The trees of Hungary are the most expressive I've ever seen. Black locust, sycamore, chesnut, beech, birch, and a great number of fruit trees (with the help of enthusiastic pollarding) grow eagerly and generously, sometimes into startlingly humanoid forms. So many of these Hungarian trees look to be possessed with dryads, the moment of a spirit's birth frozen within the deep ridges of bark.
I go to Margitsziget with Cosmo quite frequently and I've become acquainted with the "tree people" of the island which make it a treasured destination for the denizens of Budapest. Tourists visit frequently as well but they never seem quite as concentrated here as they do in other tourist hot spots (i.e. the Castle District).
I love all of the trees on the island. They all seem so eager to communicate with the humans, beckoning with delicately budding branches, foliage singing in the breezes rising from the river. This is the kind of talk that inspires Boone and Aidan to call me "fern-sniffer".
But really, please. The trees. They are totally ent-like. But one tree in particular is the star performance artist among them. It's an elderly hedgeapple tree (Maclura pomifera), or bebiztosít almafa in magyar. It seems to writhe in an agonizing dance of supplication but is, of course, completely still. A woody tableau of tortured surreal naturalism.
This tree could have starred in a cameo in "Pan's Labyrinth" or any number of Tim Burton flicks. From a small distance it looks sculptural, not necessarily so animated, kind of invites you to climb all over it once you move in a bit closer. It is awkwardly twisted but sturdy with roughly textured bark that looks (and presumably feels) like dinosaur skin. You might find yourself thinking of an ancient Hungarian nagypapa whose lap is a safe haven for his grandchildren.
In that case, you might be fooled. Up close, the old tree doesn't really look like the sanctuary it seems from afar. When I first came upon the tree, I kinda felt as if I had walked in on something that did not wish to be interrupted. Some sort of creation drama was going on here. One that might be dangerous to witness.
Creatures seem to be issuing forth from this tree, taking a glacier's age to complete the cycle. Or maybe, as sometimes happens between the pupal and larval stages of development, the metamorphosis merely halted for reasons only mother nature can tell.
But look...here's some baby dinosaurs struggling to break free from the base of the trunk.
And here's an owl with a cute, cocked little head, watching the world pass by.
I'm not sure what's happening on this part of the trunk. A diabolical pair of conjoined twins, lying upon
the placenta from which they just emerged?
Or perhaps a multi-taloned spirit animal/totem phantom whom the Hungarian gods of old carved with wind and water?
And here's the cudgel which guards this arrested development. Whomping Willow? Meh...
Looks like someone tried to prune the old tree a bit too severely. What became of the person who inflicted this wound? Looks painful...
This tree's intrigue is not just bark deep. Parts of the trunk seem to be almost petrified...the exposed areas reveal satiny, sensual, tiger's eye patterns on the naked wood. These parts tempt you to stroke them. I, of course, obliged. I swear I could hear the tree purrrrrrrrrr......
I'll be seeing this tree again soon. I'll go back, after the slick from this old hedgeapple's rotten fruits has been washed away by these early winter rains, to look and to listen to any more stories or secrets it wants to reveal and to stroke its silky wood. I like to think this tree and I at least have an understanding, if not the beginnings of some sort of friendship.
