May 2009

I slipped my roots round the stony soil
Like rings on the hand of a bride,
And my boughs took hold of the summer’s smile
And grew out green and wide.

I grew up in a valley rich in heritage oak trees, and they feature in some of my best childhood memories. The various species found in the Sacramento Valley can live up to 300-400 years, providing protection from the sun, food and shelter for wildlife, and of course beauty and a sense of history. So it always pains me to see or hear of an old oak being cut down, even if it might be for a legitimate reason. It was more than 15 years ago that I had the idea of photographing a number of large oaks in my local area in order to preserve their memory if anything should happen to them. I’m sorry to say I didn’t get too far with this idea — although I still think it’s a good one. All that remains of that project is the image above, shot from my car while I was sitting at a stoplight on the border of Orangevale and Fair Oaks. I always intended to try for a better photo, hopefully without power lines in the way; but I never followed through, and now, sadly, it’s too late. The oak is gone, leaving only an empty lot.

Three different angles, courtesty Google Maps:

I knew immortal seed was sewn
Within me at my birth
And I fell without a single groan
With my green face to the earth.

Now all men pity me, and must,
Who see me lie so low,
But the Power that changes me to dust
Is the same that made me grow.

(Excerpts from “The Felled Tree” by 19th century poet Alice Cary)