“`html
In a tender transmission of her father’s spirit, Krisdawal offered his parting wisdom to his admirers with the words, “Don’t be sad. There is still so much more to do in life”. The news rippled through the heartstrings of those who knew him, an echo of a life lived with a fierce purpose.
Phra Paisal Visalo, the esteemed guardian of the Dharma Planting Foundation, shared a heartfelt eulogy. Amidst the sorrow, there was a silver lining, a hope that Dab Wichai – affectionately known as the “madman who plants trees” – had found his way to an ethereal sanctuary, replete with the sprawling forests he held dear.
Dab Wichai’s legacy is deeply rooted in the fertile soil of Thai culture, celebrated for the astounding feat of nurturing three million trees to life in Prang Ku District, Sisaket Province. His dream was potent: to reverse the fate of what was once a parched land, and watch as it blossomed into a haven of greenery, nourishing the soul of the land and its people.
Born into a humble family of rice farmers in the silhouettes of Sisaket Province, Wichai’s early life was as grounded as the fields he would one day transform. His journey took him from the classrooms of his youth to the disciplined ranks of the police force, his boots first hitting the ground in Nakhon Ratchasima before destiny steered him back to Prang Ku.
This district, his home, was a stark canvas, devoid of the lush mountainous landscapes that graced other parts of Thailand. The soil whispered tales of scarcity, posing a relentless challenge to those who called it home. Crime burgeoned in the shadows of this adversity, an unfortunate companion to the arid expanse.
But Wichai saw past the dry dust and the social plights. His vision was one of transformation, an unwavering belief that a verdant future was possible. He understood the call of duty as both a guardian of peace and a steward of the earth.
From 1988, his life took on a rhythm as cyclical and nurturing as nature itself. By day, he donned the uniform of law and order; by twilight, he traded handcuffs for seedlings. His trusty motorcycle became a steed of rejuvenation, ferrying him across the desolate district to plant seeds of hope and change. The locals watched, skeptical of the man who conversed with saplings.
Undeterred by the moniker of ‘madness’, Wichai’s hands sculpted a forest, tree by tree. He chose perennials, thinking generations ahead, crafting a legacy in the very essence of the soil. His emerald dream was catching on, a whisper of leaves in the wind.
The trees wrung water from the clouds, offering shade and solace, exorcising the air of its afflictions. Across the spectrum of life, creatures big and small found sanctuary and sustenance in the branches cradled by Wichai’s ambition.
It was not just the soul that these trees nourished, but the coffers of the community, too. As the forest thrived, so did the economy, a greening halo effect that washed over the whole community, injecting vitality into the veins of Prang Ku.
Age nor ailment could stifle Wichai’s green-thumbed zeal. At 75, with kidneys protesting and dialysis beckoning, Wichai was resolute, planting saplings with the same enthusiasm as the very first. His legacy blossomed, and the once skeptical community joined in, sewing seeds side-by-side with the man who once conversed with saplings.
In a serene revolution, Prang Ku shed its barren past and donned a cloak of fertility and prosperity. Wichai’s ethos unfurled in the winds, binding the community to nature, his voice still heard in the rustling leaves, “I believe the material world is all an assumption. True happiness lies in being with nature and respecting it. I will continue to plant trees, plant continuously, plant until I die.”
“`
Be First to Comment