Text: Fanny's Florentine

Fanny couldn’t clearly remember when she’d first heard that mystical sounding name, but there was an enticing something about Florentine which made her yearn for the place well before she ever knew how or when she would finally come to be there. The notion of the Upper Florentine began to quietly excite her. And any mention of Florentine Valley sent her head and heart into a spin. As the opportunity to go there approached, she could feel the anticipation swell, akin to eagerly awaiting the return of an adventurous lover. After all, this was a forest! A real one. A real rare, old growth, temperate forest. One of those whimsical wild places, where it’s possible to immerse so fully, to lose oneself so entirely, and to sustain the human spirit with a connection to the earth like no other. Fanny wanted to go there and have an affair with nature!

She’d been staying up late so often, barely able to sleep, with all the reading and writing and dreaming, of the world and of life and love. Tonight she had another purpose though. Tonight she must bake! She tossed in the ingredients and blended them with care. It was late and her spark was lagging, but she gave away some thing freely of herself into that mixing bowl, as the spoon went round and around. In that seemingly obscure way Fanny was giving a gift back to the rhythm of nature itself. To the thing which had the capability of engulfing her, which had unfailingly sustained her through every one of her melancholy days, and which had carried her free spirits bearing them to new heights more times than she could possibly recall. In her mind in the cycle of her life, this simple banana bread would be a miniscule fragment of the constant campaign to ensure the survival of this ancient wilderness, for many centuries to come. Fanny had taken much from the environment over the years, so many sunrises and full moons, abundant dips in the ocean, countless wanderings among the trees, numerous nights in the tent or indeed naked on the bare ground. This time she was giving her small loaf of bread, infused with her big heart of love.

Of recent weeks Fanny had lingered in bed in the mornings, more so than was usually occurring from her innately energetic character, but the result of those intense and sleepless nights. This trip this day called for an early start though and she bounded out of bed with glee. She pulled on her favourite pants, cargos the olive of her eyes. And as she tied up the bows on the taupe cotton tank, she was pleased to be looking like a tree, although she had to concede up side down! It wasn’t enough to spend time in the outdoor world, she wanted to wear its hues on her body too, so shades of greens and browns made up the majority of things in her draws. They met there together in a show of solidarity from the southern supporters, and as the convoy of cars and big bus departed, Fanny delighted in the knowledge that very soon she would be standing in that luscious location. The Florentine was a good three hour drive from her home in Launy, so there was a rest stop or two on route. As they strolled along the footpath stretching their legs and going to the loo, Fanny jumped and skipped about. She found it hard to stand still, her big smile beamed bright, and her pulse picked up its pace. Oh my goodness! Any minute now the fabulous flourishing forest would surround her!

Gradually the fields gave way to trees, the car twisted as it inclined, and when the windows were wound down the intoxicating scent of the lush landscape rushed in. For the first time ever in her life Fanny was entering the Upper Florentine. Her anticipation ebbed though as she stepped from the car among the hundreds of people there that day. There was an undeniable hush which had settled on the masses. The crowd moved along the road in an orderly fashion and gathered there together. Fanny felt calm and collected just now, it signalled something to her about the importance of what she was about to witness. It was an unspoken knowledge that every single one of them was driven by the same unyielding passion to preserve this unique piece of natural heritage. They were motivated into action, to stand and be counted in the race against all foes, to not let this beautiful piece of the planet, harmoniously intact as it is, slip away into the past from where it can never ever be retrieved.

The base camp of Still Wild Still Threatened sat roadside, on the long ago constructed bitumen providing access across the island. Their Camp Flozza, the one that keeps reincarnating, was a rudimentary setup of tents and tarps. It’s the frontline hub for a bunch of educated and determined activists, devoted to preventing the incomprehensible logging of this ancient wilderness. SWST hosted an informative line up of speakers to start everyone on their way. Nat she keenly introduced them all, her loud proud voice echoed enthusiastically out across the crowd. Geoff and Inger and Bob took their turn, each with their own words and story to tell. They covered facts and figures and current information, for those who were new to this battle. All could judge for themselves, to learn and understand with logic and reason why this was such a crucial task. And yes they were stirring and heartfelt too, but Fanny knew that it wouldn’t be truly possible to hear or know or live this tale and not be effected deep down. The rousing speech from Ula was left to the last, her compassion was clear and the words her truth, reflecting an undeniably genuine perception and grave concern. There was an inspiring buzz among the people, an abundance of positive good will, acknowledgement and thanks and encouragement to all, no matter if the contribution big or small. A quiet hope settled into Fanny as she dispersed from the pack and everyone wandered off gently to take a look around.

The boys and girls in blue had stayed away that day, and it appeared the other ones had too, which at least allowed for peace and tranquillity. What Fanny couldn’t fathom though was why they weren’t there to investigate what she saw, the results of this horrid and unspeakable crime. She was appalled and disgusted and felt so ashamed that we could do such a despicable thing.

