Ljudski crvi u adamovečkoj šumi / Human worms in the Adamovec Forest

Šuma u Adamovcu jedna je od većih izoliranih šuma Grada Zagreba. Ne znam točnu površinu (koju se uz nevelik trud ipak može saznati), no velika je toliko da ju se u sat vremena umjerenog hoda može prehodati i uzduž i poprijeko. Nije od turističkog interesa, pa ni onog hodačkog, trkačkog ili biciklističkog; interesira tek lokalne tinejdžere motoriste i pokojeg berača gljiva ujesen. I možda se već u odnosu tih dviju skupina nazire ono po čemu je ova šuma važna, meni samo lokalno, ali s onime što joj se događa i globalno: dok je motorista sve više, berača gljiva je sve manje, i to ne toliko zato što bi ta prastara aktivnost sve manje privlačila ljude, nego zato što su gljive sve rjeđe, pogotovo one vrjednije.

Šumu sam otkrio kada smo nabavili psa. Vjerojatno nikad ne bih tako često zalazio u nju da ga nismo navikli na svakodnevno pražnjenje energije trkom kroz šumu. Po svom preciznom biološkom satu, svakog se dana pojavi na vratima u točnom periodu popodneva, otprilike dva sata prije nastupanja mraka. Snažnijeg nagona nego što je moj, svakog me, dakle, dana odvodi u tu rijetku, ne i apsolutnu, oazu praznine, gdje se čovjeka sretne tek u zaista rijetkim prigodama. Živog se čovjeka rijetko sretne, ali sve se više susreće nepovratne tragove koje su ljudi ostavili u vremenima u kojima pas i ja ne obavljamo šetnju.

Najčešće srećemo svoje blizance, čovjeka koji živi na suprotnom rubu šume i koji također revno odvodi svoju pasicu na istu vrstu fizičkog i mentalnog pražnjenja. Uvijek nam se razgovor ukrsti na jednoj točki, onoj zgražanja nad time što se zadnjih godina događa sa šumom. Opet se ne oslanjavši na točne podatke, dojam je nas obojice da se šuma unazad pet godina prorijedila za 10-ak posto, što je, gledano u broju porušenih stabala, na stotine, vjerojatno i tisuće nestalih komada, redovito onih najsnažnijih ili ‘najkvalitetnijih’.

To nas je zgražanje dovelo do još jedne zajedničkosti, da kao nemoćni aktivisti ostavljamo poruke drvosječama. Zbog vlastitih skrupula, poruke su prijeteće, ali nedovoljno. Možda koga na kratak period zaustave, ali rezultat je isti - šuma sve više izgleda kao da je izjedaju crvi.

Obojica smo isto tako primijetili da je i broj divljih, ‘pravih’ životinja sve manji. Lovci svejednako odlaze u lov na srne, iako ih je ostalo ne više od deset; lisica je otprilike toliko; zečeva još manje. Divlje svinje zalutaju u većem broju, no brzo ih se nanjuši i odnese u gulaš ili kobasice. Jedino se zračne životinje dobro drže, jastrebovi i čaplje, prvi jer ljudi u njima ne vide nikakvu korist, druge iz istog razloga kao i jastrebovi, ali i zato što se klima promijenila pa zimi više ne lete na jug, nego ostaju ovdje i sigurne se množe.

Adamovečka šuma, nekoć, kao i svaka šuma, sinonim za bogatstvo života, postala je više nalik stratištu, a svaki odlazak u nju sve je bolniji i sve više izaziva osjećaj nemoći. Pozivalo se na njene rubove i policiju, što zbog buke koju proizvode motori, što zbog nelegalne i nekontrolirane sječe stabala. Fajde nema. Kako bi je i bilo kad se u njoj ne vidi ništa osim izvora neprilične zabave ili profita.

Osim policije, za nju ne brine ni lokalna zajednica, ni civilna ni upravna. Civila, kao što sam rekao, nema, nema ih kako ih je nekad znalo biti, kada se u šumi poštovao red, kada su se stabla sjekla tek za osobne kućanske potrebe, kada su sjekla ona suvišna ili suvišnija, i kada se u zamjenu za uzeto stablo posadilo novo. A o upravi mogu reći tek to da ne znam je li ikad zakoračila u šumu.

