, or vandalism.
Undoubtedly, some of the email correspondence actually concerns trees in trouble.
But as it turned out, what people really wanted to write about was the trees themselves. Thousands of odes to particular trees began to pour in.
Maybe the trees can sense the good intentions, even if they can’t read the emails.
You might have noticed that none of the images here have to do with Melbourne’s trees.
But there was one particular plant that must have had a particularly appealing scent – scruffy, rangy, it had two wilting blossoms, yet was covered with butterflies and bees pushing at each other to feed there.
Unfortunately, the image I took came out blurred, and I didn’t want to disturb the insects so I didn’t stick around to retake it several times. There are eight butterflies, bees and other insects on these two blossoms.
I found the same plant on the return trip thirty minutes later, still dishing up whatever righteous nectar it had on tap. If there were a single pollinator-friendly plant to be cloned along this path, I guess this would be the one.
So as it turns out, Melbourne’s Urban Forest Visual is a cartography of affection.
I have a small map of love that runs along a small stretch of forest, right here near Ferchensee.
If the Mittenwald brooks, lake, trees, mountains, plants and wildlife had email addresses where I could send my affections, I would do it. Instead, I’m doing it here.
*Thanks so much Rob Cairns for sending me the article on Melbourne’s trees.