All around her there was pain and hurting and scars from the damage that had been done. Despite the throngs who were scattered around Fanny just then, the absolute quiet which enveloped her was outright deafening as she tentatively stepped along. She couldn’t manage a single word and few other people spoke, when they did it was in soft and muted tones. Life was chopped down and bleeding before her very eyes, the bodies of the giants were a pile of lifeless massive carcasses stacked high, left in a disgusting and disrespectful blight in that scene. Limbs were smashed and strewn about and pushed into heaps of their own. Undergrowth no longer recognisable as it lay dull and twisted like grey smudges along the edges, fringing the length of this fresh open wound. That thing which had ripped up the middle, the empty and now silent forestry road, was rough and tough and angry. The grey scab was smacked on top, hard and dry and uncompromising. It had beat down its opponent with outrageous impact, without a miniscule hint of sympathy or remorse. If this roading is the start of silvicultural practices and variable retention, every temperate tree and plant and every lover of any virgin forest could well be concerned right now.

The only thing that could possibly entertain Fanny as she walked along that first ugly push in this pristine wilderness was the torrent of emotion cascading through her. Secretly she feared that the scene might break her along the way, never before had she been so close to all this death and destruction. It was difficult for her to be strong and keep going, but she knew it had to be done. She was totally dazed in her wandering through that zone of war. She had to sit and touch the ground, to connect with the scarce life that was left standing in the field of this battle. Fanny came upon the tall eucalypt and there she lightly perched atop the mound of roots near the base. Silently she sat without a stir. The sorrow constricted around her chest, strangled her throat, and welled up in Fanny’s eyes. It was a futile fight that she waged within, to keep the pain at bay. Fanny rested her head in her hands and gave in to the salty drips as they flowed freely down her cheeks. She wanted to give herself to that hardwood tree. If her tiny little heart could protect that massive big bulk, then she gave it freely just then without a second thought. She mustered all her delicate feminine force to give hope to his staggering masculine mould. But as she sat amidst the mess he was in, Fanny’s heart was utterly broken.

It was a shock wave of devastation which had rolled along and which now grasped at all the folks in its wake. As she continued on that daunting task a thought which some might consider shameful swam around in her grieving head. It could be called macabre and she suspected even offensive, but to admit the truth, Fanny had to acknowledge that she wanted to swap those eucalypt trunks with a heap of humans instead. For it is we who give less and take so much more in our short and commercially consuming lives, than those who grow peacefully here attached to the dirt. Surely we are more replaceable than they who give generously to our human kind for hundreds if not thousands of years. By now the tears rolled down her face in tune with the steps as she inched along, it was ok for Fanny that she showed herself to be that way. It was her sensitive soul for better or worse that guided her through her days.

Where there is life there is hope and the troops they rallied around. With muscles and sweat they dug trenches in the road to snag the trucks should they venture this way again. Si and his mate made music as they waltzed by, belting jazzy tunes at the top of their lungs, eking smiles from where there were none. These signs lifted Fanny’s mood a touch, as it did to the others that day. Fanny gazed up in awe at those truly outstanding few, the ones keeping vigils at the top of the trees. They lived precariously high, on platforms held by ropes and wires and things, up there as far as the eye could see. All the cables were interconnected as they weaved their way down and zigzagged across in confusing directions. There was method in this twisted mayhem, it was cleaver and cluey and tricky. If one wire was tripped they would all come down like a spring loaded vertical domino. So there they lived and breathed together, one person and one tree, linked for safety’s sake. Fanny wondered if those really were the angels that walk among us, the ones that exist in the trees. She swore that another glided passed her next, that woman had a voice from heaven for sure. With hands cupped around her mouth she sang up towards the sky, for each and every individual on their watch so high. The wispy song carried tunes in the breeze and enchanting sounds for every creature there.

The next momentous occasion in Fanny’s day came along naturally as one would hope. Fanny’s bread loaf found its way to the receiver, Possum she was high in the tree, a girl, not a marsupial. If observing carefully it was possible to make out her shape and hear her calling too. Possum’s support crew, Amy, conveyed all sorts to and fro. There were messages flying through the air and a stash of food in a bag, and then of course there was that other thing, the emotion full of hope and care. It was everywhere here, the invisible cloud of good will, of people banding together as one, to hold on to all that is true. Fanny didn’t need to see her face or know any more about her, but that girl was the one who would eat her gift and save that tree from harm. And so they were tied together for a bit, Fanny and Possum and the giant eucalypt.

The starting point of the Timbs Track where Fanny headed next was green and dense and delightful, which was just as well because on the way there she needed to pee. As she half-squatted a couple of steps in from the roadside and with the foliage tickling her bum, she watched all the passers go by. As she hitched up her britches she marvelled at her choice of the site, quite clearly the veritable foot highway. No one seemed too fussed though, clearly this mob were all children of the earth too!

