I'd hate to be a tree.
Unfortunately, last-night's gale blew down our only mimosa tree. Sad, because my wife and I were instrumental in its planting many years ago. It served the very useful purpose of screening off another block of apartments across the gardens... oh well, maybe some beautiful people may move in at some stage. But I'd never see them, anyway, as the interesting side of our place faces southwards along the line of the Tramuntana mountains. We used to be able to look at the winter snows on Puig Major, at 1445 metres, the highest peak in Mallorca and, surprisingly, higher, I believe, than anything in the UK. It was all quite romantic, in its way.
Now I see part of the range, but most, including Puig, has been hidden behind a freshly growing pine forest, courtesy the EEC that bribed our local farmer to slaughter all his animals and stop growing cereals. So, gone the animal life, the flowing sea of golden corn and a big Hi! to the green gloom that's overtaken the abadoned, once-productive farm. Mallorca was probably quite self-sufficient in terms of food production at one time.
Did I ever mention my theory about a lost Golden Age? Probably not.
Rob C
