Brazilian Tree Gets a Big Hug

GLORIA DO GOITA, Brazil — They live a continent apart, but Ana Cristina Roldao and Yung Chin are transported to the same realms of rapture when they contemplate the stalwart trunk and spreading branches of the pernambuco tree.

Roldao, a conservationist, displays a maternal tenderness as she describes the beauty and dignity of the saplings in her care here in eastern Brazil. She caresses their bark, calls them "my daughters" and anxiously charts their growth.

Chin too reveres the pernambuco. But he is inspired more by its potential for transformation into something else: an object of simple elegance, carved out of the tree's rich red core and carefully whittled down to a slender, gently arced stick weighing barely 2 ounces.

"Wood is like drugs for us," said the New York-based Chin, one of a few hundred craftsmen worldwide who hand-make bows for stringed instruments. "It's a big turn-on when we see a nice board."

For 200 years, nearly all violin, viola, cello and bass bows in the world have been fashioned from pernambuco wood, everything from the cruder sticks used by youngsters to saw Suzuki-method tunes out of their fiddles to the prized accessories of artists such as violinist Jascha Heifetz, who jealously guarded his favorite bow until his death. For professional bow-makers and serious string players, only pernambuco possesses the right qualities, the ideal blend of strength and flexibility, required in a top-flight bow.

But centuries of deforestation in the pernambuco's native habitat have jeopardized not only the survival of Brazil's national tree but the future of the bow-making industry -- and the enjoyment of musicians, orchestras and audiences around the world who depend on it.

In the coming months, the Brazilian government is expected to ask international authorities to slap restrictions, or even an outright ban, on trade in pernambuco wood. After years of hemming and hawing, officials appear poised finally to make a decision, spurred by the grim reality on the ground.

"They're beginning to internalize the fact that there are hardly any trees left to manage," Roldao said.

Roldao, 52, has devoted the last 20 years to saving the Caesalpinia echinata, which is confined to the coastal forest of eastern Brazil. Her lonely crusade has flung her into combat against ignorance, indifference and bureaucratic inertia, nemeses of environmental activists everywhere.


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