Prepušteni smo, stoga, promatranju kako lijepe šumske slike nestaju, kako se umjesto divnih scena gomilaju scene izrovanih tala, praznih polja s panjevima i ostavljenog granja. Bolno bi bilo to gledati i da je samo do estetike i osobnog uživanja. No, kao što znamo, nije. Ova je šuma identitet lokalnog kraja i mala točka koja s tolikim šumskim točkama dijeli tužnu sudbinu uništavanja.

Autor teksta i fotografija: Matej Čolig

--------------------------------------------------

-------------------------------------------------

The forest in Adamovec is one of the larger isolated forests within the City of Zagreb. I don’t know its exact area (which, with a little effort, could nevertheless be found out), but it is large enough that, at a moderate walking pace, one can cross it lengthwise and widthwise within an hour. It holds no tourist interest, not even for walkers, runners, or cyclists; it interests only local teenage motorcyclists and the occasional mushroom picker in autumn. And perhaps already in the relationship between these two groups one can glimpse what makes this forest important—only locally to me, but with what is happening to it also globally: while motorcyclists are becoming more numerous, mushroom pickers are becoming fewer, not so much because this ancient activity attracts fewer people, but because mushrooms are increasingly rare, especially the more valuable ones.

I discovered the forest when we got a dog. I would probably never have gone into it so often if we hadn’t accustomed him to daily energy release by running through the woods. According to his precise biological clock, he appears at the door every day at exactly the same period in the afternoon, about two hours before nightfall. With a stronger drive than mine, he thus leads me every day into that rare, though not absolute, oasis of emptiness, where one encounters another person only on truly rare occasions. Living people are rarely encountered, but the irreversible traces that people have left behind at times when the dog and I are not out walking are encountered more and more often.

Most often we meet our doubles: a man who lives on the opposite edge of the forest and who also diligently takes his female dog out for the same kind of physical and mental release. Our conversations always intersect at one point—our shared dismay at what has been happening to the forest in recent years. Again without relying on precise data, both of us have the impression that over the past five years the forest has thinned by about ten percent, which, in terms of felled trees, means hundreds, probably thousands of missing specimens, regularly the strongest or “highest-quality” ones.

That dismay has led us to another commonality: as powerless activists, we leave messages for the loggers. Out of our own scruples, the messages are threatening, but insufficiently so. Perhaps they stop someone for a short time, but the result is the same—the forest increasingly looks as though it is being eaten away by worms.

Both of us have also noticed that the number of wild, “real” animals is decreasing as well. Hunters continue to go after roe deer, even though no more than ten remain; foxes number about the same; hares even fewer. Wild boar wander in in larger numbers, but are quickly tracked down and turned into goulash or sausages. Only airborne animals are holding up well—hawks and herons: the former because people see no use in them, the latter for the same reason, but also because the climate has changed, so they no longer fly south in winter but stay here and reproduce safely.

The Adamovec Forest, once—like any forest—a synonym for an abundance of life, has become more like a killing ground, and every visit to it is more painful and increasingly evokes a feeling of powerlessness. The police have been called to its edges, both because of the noise produced by motorcycles and because of illegal and uncontrolled logging. It’s of no use. How could it be, when nothing is seen in it except a source of inappropriate entertainment or profit?

Apart from the police, neither the local community nor civil society nor the administration takes care of it. Civilians, as I said, are no longer there—not as they once were, when order was respected in the forest, when trees were cut only for personal household needs, when surplus or more surplus trees were felled, and when a new tree was planted in exchange for one taken. And about the administration I can say only that I don’t know whether it has ever set foot in the forest.

We are therefore left to watch as beautiful forest scenes disappear, as instead of wonderful vistas there accumulate scenes of churned-up soil, empty fields of stumps, and abandoned branches. It would be painful to watch even if it were only a matter of aesthetics and personal enjoyment. But, as we know, it is not. This forest is the identity of the local area and a small point which, together with so many forest points, shares the sad fate of destruction.

Author of the text and photographs:: Matej Čolig