Baobab by Misha Beletsky

Beth Moon, a photographer based in the San Francisco Bay Area, has gained international recognition for her large-scale, richly toned platinum-palladium prints. Moon’s work has appeared in over eighty solo and group exhibitions worldwide, and has been featured in publications ranging from the Wall Street Journal to Wired. Her prints are held in numerous public and private collections, including the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston; the Museum of Photographic Arts in San Diego; and the Cleveland Museum of Art. Adrian Patrut, professor of inorganic and radiochemistry at Babes-Bolyai University in Cluj-Napoca, Romania, leads an international team of researchers who are using radiocarbon dating to study the age, growth, and architecture of monumental baobabs.

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PRAISE FOR BETH MOON’S PHOTOGRAPHY “ A vivid expression of the natural world’s enduring beauty” —Atlas Obscura “ One cannot look at Beth Moon’s images of gnarled, overgrown trees and not feel the intrinsic gravity of time.” —Chicago Tribune

ABBEVILLE PRESS “ Trees are notoriously hard to photograph, but Moon captures their individuality with reverent portrayals.” —Library Journal

Ancient Trees: Portraits of Time By Beth Moon Essays by Todd Forrest and Steven Brown isbn 978-0-7892-1195-8 · $49.95 Ancient Skies, Ancient Trees By Beth Moon Essays by Jana Grcevich and Clark Strand isbn 978-0-7892-1267-2 · $49.95 Literary Chickens By Beth Moon Foreword by Isabella Rossellini Afterword by Jane Goodall isbn 978-0-7892-1309-9 · $35

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B AO B A B beth moon

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BAOBAB Beth Moon

With an essay by Adrian Patrut

Baobabs are one of Africa’s natural wonders: they can live more than 2,000 years, and their massive, water-storing trunks can grow to more than 100 feet in circumference. They serve as a renewable source of food, fiber, and fuel, as well as a focus of spiritual life. But now, suddenly, many of the largest baobabs are dying, literally collapsing under their own weight. Scientists believe these ancient giants are being dehydrated by drought and higher temperatures, likely the result of climate change. Photographer Beth Moon, already responsible for some of the most indelible images of Africa’s oldest and largest baobabs, has undertaken a new photographic pilgrimage to bear witness to this environmental catastrophe and document the baobabs that still survive. In this oversize volume, Moon presents breathtaking new duotone tree portraits of the baobabs of Madagascar, Botswana, South Africa, and Senegal. She recounts her eventful journey to visit these monumental trees in a moving diaristic text studded with color travel photos. This book also includes an essay by Adrian Patrut, leader of a research team that has studied Africa’s largest baobabs and alerted the world to the threat these majestic trees are facing. Baobab is not only a compelling photo book and travel narrative, but also a timely ecological warning.

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CONTENTS Madagascar 7

Botswana & South Africa 81

Senegal 91

Studying Africa’s Oldest and Largest Baobabs By Adrian Patrut 111

M A DA G A S C A R Cut off from the rest of the world, this ancient island in the Indian Ocean will seduce even the most jaded visitor. A land of endless vistas and lush forests, Madagascar is defined by its unique wildlife, by grand, dramatic gestures found in curling branches and extravagantly sized trunks of gargantuan measure.

antananarivo morondava Avenue of the Baobabs

•

Throughout the millennia, Baobab stands engaged and present, an alchemist dressed in leaves and bark, reminding us that beauty comes with great age. When the Malagasy speak of Baobab, they do so with respect, their eyes looking upward, for the gifts he gives are many. He shelters, feeds, and cures all.

morombe Tsitakakoike

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tuléar • Ifaty Teapot

After long hours in the hot African sun, squint, and you will see a motley crew of grizzled titans resembling milk jugs, teapots, and flower vases. But be careful not to stay in the forest too long. Baobab will bewitch you. What follows is the story of my journey to this island where magic, miraculous beauty, and some of the oldest trees exist.

Sunday, January 13 With the morning light, new possibilities arise.

large

One thought stands above the rest. I think about the I saw on the side of the road on the drive from the airport.

African cattle

At breakfast, I ask Leong about these animals. I draw a picture to show him.

“Zebu!” he says. I ask, “Can we go into the forest with a cart pulled by zebu?” I motion to him and then point to myself and then at the picture of the zebu. He looks at me, puzzled. “Zebu?” He repeats, “A cart pulled by zebu,” quizzically, as if he is thinking the idea over. Then he throws his head back in laughter. “A Malagasy limousine! We try,” he says.

We take the day to prepare and go into Morombe to get supplies. is in the center of the village on a dirt path. There are bins displaying assorted vegetables, spices, and large bags of rice. Older women sit off to the side as their daughters take care of the transactions.

The market

long strips of baobab bark

I see hanging from the ceiling. It is used for making baskets, rope, and roofing. We get old rice sacks to make poncho-like raincoats. We are lucky to find a large sheet of plastic to go over the top of the cart and heavy bags to protect my camera equipment from rain and dust.

Astonishment and horror set in as Tsitakakoike comes into view. Half of the tree has collapsed; a portion of the sides and back of the trunk remain. Gigantic branches, larger than most trees, lay in disarray at the base of the trunk. The entire spectacle is about the size of a football field. From this perspective, we get a glimpse of the astonishing metaphor this image presents—amid the wreckage, some vibrant green leaves remain, a fragile and ephemeral sign of life. I stare at the unfolding tragedy before me with horror. Grand in deterioration, it is all so hard to comprehend. Exposed roots signify drought; the rains have come too late. It will take a few weeks, maybe a month, before the tree collapses entirely. The broken trunk

exposes the heart of the tree.

Heartwood, by definition, is the older, nonliving central part of the tree, usually darker and harder than the younger sapwood. Its main function is to support the tree. The heartwood could no long support the tree. Hand on my heart steadies the beating in my chest. The words of Jane Hirshfield come to mind. Today, for some, a universe will vanish. First noisily, then just another silence. The silence of after, once the theater has emptied. Of bewilderment after the glacier, the species, the star.

Something else, in the scale of quickening things, will replace it, The hole of light in the light, the puzzled birds swerving around it. —from “Today, Another Universe”

The local people of the surrounding villages belong to a tribe known as the Masikoro. Traditions may vary between tribes, but the importance of ancestors (razana) is universal throughout the island. They are the source from which the life force flows. If the razana are remembered, they will look after family members by granting blessings and will guide them in making decisions. Steeped in a deeply rooted ancestral religion mixed with animist beliefs, the Masikoro believe that the spirits of their ancestors reside in Tsitakakoike. The tree has a concentration of sacred power. Leong explains to me that, before I can take pictures of the tree, the chief must get permission from the elders. The chief functions as an intermediary between the people of the tribe and the spirits in the tree, who, it is believed, require incentive or rewards in exchange for their assistance. We have brought gifts: a bottle of rum and a bag of loose-leaf tobacco.

gather under the shade

All the people from the village begin to of the fallen tree. While we are waiting, I see the chief tuck a pinch of tobacco between two roots near the trunk. He pauses for just a minute, lowers his eyes, and caresses the roots as if he is touching the hand of an old friend. A lizard watches from the shadows.