I am Gnomus, caretaker of the Earth

I hear every one of these plants' stories 

I am Gnomus Enormis.  Gnomus to those who take time to know me. A giant gnome. The giant gnome.  Last, ahhhyesss… the last survivor of my species.  

I’m a caretaker of the Earth. Tickling tree roots, cradling seeds, keeping watch on the saplings, as they spring forth into your world above. 

And this care-taking has been a job for life, my friends. Ahhhyesss, um, tum, tree, top, five. Yes! Five hundred million years ago I stopped celebrating my birthday. “Old codger” doesn’t come close.  

I was there when the first tree climbed high into the sky, I was there when the last dinosaur lay down to die. And all the time I listened…  

Listened from underground to the sound of life above. The stories that find and wind their way down to me, through nature’s roots.  

Through the boom of the asteroid strike, the mighty crack of the ice age thawing, I still heard nature’s stories. Now though I hear more noise than ever before.  

I’m afraid I’m talking about you, my friends. Ahhhyess, nature muddled along quite well but now all I hear above me are you humans. 

You crash about, stomp across the planet, tear up plants and trees. And through the dreadful din I hear the roots crying. Crying out for help. 

Look at all these plants at Kew. Just a bit of care-taking is all they need. Um, tum, tree, top… ohhh, one hundred and ten years this beautiful, glossy-leaved encephalartos woodii has lived here now. Here before any of you. 

I hear every one of these plants’ stories. But I only visit the Green World when I need to tell a story for the final time. 

Can you imagine a splendid, proud plant here, beside me? Small leaves the colour of turtle-shell, growing gloriously in the sunlit mountainsides. I remember it. The St Helena Olive. Now it is extinct.   

The clever banksia brownii can rise like a phoenix from the flames. But most plants cannot. Once we lose them… Ahhhyesss, once we lose them they are gone forever. 

I am ancient and tired. Oooowphhh…I’ve got bunions that date back to the Bronze Age.  

But aren’t I still-living proof? Proof that you can be giant and still tread lightly and carefully during your time on Earth.  

You, young little humans, I’m trusting you to be quieter.  

I’ll be listening for as long as I can. I’m hoping that below the ground that instead of hearing you big humans, I’ll hear the sound of care-taking.  

The roots. The roots will tell me if it’s so.    

Gnomus is brought to you by Puppets with GUTS.