Coppicing (May 2020)
Immortality and Transience
I walk through the hazel copse, noticing with satisfaction the bluebells taking advantage of the light I created last year, spattering the grey-brown floor with amethyst pointillism.
I reach the coup to be harvested today, the stools exploding with shoots and poles. Remembering standing by my father the last time this section was coppiced, ten long years ago. I feel the sting of absence as I draw his handsaw from my bag.
As long as we continue to do this, these trees will never age, never die. Our gift is immortality. The price, a denial of the chance to grow.
I've long been familiar with the word 'copse', but less so with the act of coppicing from which it derives. This story came about after I listened to episode 228 of the podcast Omnibus, which gave a nice overview of the practice and its particulars.
I was quite taken with the notion of holding a tree in a juvenile state and effectively granting it immortality, and thought there was an extremely obvious juxtaposition with the fleeting nature of human existence to be made. So I made it.