Selections from FM GALICIA
15.01
Living in my home (in addition to various people) is an extraordinary plant—an araucaria. If you look through the window from the street, you can see it. The araucaria is still shorter than me, although it’s over a hundred years old. They grow very slowly, these araucaria, in their Andes. For araucaria are Andes evergreens. And they live some three thousand years. They were rather fashionable in European dwellings at the beginning of the century. The Secession style adored ornaments such as these. And truth be told, it really is beautiful. It has paw-like branches, four on each level. It usually does not contain more than three levels. The rest gradually droop, die off, and are moved out of the way. And fresh millimeters begin to grow on the top. This araucaria was given to my grandma as a gift in return for some sort of successful medical treatment back in the 20s. At that time, it was no taller than 40 cm, although it was older than my grandma, who, actually, was not yet a grandma. Based on its life span, the araucaria was an infant. At first, the plant did not notice anything. Later, it became increasingly nosy of everything that went on in the house, and all our experiences came to be preserved in its tree rings. Because it’s been proven that plants, especially such perfect ones—although, perhaps, not fully capable of thought—at the very least, understand, sense, and remember everything.
Sometimes it’s scary to be in its presence. Because it’s not so easy to have witnessed past events and then live on for a few more thousand years, having outlived us all, everyone close to it now. For it, we probably are like some kind of half-real, half-imagined childhood memory. Perhaps, it barely notices us—if one takes the difference in our life spans into consideration. Surely, it’s not able to comprehend individual episodes that take place with us as they happen—in the same way that a camera with an unbelievably long shutter speed does not fix something that has moved somewhere.
In that way, trees that live slowly don’t notice, cannot notice, the existence of seasonal butterflies.
I bathe it every now and then. And every time I take out the trash, I see that my trash bin is unique because it contains araucaria branches.
Not long ago, I purchased another little evergreen from the Andes. Perhaps it’s as old as I am. I’m convinced that at least this araucaria will survive to see better years.
Translated by Mark Andryczyk