Free White Beech: The Rainforest Years by Germaine Greer Page A

BMAD. And the problem extends right down the Great Dividing Range as far south as Melbourne. Our state bird, the Yellow-tufted Honeyeater, has been driven to extinction by the Bell Miner takeover of its habitat.’
    ‘Why is it spreading so fast?’
    ‘Probably because the trees are already under stress. When the trees die, the Bell Miners simply move on to another stand and start the process all over again. They’re gradually reducing the habitat available for other birds. Some conservationists think that the increase of drought stress as a consequence of global warming is weakening the trees, making them more susceptible to insect attack, and that the Bell Miners are merely opportunists. Others believe that “controlling” Bell Miners is the way to go. Others want to eliminate the psyllids. If it’s Cinnamon Fungus that’s really to blame for BMAD, it doesn’t matter much what they do or if they do nothing.’
    When Leon arrived that evening, we asked him what he was doing about his case of BMAD and he was doing exactly that, nothing. In his eyes nature could do no wrong, and everything out there was nature. There would be no killing or burning on his patch.
    ‘Leon, the Bell Miner population is out of control. There’s little enough natural vegetation left around here. You can’t afford to lose what old-growth forest you’ve got.’
    But the conversation had moved into a more diverting channel. The Cassandra in the corner went unheeded.
    The next day we were taken upriver to see the property that was for sale. As we moved out of the tidal reach the vegetation changed. The riverbank on both sides was now hidden by a thick fringe of willows. Jane, who expects me to know European species better than she, asked me which willows they were.
    ‘They look like Crack Willows,’ I said, ‘ Salix fragilis , which is bad news because crack willows drop terminal twigs even in a slight wind, and they readily root downstream. In England Crack Willows are among my favourite trees; I’ve planted lots of them. These are a bit different. I think they must be hybrids.’
    As we were stepping out of our flat-bottomed boat, stooping to pass under the willows, I tripped and fell headlong into the mat of Vinca major that was all the streamside groundcover there was. Surefooted Jane was having trouble too, for no matter how high she stepped the interlacing strings of the Periwinkle trapped her boots.
    ‘This is a bugger of a weed,’ she said, ‘because it allows absolutely no competition. Worse, it will thrive in deep shade and sheds its fronds which get carried downstream.’
    ‘Just like the willows.’
    ‘Yep.’
    As it turned out our journey was pointless, for the owner of the property was interested in selling only if he could get an exorbitant price. He thought he might sell half of it, which would have meant that we had to share access and would live so close together that we could hear each other break wind. He was immensely proud of a huge oak tree that overshadowed his house.
    ‘What would you do with the property if it was yours?’ he asked me.
    I didn’t say that I would fell his monster oak. ‘I’d get rid of the cattle,’ I said.
    ‘Oh, you couldn’t do that,’ he said. ‘You need the steers to keep down the grass.’
    I didn’t tell him that I would poison the grass, but drank up my tea, paid my respects and withdrew. Leon was disappointed. He wanted to know why I hadn’t stayed to bargain.
    ‘Because I didn’t want it. There’d be no way I could restore it, because every time the Towamba came in spate, I’d get all the riverine weeds back again.’
    ‘What weeds?’
    ‘Willows for one.’
    ‘What’s wrong with willows? Willows are lovely.’
    ‘What’s wrong with willows is what’s wrong with all weeds. They’re plants in the wrong place.’
    Jane raised her eyebrows, interested to see how much I had understood of all her careful teaching. I ploughed on.
    ‘The willow in Australia is not