FOREST AND FARM.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIV, Issue 99, 29 April 1933, Page 1 (Supplement)

FOREST AND FARM.

WHEN THE BUSH GOES.

AN AVENGING- CYCLE.

(By M.E.S.)

Tho rider drew rein and paused in momentary perplexity. His forest path liad ended abruptly, and ho was alone in a silence at once intimate and remote. It was liis first acquaintance with the Now Zealand forest, and, coming from other lands, he had been 6truck by its still monotony, its quiettoned greens and infinite shadows. He had, indeed, been inclined to think it a trifle dull after the brightness and the flashing birds of other larfds, peaceful hut uninspiring, not a land of romance or of possible delights. But to-day he found the heart of the forest at last, and knew that it had made him its own for ever. His horse stood relaxed, with drooping head and languid ears, nosing idly at a frond of fern that grew at its feet, and it seemed to the rider that upon his own spirit there gently descended a peace that passetli understanding. There was no 6ound in all this world, save in the far distance the fluting call of a bird; no colour save that unchanging green. The great trunks gleamed white about him, rising to a height so immense that tlicy were presently lost to sight in a canopy of green above. It seemed to the silent watcher that he stood alone in the aisle of some mighty cathedral and listened to the soft but pealing notes of a great organ. The spirit of the forest spoke for a moment in those notes and then was silent. . . . The rider shook himself from his dream and looked about him; the sun was setting, and a few golden rays had managed to probe the sombre green. He was late, and must go his way. After a Year. A year later, tired by the rush of city life, he sought the forest again. It was early morning when he recaptured the elusive path that he had lost that day, and began to mount once more the steep forest ridge. Soon he would be alone with the spirit of the bush, and would relieve that hour of quiet ecstasy when the forest had made him its own. He rode on, already steeped in silence and the sober joys of memory. Suddenly his horse started and stopped, its ears alert and quivering. A sound had broken the silence of the bush, and now a smell, pungent, romantic but intrusive after the quiet scents of fern and damp earth, brought the rider quickly to the alert. It was the smell of wood smoke, and the sound had been the rhythmic fall of a axe. With a shudder and a sigh the rider turned his horse's head. < But what morbid interest drew him that way again He had vowed never to revisit the spot, to let the work of desolation continue unseen byhim. Yet some fatal intuition led him again to the ridge upon a hot day in early March. The wind had 'been westerly all the week and the town below was baking resignedly in the dry and dusty heat. The rider had learnt to know and lovo the bush since the day when its organ notes had first fallen upon his heart, and he knew well enough that he could yet find places untroubled by man and unspoiled by the advance of civilisation. Yet he returned, almost unwillingly,* to that twisting forest path. The Second Stage. As he rode through the gullies he was thankful for the stillness; it was pleasant to escape from that tormenting wind which yet lashed the tree-tops far above his head. But when he mounted the ridge it caught him again with a full blast that seut him staggering back; ho bent his head and was about to plunge into the shelter below when his horse stopped and whinnied, swerved sideways and stood quivering. And then the rider heard a roar and his eyes were suddenly stung by a volley of black smoke that surged upwards and surrounded him. There was a crash like a salvo of guns, the blast of an inferno let loose, and horse and rider scrambled hurriedly back to the shelter of the ridge. Looking far across tho tree-tops he • could see the fire now, curling upwards in a volume of black smoke, hanging pall-like in the clear blue sky, turning the peace of the forest into* a shrieking, crashing pit of destruction. His bush' was gone for ever. Two days later he looked down upon a scene of ruin. Smoke still curled from a thousand stumps and fallen trees, but already the black desolation was peopled with tiny, hurrying figures. Riding nearer, he could see that men were busy sowing seed in the deep warhi ash-beds; he could hear their voices cutting thinly across the devastated gully. "More production. It's the only way when, prices are so low. No good standing still." The rider turned wearily away. How still tho forest had' stood! And now it had fallen as so much else must fall. And to what end? Time's Revenge. The immediate end was evident enough six months later when the rider returned to take his last farewell The hideous black desolation was transformed already into a thing of beauty. The pongas that had been scorched, but were not killed were green again, lifting feathery arms hopefully .to the pale spring sky. Burnt trees still stood, gaunt witness of departed glory, but upon the whole great sweep of country a lovely mantle had been thrown, a cloak of living green. The grass burst from every nook and cranny; already it covered the tangle of burned branches that lay upon the ground and waved triumphantly upon the sides of the gaunt stumps. It frothed joyously over the hollows in every fallen tree, gushing forth in a flood of brilliant green wherever enough ash had lodged to carry the seed. It had been an early spring and Nature had made a gallant effort to cover man's destruction.

But the watcher gazed sadly upon it. He fancied that the forest might yet take its revenge. Sometimes he had seen it, apparently beaten, broken, harnessed to man's will; sometimes, too, he had seen it win in the end. It had many weapons; perhaps in two years' time, this grass, so beautiful to-day, would have died in its turn, crushed by the ruthless advance of second growth; perhaps the farm would lie deserted, starved and beaten by the tragedy of world prices; perhaps it would take a subtler revenge, would levy .toll upon flesh and blood and human hopes. ... He fancied it smiled as it lay quiescent. It wag waiting; it could afford to wait, for its victory was assured.