A LONE OAK TREE IN A PASTURE

Less than a year ago I wrote a blog about what for the course of a few hours was my favorite tree on earth; (if one can be properly said to have a favorite anything of this nature).

At least the tree in question has to be singular in terms of the time and effort I expended on it. Never in the course of my 2/3 of a century on this planet have I ever done anything quite like it; in order to salvage what seemed too close to dying.

But to properly understand I have to step back a bit and tell the tale again.

In order to travel between our home and the town in which my wife and I grew up, a distance of perhaps 8 miles, we must drive down a two lane thoroughfare referred to as “Spirit Lake Road.” And as we pass the intersection of Spirit Lake Road and Thornhill Road, I never fail to glance towards a pasture to my right.

For you see, near the front of that cow pasture stands a lone oak tree; that tree upon which I expended my copious time and effort. I once contacted the pastor of the church which owns the five acre lot, and made what must have seemed an unusual request.

“Pastor, in my comings and goings, I have noticed that one lone oak tree in the pasture, and you may or may not be aware, it is covered with Spanish moss. I mean, it is overwhelmed by it. And you may think what I’m about to ask is rather strange, but I’d like to clean some of the moss out of its branches to give it an opportunity to overcome that parasitic. It’s just such a beautiful tree.”

Not surprisingly, Pastor F. expressed some reservations. He and I were strangers, and of course, anytime anyone gets involved with ladders and trees, there is the matter of liability.

The minister responded.

“Well, that lot is for sale, Dr. McDonald, as we’ve decided not to build there, and honestly we have no interest in spending any money on the tree. But if you want to spend your free time on the thing, that wouldn’t be a problem. Just one stipulation. I don’t want you using a ladder, or climbing up into the tree. Does that work for you?”

I agreed to his stipulations, (though a ladder would have been preferable for such a large task as this).

The next Saturday I dressed in blue jeans, and a t-shirt and set about the task. I grabbed a couple of boxes of large leaf bags out of my garage, and a branch trimmer mounted on the end of an extension handle. I had discovered from experience that by lifting the thin pole above my head, and wrapping moss around the small hand saw, I had the wherewithal to yank gobs of moss out of my own backyard trees.

I parked my vehicle at a nearby convenience store, notified the owner of my presence, walked across Thornhill Road, lifted the top and second strand of a barbed wire fence in opposite directions, and carefully made my way through the wire. I could see the task which I had formerly envisioned would require a dedicated effort. Setting about my task, I replicated my familiar approach to de-mossing trees, and in the space of 3-4 hours I managed to fill 15-20 50 gallon plastic bags with the nasty gray stuff.

I admit it. I was quite pleased with myself, … until I examined what I’d actually accomplished. As I prepared to leave, and walked half-way back to the fence, I turned and studied my finished work. It was then I realized the word “finished” didn’t begin to characterize the task I’d just completed.

I concluded that I had gotten all of 20 percent of the moss out of the lone oak tree. (And 20 percent was, to be fair, a rather liberal guesstimate). But I’d done what I could do, and as I piled the heavy plastic bags by the road, and got in my car, I looked towards the tree and said,

“Well, tree, I did what I could for you. And I won’t return again. It’s up to you now.”

Returning home from my somewhat unusual task, I mounted the long-handled tree trimmer back on the wall of my garage, filled my belly with large quantities of liquid, and proceeded to “hang loose” in my easy chair. I was not only “worn slap out,” but I was sun-burned and dehydrated. Nonetheless, I felt good about what I’d attempted to do for this entirely different species of life.

I suppose I drive south on Spirit Lake Road a couple of times a week, and as I have previously implied, I have studied the progress, (or lack thereof) of the lone oak tree in the pasture. For the longest time I have found myself disappointed. For you see, with time the lone tree has appeared more moss-infested than when I first expended such loving care upon it.

“Oh well,” I’ve often thought.

“I did what I could.”

(and)

“No one can fault me for not trying.”

Fall has given way to Winter, and Winter has given way to Spring. And it was only yesterday, it seemed my time and efforts had finally been rewarded.

For as I drove past the lone oak tree in the pasture, and made my visual pilgrimage, I realized how utterly green it was, and covered up with new leaves! Granted, moss still hangs from the large branches, and its tributary limbs. But then again, every tree of its kind in the southeast boasts plenty of the stuff.

To say I was elated is an understatement. I was just short of ecstatic that my momentary contribution seems to have paid such rich dividends.

I guess you can’t keep a good tree down.

Post-script - Sadly, the lone oak tree in the pasture took a turn for the worse, and the moss returned with a vengeance, and the beautiful little tree died. I will always be glad I managed to extend its life, if only by a few months. I did my best. It was not enough.

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

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