One of my friends was a councillor in a medium-sized city with a rural area. In that rural area there was an abandoned forest. It was wedged between a motorway, a busy provincial road, a residential area and an industrial estate.
Because of that orphanage, apparently nothing special lived in that forest. No squirrel could survive there for long. It was also an ugly forest. Gloomy, wet, monotonous and dead.
Every spring storm – no matter how drizzly – claimed the lives of at least a dozen trees that were never cleared, nor of the footpaths, of which fewer and fewer remained.
A forest that was of no use to anyone
My friend the alderman had Spatial Planning in his portfolio. Prestigious plans were made for the orphaned forest. A park. A swimming pond. A real swimming pool. A playground with a half pipe for older children. A theatre hall. A library and a daycare centre. Secretly my friend the alderman was already looking forward to a building with his name on the facade.
In the midst of the joyful planning, a small but tough Action Group for the Preservation of the Forest was formed. The group actually consisted of only one person. The leader of the group was also the only existing follower. All other members were ghosts.
Non-existent names, non-existent signatures
The leader was a true forest activist. You know the drill: hunter's clothing, big wild beard, weathered face, matted hair with a stray pine branch in it and certainly not social. He sat in the hall at every council meeting, silently with nothing but a banner. He also constantly filed objections. He sent reports with his own plans and ideas. He came up with all kinds of arguments that no one took seriously.
In his documents and writings he wrote about: wolves. Hahahaha… wolves. Bizarre. I would like to add, dear reader, that this took place in the historical year 2000. When people thought of wolves, they still thought of Omsk, Siberia. You know, after the song Dodenrit by Drs. P.
My friend the alderman decided to talk to the forest man. At the town hall. That was initially very difficult. The forest man turned out not to be a talker. Nevertheless, my friend managed to make sense of the plans. The forest man's idea was to connect the dead piece of forest with an area in an adjacent province. That connection would have to be made by means of an old written-off viaduct. To my friend the alderman it sounded like connecting Mars with Pluto via a bypass on the Milky Way.
My friend the alderman took a Saturday off to go and see the forest with the forest man. Now I have to tell you that this is a hearsay, dear reader, but if I am to believe my friend, the lids fell off his eyes on that Saturday.
What seemed dead turned out to be very much alive
The forester showed the – indeed – unsuitable trees. Not suited to this acidic soil type and so on. But he also showed the unique budding green, the exclusive beetle species, the rare moss, the burrows of the almost prehistoric mice that normally live in Omsk, the stately trees that were doing great, for decades, with the burrows of owls in them, the historic winding paths from the Ice Age and indeed, north or east of all this was that old, abandoned viaduct.
In the far distance and with a lot of imagination, that could theoretically be connected to the nose of the Veluwe. Ultimately, a Utopian piece of nature would indeed arise where flora and fauna could develop optimally. Although it was all still an unfeasible idea, of course. It would obviously not happen.
Then my friend asked the most important question of his career. That question was:
“What timeline do you think fits this?”
The answer paradoxically brought my friend the alderman back to reality. The forest man replied: “At least 200 years.”
BAM!
My friend the alderman was moved. Where he calculated in years and terms, this man worried about a future of which he himself would no longer be a part. Over his own period he committed himself to sustainable rather than superficial entertainment. For later instead of now. He himself would not live long enough to be able to see the wolves. But that was not what it was about.
From that moment on, dear reader, my friend the alderman was a fervent advocate of the Bosman plan. He hired a planner, involved Staatsbosbeheer and Rijkswaterstaat, organised information afternoons for fellow citizens who could go on expeditions in wellies, complete with subscription lists because scarcity breeds love, he set up a room in the town hall where models and artist impressions were on display. He let sheep graze around the forest and bought a horse that would carry the tree trunks, because nature management must proceed naturally.
Long story short: now there is all sorts of big game living there. I don't know much about it all, but the trees reach their grandest heights, unique plant species grow and natural pools have sprung up. The old viaduct is now one of the largest and most successful ecoducts in the world. There are no wolves. Not yet.
Beyond your term. Beyond your career. Beyond you will exist. Beyond any of us will live.
Hans Ruinemans, boardroom monk