Tribute to the Cwm Oak
When I first awoke with hearing loss, head filled with a constant cacophony of noise, the world caving in on me, I had moments when I felt as if I could not carry on. I literally divorced myself from the world I knew, retreating to the Cwm, our village woods. Here, I met an Oak tree who taught me how to perceive my life differently. She clung to the soil, half her roots exposed, hanging over the precipice, and yet, her whole being focussed on the remaining life she still held. She did not weep for the parts of herself that had changed or disappeared, instead, her body became a home for lush green moss, her soil bed, a place for wild flowers and in her dying roots, a burrow. She taught me that I was not 'broken', instead, I was healing. This shift in perspective completely changed my world view. Broken is a destination. Healing is a journey. I became awakened, acutely aware and deeply grateful for the natural world; alive with a visceral sense of being. My feet bathed bare in the cold stream, the musty smell of moss lifted my heart, the feel of bark sung into my cells. Fully present, I made a sacred promise to Mother Oak of Cwm, that I would repay her generous life lessons by dedicating my creative practice to nature, although at the time, I had no idea where that promise might take me. When I began adapting the technology used in hearing aid tests to measure biorhythms beneath the bark, Cwm Oak was the first tree I collaborated with. It was my research with Cwm Oak that led to my successful application for a main commission with Unlimited, spending a year collating biorhythms within the Rainforests of Wales and transposing these to compose a tree-led symphony. Cwm Oak unearthed an incredible pathway that shaped my practice, my outlook and my life as a deaf artist.
So, you can imagine the absolute horror and devastation that reverberated through me when I was told she had fallen during storm Eowyn in January 2025. I rushed to be with her, finding only her carcass, chopped into pieces by the farmer. Laying as a pile of dead wood, where once she stood magnificent, now, nothing, no trace ...
I searched for any more of her remains. Cast away, down the side of the bank, I found her root base, mycelium torn and dried out. I wept into her bark, still covered with moss, as was the floor where it had fallen loose. I laid on her trunk, belly down; then, wearing her moss as a warrior head dress, saddened and angry at the loss of ancestral kin, I chanted mantra into the sky. I thought my heart would break. From the corner of my eye, I noticed that where she had fallen, lay a plethora of her acorns. I quickly gathered a pocketful.
When I got home, I planted the acorns in little pots in order to grow saplings that will return to the Cwm in her honour. I have visited her many times since. Last week, I noticed that King Alfred's Cakes, a type of fungi, are growing on her bark. Even in death, chopped up in a pile, she is still giving life to the woods. You cannot fail to respect her selflessness. I placed my hands on her tree rings ... 'How can I serve you, Oak Mother?' I asked. 'Live on and tell my story,' she replied.
