Oak

The oak overstory in our garden is 16 red and white and perhaps black oaks. Years ago a woodcutter identified each one, but that was before it mattered to me and I no longer remember the details.

In the late 1970's we bought our first home in a quiet shady neighborhood in Columbus, Ohio. The soil was deep and black and rich, and all manner of flora grew easily there. On a street near our home was a long and low ranch house, sided in gray wood. In front of the house stood a grand white oak, perhaps 100 feet tall, one massive trunk weathered to a light gray, anchored solidly in the front yard, extending its limbs the full length of the house, 70 feet or more. It was an inspiring gift from nature, probably assisted by an arborist.

I often thought I would buy that house (oak) if it came up for sale, but by the time I saw the realtor's sign in the yard, we were already moving to North Carolina.

Fifteen years later, we were passing through Ohio and drove to our old neighborhood in Columbus. On the side street, the gray house was still there, but the oak was long gone, perhaps lost to lightening or lawn lust. The ranch was now an ordinary gray house, and the street was an ordinary midwestern street. Lawn after lawn, a sea of kelly green grass.