THE SACRED GROVE

About four hours walk from the village, after the dwellings, gardens, ponds, stream and cultivated plots are left behind, and  land becomes the wild domain of the indigenous creatures, there was once, and is now, a grove of accidental nut trees, self-sown, stately and ancient.

About this grove, which had been, and is yet protected as a reliable and valuable if small food resource, are built small dwellings for the guardians, whose occupations are to protect, nurture and expand the grove and its precious resource.

Over the centuries, the villagers have not only maintained the grove, but have cultivated the seedlings of the original trees in spacious gardens, carefully cleared and protected from the surrounding forest, and constantly maintained.

Interspersed amongst these gardens the villagers have added groves of their own; of fruit and nut trees the seedlings of which have been collected from far afield, paid for by village products to visiting travelers. The news of this trade has spread far, the seeds and nuts arriving regularly, and with anticipation, to fill the nurseries of the village.

Over the years, as their plantings have matured, the villagers have added to the numbers of guardians and increased the comfort and size of their dwellings.

The original grove of ancient trees had been protected and nurtured, treasured as an emergency food-source, and inevitably customs, festivals and calendar events grew as generations of villagers tended the tree-gardens, which became called the Gardens of Birth and Death.

Each birth is celebrated in the very centre of the ancient original grove, the ceremony conducted by the oldest member of the village, who in turn is supported by family and friends.

Each death is commemorated by the family of the youngest member of the village, male or female. There are no rites conducted by one specific sex.

Both birth and death involve young and old, boys and girls, women and men, and new-born babies as participants. The grove and its old trees witness the never-ending passage of time and life of the human animals.

Over the centuries the long four-hour path between the village and the grove has shortened as both have expanded. The grove, which used to be an emergency food source, has now such varied orchards that at no time of year is not some tree bearing ripe produce, and no disease has the ability to seriously affect such differing species. This is no monoculture.

The tenders of the now vast groves of tree-crops have always been selected from the adolescent and young adults of the village, on a rotational system of three months divided and randomly timed amongst six dwelling-types. There are no compounds for three-month stays; the dwellings are interspersed, recognised only by a flag. This gives the young people of the community (no longer a village, but a thriving township) experience of life, death, ritual, husbandry, hard work and maintenance of essential supply. The rotational system gives each person the time to meet others and form friendships and loves, in an environment of great beauty.

Older overseers from the town instruct in orchard maintenance and development, also on a rotational system,  and school-classrooms are duplicated in township and groves. Constant and varying shipments of diverse fruits are sent from the groves to the town market, which has buyers from far afield.

And on, and on. A hopeless dream, one of the many fantasies that would prove unworkable in reality, we humans being such an ornery mob. But pleasant to daydream. There are hints of a kibbutz there, and its strange community of youth. And of course the massive stately stands of bunya pines in Australia, sacred to the wandering tribes.