Saturday, August 07, 2004
Goodbye, Old Friend
As some of you know, I used to live on Oak Street here in Carbondale. From what I've heard of local history, Oak Street got its name because at some point in the past, it was home to an impressive family of massive old oak trees. Most of the remaining trees were cut down a long time ago when they built the hospital and parking lot across the street from my old house. However, when I first moved onto that block about three years ago, I discovered a wonderful treat -- a single majestic oak tree that had been spared from the fate of its oaken kin.
For whatever reasons, the designers of the new lot decided to preserve this single oak tree by rerouting their fence to exclude a patch of grass about twenty feet square. They even put in a park bench for people to sit on in the shade of this gentle giant. Maybe they spared this tree because it was the biggest and oldest of the group. I must say, it would have taken at least three or four people to link arms to wrap themselves around this Mighty Oak. But for whatever reasons, there it stood -- a living memory of the history of the area.
I used to walk by Mighty Oak fairly often. It wasn't on my path to work, the Interfaith Center, or the Neighborhood Co-op, so I didn't pass by it every day. Out of all of these irregular visits, I don't think that I sat at the base of its trunk more than a dozen times at most. However, this tree friend of mine became both a source of grounding and a symbol of this land's relationship with the oaks. On more than one occassion, I came to this tree to ground, center, and gather my thoughts in times of great stress and turmoil. In this way, it played a similar role in my life to Leaning Oak, my tree friend by Campus Lake. After I moved to the opposite side of town, my visits to Oak Street and that area of town became much less frequent. Even so, I still walked down Oak Street occassionally. I suppose I took for granted that Mighty Oak would always be there. After all, it had surely been planted before my grandparents had even been born. Surely, it would outlive me by at least a few generations.
Well, tonight I had some extra time before visiting a friend on Oak Street. So, I decided to stop by Mighty Oak and do something that I don't think I've ever done before -- namely, leave a small offering at the base of this tree, as I've done at the bases of several others. As I approached the site, I kept looking overhead through the branches to see the trunk and bough of this majestic tree. But as I came to that familiar patch of grass, all that I found was a mound of dirt roughly the width of my old friend.
The Mighty Oak had fallen.
I still don't know what happened. Was it lightning? Surely it wasn't rot, because I don't remember seeing anything that serious when I stopped by a month or two ago. Surely it wasn't the wind, because half of the houses on that block would have blown down before Mighty Oak even bent. Was it cut down needlessly for to prepare for some new structure or parking lot expansion? I'd like to find some answers eventually, but for the moment I just don't know. All that I know is that one of the few trees who I've gotten to know personally in this lifetime is now gone for good. It's not just a loss to me -- its a loss to the history and ecology of the entire community. And now, I'm left wondering -- am I the only one who cares about Mighty Oak's passing? Am I the only one who even noticed?
On my walk down that stree, I had planned on meditating at the foot of this tree. Now, I had no gentle giant to lean on. I simply sat facing the mound of earth for a few moments, allowing myself to feel the sadness of the experience even though I knew that most of the silly humans out there in human land wouldn't understand my sense of loss. Finally, I tossed my offering onto the mound. Today's offering was a single medjool date -- which, coming from such a fanatical lover of sweets, is quite an impressive offering indeed.
So, tonight I said goodbye to an old friend. As I walked home, I felt a gentle reassurance that there will be other trees, and that I should take this as a reminder to introduce my friends to Leaning Oak before it, too, is gone forever. But even so, the thought of other trees sparked a twinge of heartache. Yes, there will be other trees, but this one was a tree that had a real place in my heart and my life. You may be gone, Mighty Oak, but you will never be forgotten.
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For whatever reasons, the designers of the new lot decided to preserve this single oak tree by rerouting their fence to exclude a patch of grass about twenty feet square. They even put in a park bench for people to sit on in the shade of this gentle giant. Maybe they spared this tree because it was the biggest and oldest of the group. I must say, it would have taken at least three or four people to link arms to wrap themselves around this Mighty Oak. But for whatever reasons, there it stood -- a living memory of the history of the area.
I used to walk by Mighty Oak fairly often. It wasn't on my path to work, the Interfaith Center, or the Neighborhood Co-op, so I didn't pass by it every day. Out of all of these irregular visits, I don't think that I sat at the base of its trunk more than a dozen times at most. However, this tree friend of mine became both a source of grounding and a symbol of this land's relationship with the oaks. On more than one occassion, I came to this tree to ground, center, and gather my thoughts in times of great stress and turmoil. In this way, it played a similar role in my life to Leaning Oak, my tree friend by Campus Lake. After I moved to the opposite side of town, my visits to Oak Street and that area of town became much less frequent. Even so, I still walked down Oak Street occassionally. I suppose I took for granted that Mighty Oak would always be there. After all, it had surely been planted before my grandparents had even been born. Surely, it would outlive me by at least a few generations.
Well, tonight I had some extra time before visiting a friend on Oak Street. So, I decided to stop by Mighty Oak and do something that I don't think I've ever done before -- namely, leave a small offering at the base of this tree, as I've done at the bases of several others. As I approached the site, I kept looking overhead through the branches to see the trunk and bough of this majestic tree. But as I came to that familiar patch of grass, all that I found was a mound of dirt roughly the width of my old friend.
The Mighty Oak had fallen.
I still don't know what happened. Was it lightning? Surely it wasn't rot, because I don't remember seeing anything that serious when I stopped by a month or two ago. Surely it wasn't the wind, because half of the houses on that block would have blown down before Mighty Oak even bent. Was it cut down needlessly for to prepare for some new structure or parking lot expansion? I'd like to find some answers eventually, but for the moment I just don't know. All that I know is that one of the few trees who I've gotten to know personally in this lifetime is now gone for good. It's not just a loss to me -- its a loss to the history and ecology of the entire community. And now, I'm left wondering -- am I the only one who cares about Mighty Oak's passing? Am I the only one who even noticed?
On my walk down that stree, I had planned on meditating at the foot of this tree. Now, I had no gentle giant to lean on. I simply sat facing the mound of earth for a few moments, allowing myself to feel the sadness of the experience even though I knew that most of the silly humans out there in human land wouldn't understand my sense of loss. Finally, I tossed my offering onto the mound. Today's offering was a single medjool date -- which, coming from such a fanatical lover of sweets, is quite an impressive offering indeed.
So, tonight I said goodbye to an old friend. As I walked home, I felt a gentle reassurance that there will be other trees, and that I should take this as a reminder to introduce my friends to Leaning Oak before it, too, is gone forever. But even so, the thought of other trees sparked a twinge of heartache. Yes, there will be other trees, but this one was a tree that had a real place in my heart and my life. You may be gone, Mighty Oak, but you will never be forgotten.
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