She stepped into that arousing space with gusto, this her first foray into the Florentine Valley! She wandered on through with eyes wide open and pupils expanding, and at once she knew she was in a secret garden just like a fairy story. She took in the scene of moss blanketing lightly over much of the lower region, over the cool fertile ground, on the rocks and up the trunks, where tiny pools and creeks of water lay about, where the foliage was lush and the sunlight softly sparkled through the canopy. Fanny could smell the damp life and she could feel the beauty seeping into her skin. Every now and again she stopped still and listened and looked about, so as to be fully aware of the air that she breathed and the heady energy of this powerful place which engulfed and saturated her soul. The most delicate of sounds floated to her and carried to Fanny’s ears the beat of the life therein. Breezes rustled through the leaves, birds chirped and fluttered and the insects buzzed busily around. In those moments it happed to her again, as it inevitably does, the raw earth reached in deep and touched her sensually there, in a way that she could neither understand nor control. It stroked her and caressed her and wrapped its arms firmly around her. She hovered in that spot trying to remain composed and appear normal as various folks snuck their way past. Lifting her face toward the sky she saw some of those hardwood trees reaching up so high, with a massive circumference at the base and sturdy bare trunk stretching to the heavens above, where the branches sprouted out near the top. There were other prized species Fanny spied there too, sassafras and myrtle among them. In that magical time, tucked in snugly among the branches and firmly between the trunks, Fanny wanted to become one of those trees. With all her heart she wanted to be planted firmly into the dirt, to be one of those wondrous things, the tallest of the hardwood trees, to belong with her precious planet, like the moon and the sun and the sea.

If she had been alone at that point she would have lay on the bare ground with her flushed nude skin and become one with her surrounds for a while. This is precisely why she came to these open-air environs, to be aroused and awakened, feel the wave after wave rush at her core, listen to the whisper of nature, and to give herself over to the stir of her secret essence. It was an experience that can barely be explained, let alone measured on any economic, heritage or conservation scale. But this was the real life occurrence of her social sustainability! To be held by the raw earth and nurtured delicately there in that exquisitely connected moment. That bond has the ability to revive her heart, to give her courage and hope that her world is exactly as it should be.

The single file trail wound its way delicately upward through the lush green growth in a north slightly easterly direction. Fanny ate her stash of health snacks, of fruit and nuts and delicious dark chocolate washed down with oodles of water, as she made her way happily along. The vegetation slowly petered out giving way to drier squatter species, ragged and scrubby in comparison, but stunning all the same. And then further again at the crest of a grassy rise, there was the lookout of small timber platform affording a view in every direction. It was a remarkable sight to see the land from up there, like sitting on top of the world looking down on its creation. Stu had his map and his head full of information to share with everyone there. The Thumbs sat to the west, the row of three or four mountain crests which from that direction lay squarely above and along the same north-south line of the Florentine Valley. Between the lookout point and those Thumbs is the location earmarked for harvesting, coupe FO044A and five of its unfortunate old growth group. The truth troubled Fanny as she gazed out over the wild wilderness and as far as her eyes could see. There was a gentle flow of the terrain all around, there were peaks and troughs and changing vegetation balanced perfectly with the lay of the land. This valley is surrounded on three sides by a World Heritage area, a fair whack of conservation some might say. But those sneaky ones they drew the border in a very specific spot. The big eucs which fetch the big bucks, their roots are on the wrong side of the line, leaving them high and dry! If only they had legs and could sneak unnoticed in the dark of the night, they could edge to the west just a smidge were they’d be safe and sound. But these precious relics they are relying on us now to push the fold protectively around them.

Sadly it was time to go home, but she left with a new awareness and knowledge. Fanny floated blissfully buoyed on cloud nine, while her car made its way on the journey back up north. ‘Getting back to nature’ was such a worn out cliché, but her truth lives in those lack lustre words. The sun and moon, forest and ocean are truly beautiful and inspiring things, to plunge herself into these is to experience life at its deepest level. When it comes to environmental therapy she can’t beat touching a tree, or sitting under one, or walking amongst hundreds and thousands of them. If there is one colour guaranteed to please her, it is leafy green. The shade and shape of intermingling foliage, the sturdy strength of the trunks and the gentle rustle through the canopy, blended together to wrap her in a blanket of beauty and balm. The sight, sound and smell of the Florentine had stirred Fanny’s senses, and whispered to her erotic messages.

The warm night air breezed through her fully open abode, scents of bergamot and ylang ylang pervaded the air while Latino tunes danced to her ears, her freshly cut roses and glowing candles were scattered around. Fanny’s feet were grubby and her dusty hair pulled up in a mass of countless tiny twirls and bobby pins. She had pink shoulders smelling of sun-screen, nickers with un-wiped wee bits, and arm pits of subtle girly sweat. It was a serene scene of comfort, as she sat sipping a glass of Merlot with Kalamata olives close by. But Fanny wanted to go back to that place where she went to that day. Some might have called it a protest, but to Fanny it was more like attest! She chose to connect to the earth and charge her free spirit in an adventure with that immense force called nature. As the darkness nestled in around her and she closed her eyes for sleep, delightful dreams of other wild spaces swished around in her wistful head, it was the names of Styx and Weld and Tarkine too. This was Fanny’s eve.

And Possum she was tree sitting that night, eating Fanny’s sweet bread, hoicked up on a rope and a wing and a prayer.