Death of an Oak Tree

Recently an old oak tree became the center of small controversy for some people in my community. Though this tree was well-aged and had a hole within its bowels that held a hive of bees,some people were offended when it was cut down to its stump. This outburst of protest has led me to wonder if we view our own demise in the death of a tree. After all, though six small saplings have since been planted in the place of the one lone oak, it is unlikely that any of those offended will live to see those small saplings grow into great oaks with their limbs hanging about them like arms extending to the community.

In fact, I recall the oak tree of my youth. This great tree stood in my parent's backyard, held my tire swing where I dreamed of flying a spaceship into the clouds, had nestled within its branches my brother's treehouse (which I was too afraid to enter), and provided shade for the many days my brother and I played underneath its protection. Never did I question that this looming symbol of my childhood would be present in my parent's backyard forever. That is until my teen years when I witnessed it die and be hauled from our yard as firewood. I watched the activity from the window of my childhood home. I felt loss that I could not explain and sadness that swept over me. To this day, as I look to that spot where my mother hopelessly planted a flower bed which looks to be a poor substitute for the great oak, I can't help but remember that tree--and know that within my own life there will never be a looming oak in that spot. Perhaps within my heart, but never within that soil.