Another Oak Falls

A few months ago, I wrote about a tree friend of mine that had been cut down on Oak Street. Alas, I found out recently that another of my favorite tree friends has fallen -- this time, the one on Campus Lake that I call Leaning Oak.

Some people may think it's silly for a human like me to call a tree their friend, or to mourn the death of a tree. To these people, I say that you should sit at the base of a tree for a while and see if you feel any differently.

When I sit at the base of a tree, or climb up in a tree's branches, I find a peace inside of myself that I rarely find anywhere else. Whether you think it's genetics, or ancestral memory, or some combination of the two, I believe it's only natural for former tree-dwelling primates such as ourselves to form close and personal connections with the trees, and with all of the plants and animals of the living ecosystems that we call home.

Leaning Oak was almost certainly the tree that I've known the longest. At some point early on in my college years, I encountered this peculiar specimen during one of my many walks around Campus Lake here in Carbondale. From the looks of it, this tree had originally grown up much like any of its siblings on the same bank. However, unlike its siblings, this particular tree had laid its roots down very close to the shore.

Was the tree planted so close to the edge by some reckless human? Did it wander there as an acorn, driven by a sense of adventure to explore the boundaries of its earthy home? Or was its placement a random combination of wind, gravity, and other natural forces?

We may never know the answers to these questions. In any case, once the tree had laid down its roots, its fate may have been sealed. For at some unknown point in the life of this tree, a great cataclysm occured. I wasn't there to witness it, but judging by the results, I can only imagine that a combination of erosion and the tree's own growth lead to a partial collapse of the shore.

By the time I walked Campus Lake for the first time, this tree had fallen on its side. It leaned out over the lake, almost parallel to the water, with its roots still clinging to the eroded shore. At first glance, its position seemed quite precarious... but after years of occassional visits, I became convinced of just how strong and stable this tree really was.

Leaning Oak meant a lot of things to me at a lot of different times in my life. Sometimes, it was a refuge -- a place to go when I felt alone, or afraid, or in need of a renewed connection with the Earth. Other times, it was a source of connection -- a place to bring friends and loved ones who I felt would enjoy playing on a tree above the water, or at least enjoy watching me do the same. Other times still, it was food for thought -- a place to contemplate the meaning of life, and death, and perseverance, and the connections among the elements.

Most of all, though, this tree was a friend. I see the trees as our elders, and this was a tree who listened and spoke to me on many occassions. And now, through some unknown final act, Leaning Oak is gone.

I first discovered the disappearance of Leaning Oak months ago, when I took a friend out there at night for a visit. For a moment, I thought that I must surely just be missing the tree in the dark. But the path was so familiar that I could have walked it blindfolded -- and once I saw the large chunks of gravel lining the shore, I knew that someone had done work to prevent erosion in the spot where Leaning Oak had once stood.

That night was a curious night unto itself, so I didn't have a chance then to honor the Leaning Oak's passing. A few days ago, though, I took the time to walk out to Campus Lake specifically to pay my respects for one last time.

It was really good to make it out onto Campus Lake. On some level, that place feels more like an urban park to me than like a wooded lake, with its asphalt paths and abundant evidence of human habitation. However, Leaning Oak was one of the first places where I truly started to see beyond the false dichotomy between humanity and nature... and sure enough, as I sat on that shore, I felt a deeper connection to the Earth and the natural world than I had in months.

I felt sad... almost surprisingly so. I knew that this day would come eventually, even though Leaning Oak's branches budded with new life every year... but somehow, I always thought that this fateful day would come much later, perhaps even after I had passed on. Something of the character of that side of the lake has been lost... another tree fallen to erosion, just as so many tres in the rest of the world have fallen to an erosion of a different sort.

But really, on another level, I felt almost happy. Surely, it must have been a struggle to stay on that shore... and now, however its final days had unfolded, this tree had found its peace. As I watched the many ripples on the face of the water, I felt a tremendous sense of peace... one tree was gone, but the water still flowed, and the wind still blew, and the wheel of life continued to turn. I felt myself shifting into my forest consciousness, even with so many buildings and roads and people criss-crossing this wounded landscape.

I don't feel that my time with Leaning Oak can be distilled into any single lesson... but as I looked out on those waters, I knew in my heart that I had learned a great deal since the day, not so long ago, when a young man named Justin had anxiously stepped out onto that Leaning Oak to sit above the lake and look for a moment's peace.

I have other things to talk about too... news in my life, and news that may go beyond my own little bubble. But I'll leave that for another entry... perhaps even another day. In the meantime, let me close this entry by thanking Leaning Oak for our time together. And if you've never hung out with the trees before, now is as good of a time as any to start!