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ACT National Arboretum Canberra a Tribute to Nature.

Aboretum panorama 1.

Arboretum panorama 1.

These views show the immensity of this project it is far from established. Even at this stage it is well worth visiting. The work is still in progress for people and Mother Nature to complete the work. Nature is unmatched, by man’s hand and she cannot be rushed. I would like to see the forests when they are established in ten; twenty or thirty years (I will have to be lucky) The people who have dreamed up this whole project are  impressive artists in many fields. But like the poem by Joyce Kilmer.

Trees

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

There are two exceptional sculptures and spectacular architecture.

 The sculpture is a tribute to Dorothea Mackellar and her poem, My Country. The start of this poem is appropriate to Pauline and I. To get a more comprehensive idea of the area and history hit this link to Pauline’s post. I am more interested in the sculpture and the tribute to Mother Nature.

Panorama made up of 3 photos by Pauline.

Panorama made up of 3 photos by Pauline.

The wide brown land sculpture that can be seen from many vantage points, the words are in Dorothea Mackellar’s hand writing. To me it is not a small achievement, it was a combined effort of skilled artist and craftsmen.  Imagine the marking out of the steel plates, the forming and welding the grinding and smoothing and the shifting into place.

 The Village Centre houses the Bonsai and Penjing collection and many other things of interest.

We walked into an established forest area and smelled barbeque cooking.  There was a man cooking at a powered barbeque and a lady. Click went my camera I like photos of people enjoying life.

I spoke to the man “I just took a photo of you and your lady she looked so at peace.”

“My wife is praying.”

“That’s nice I follow the Buddha’s path and meditate.”

“It is all good.” He replied.

“Enjoy. “were my parting word.

I thought what a nice couple appreciating nature in the peaceful forest, nature’s cathedral or mosque. As he said all is good. The wide brown land is a multinational land where people are generally accepting and respectful of each other’s customs and this enhances life with the different foods and a variety of dress.

Dorothea Mackellar was in London when she wrote the poem My Country. I often recalled the poem when I was working in New Zealand. New Zealand is a wonderful country but there is no place like home.

 

My Country.

The love of field and coppice,
Of green and shaded lanes.

Of ordered woods and gardens

Is running in your veins,
Strong love of grey-blue distance
Brown streams and soft dim skies
I know but cannot share it,
My love is otherwise.

Natures art.

I love a sunburnt country,
A land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges,
Of droughts and flooding rains.
I love her far horizons,
I love her jewel-sea,
Her beauty and her terror –
The wide brown land for me!

A stark white ring-barked forest
All tragic to the moon,
The sapphire-misted mountains,
The hot gold hush of noon.
Green tangle of the brushes,
Where lithe lianas coil,
And orchids deck the tree-tops
And ferns the warm dark soil.

Core of my heart, my country!
Her pitiless blue sky,
When sick at heart, around us,
We see the cattle die –
But then the grey clouds gather,

The Kiss.

The Kiss.

And we can bless again
The drumming of an army,
The steady, soaking rain.

Core of my heart, my country!
Land of the Rainbow Gold,
For flood and fire and famine,
She pays us back threefold –
Over the thirsty paddocks,
Watch, after many days,
The filmy veil of greenness
That thickens as we gaze.

An opal-hearted country,
A wilful, lavish land –
All you who have not loved her,
You will not understand –
Though earth holds many splendours,
Wherever I may die,
I know to what brown countryArboretum JC
My homing thoughts will fly.

Dorothea Mackellar

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