Guardian

Kirstin Vanlierde
Jul 30, 2017 · 4 min read

SAPLING #12 & How it came about

© KV — View from my parents’ house

This summer my illustrator/friend/creative soulmate Jurgen and I, for the umpteenth time, each went on holiday at the same moment and to the same region in southern France, each of us with our families and to be with our parents (in-law), each in some remote house in the countryside half an hour’s drive away from the city of Albi, and barely ten minutes drive away from each other.

You’d say we do this sort of thing on purpose, but the truth is we really don’t. The parallells between us can at times be so striking that they get funny. Or a little scary.

The trigger that led to Sapling#12 is another nice one.

After cruising south for almost twelve hours, leaving the highway in Montauban for the last stretch along secondary roads is always a relief. One special moment during that last hour comes when you reach the top of a wood-covered hill and get a view of the Gaillac valley stretching out below as the road starts to descend. One house is built against a neighboring slope, and in its garden grows the most majestic old stone pine. That sentinel tree will catch my attention every year, and this year I even mentioned it to Chris as we drove past it. He knows me well enough by now not to be surprised when his wife, eyes on the road and hands on the wheel, will nonetheless point out any beautiful trees we happen to pass.

Once we had settled at my parents’ in Fauch I texted Jurgen to inquire about his trip — turned out we also travelled on the same freaking day, got up at about the same time of night to start the journey, had similar experiences at the rest stations along the road and even arrived more or less at the same time — we must have been minutes apart on the highway… Just sayin’.

Straight away he told me he had a new Sapling idea. About the hare, or the hoopoe perhaps (a stunning, shy bird), both of which he happened to spot upon arrival, as he enthusiastically told me? No no, about a stone pine on the road to Albi, of which he took a picture every year as they drove past it, a family tradition by now.
Me: Ah, I just pointed out a really beautiful one this afternoon.
He: You’re not talking about that one tree, there, in that particular spot, are you?

We have long reached the point where these quirky coincidences have ceased to surprise me.
But they never cease to make me smile.


SAPLING #12

Guardian

The trunk has barely thickened. But the crown has grown a little fuller, with that one fragile branch bowing a little lower. Still green, though.

You know this tree well. You are looking for it to appear at the end of the winding climb. It is the guardian etched against the sky above the valley, the silhouette signaling the destination is in sight.

You are almost home.

© Jurgen Walschot

Year after year, just like he does, you root a little deeper here. Returning to the same place means making it yours. You will check for familiar landmarks, and changes during your absence will take you by surprise.

Digging yourself in, you allow the land to change you. Very slowly, a little every year. Until you have reached the point where you realize that you trust the soil to sustain you — even during downpours, squalls or droughts.
The stone pine can’t be bothered with the whims of the weather, either. At most, it will shed some needles.

Sometimes it irritates you, this attachment. There is a small and limiting quality about it, like a child playing it safe. Wouldn’t it be better to be wanderer, a vagabond, kept neither by home nor commitment? A migratory bird, even. It, at least, is traveling.

But the landscape contradicts you.

For nothing in this waving world is ever truly still. The heartbeat of this land resounds deep and dear. The strips of undergrowth across the lazy hills set the pace for seasons and lives unfolding without haste. You know: you can be here. The horizon, a hazy blue of the kind you’ll find in medieval paintings, welcomes you without any obligation attached.

Fly if you like, the land rustles, but know there is no need to flee. And every time you choose to land, I will be waiting for you, arms opened wide.

A few weeks later, you pass the stately green guardian again on your reluctant way back to greyer skies, and say a silent goodbye. And you promise him you will return.

© Jurgen Walschot

For home, once known, is the magnet to which our compass is ever irresistibly, jubilantly, drawn.


The SAPLING series is a joint project with artist and illustrator Jurgen Walschot.
Saplings are creative sprouts. I will write to the images, he will draw to the words.

The Story Hall

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Kirstin Vanlierde

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A songbird aiming to add its song to the endless music playing throughout the universe.

The Story Hall

A gathering place for stories to be told, read and appreciated.

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