The quiet achiever of the podocarp forest. Mataī does not scream for attention like rimu with its weeping foliage or kauri with its massive trunk. It stands there, dark and dense, minding its own business. Its bark is dark brown to almost black, rough and scaly, cracking into small, square plates. From a distance, the tree looks like a dark green pillar, a column of shadow in lighter canopy of broadleaf trees.
What makes it special? The foliage. Mataī leaves are small, narrow, and sharply pointed – like a tiny lance head. Dark green on top and paler underneath, arranged in two rows along branchlets, giving the foliage a flat, fern-like appearance. Unlike drooping, weeping branchlets of rimu, Mataī holds its foliage stiff and upright. A tree that does not bend.
The bark is another clue. Older Mataī trees develop a distinctive, almost corky bark deeply furrowed and dark. In lowland forests of Wairarapa and Hawke Bay, old Mataī were known as black pines – a reference to their dark trunks and timber.
The fruit is where Mataī truly shines. The tree is dioecious – separate male and female trees. Females produce a small, fleshy, blue-black berry that sits on a thin, red stem. Sweet and rich, a high-energy food for
kererū (wood pigeon). Kererū swallows berry whole, digests flesh, and poops out seed somewhere else. Mataī travels on wings.
The wood is dense, heavy, and straight-grained. Used for flooring, weatherboards, frames of houses. Older trees often develop a dark, almost black heartwood – black mataī – prized for decorative inlay and fine furniture. A Mataī floorboard laid down in 1920 is probably still there, still straight, still solid.
To stand under a Mataī is to stand under a dark green umbrella. Dense foliage, deep shade, trunk black and rough. Not the tallest. Not the flashiest. The quiet one, the steady one, the tree that holds the line while others fight for light. It has been here for millennia. It will be here as long as the forest needs a dark green pillar in the canopy.