Last Dance with Uncle Oak

This time, to honor the loss of another member of my ancient live oaks, I want to climb into the tree. Like I used to do 32 years ago, move, touch, feel – suspended in the air, resting on bark, sensations to be remembered. Perhaps documenting it? I ask around last minute, and find a good match in photographer Rebecca Weinstein to take stills of my last dance with old Uncle Oak. Once my naked feet touch the rough bark, a dynamic joy starts spreading through my body and limbs. The surprising urge to elongate myself within the safety of his sturdy arms. Next morning in a different light, I dress for another chance of closeness, envisioning my smallness to be captured. The freedom to grow into a tree, become tree, get an oak’s view, blend well, and disappear eventually.

Uncle Oak, has been leaning for decades, growing northward horizontally, reaching far over into the neighbor’s yard. Now that Mama Oak has left, his malaise is more apparent. The upward growth stunted a bit from the slight topping of the crown some years ago. Reluctantly I had allowed this to appease the upper neighbor. And I regretted it immediately. Everyone here wants their million-dollar view – I prefer my trees over views. This summer, after recovering from a longer sickness and not being able to work in the garden, I wonder if this Uncle Oak is leaning more than before. Now in very advanced old age, he is a bit cranky and lonely. What’s up?

When my tree expert comes to inspect the health of all the oaks, we both freeze staring at the massive trunk behind my bedroom cottage. Mark slowly turns to me, eyes with a severe look, both of us silent. I understand. He steps closer to inspect carefully. Several new big cracks in the trunk and fat limbs, and some hidden rotting. It is getting dangerous; the tree could fall any time. Uncle Oak saying: "I want to leave." A week later, the crew from last year arrives and performs their careful ballet of cooperation, caring, hard work and laughter. This Mayan crew sweetens the ache of the loss.

A part of me hurts, NOT letting these magnificent old oaks decay in their own ways, disintegrate in their own time. Losing limbs, toppling, falling, all along being of use to many insects, merging back with earth. But here we live in a city with fences, people, houses. Each property like a nation state with borders that are too often unnatural, and in most cases questionably unnecessary. Here in the East Bay, to keep out abundant deer, ok. But more often, we use fences and walls to delineate what is mine, what is yours, what seemingly needs defending from intrusion or view. And those walls create more problems. Uncle Oak did not care for arbitrary human laws, habits, and exclusions. The grove he belonged to was a shared space, a small forest for animals and birds, spanning three properties and more. We humans are truly small, and beautifully frail. Here I am celebrating and honoring my relative Uncle Oak.

Uncle Oak needed to leave,

and gifted me with so much joy

dancing in his arms.

Last year's loss and celebration of Mama Oak:

https://karinalandriver.blogspot.com/2023/07/good-bye-and-celebration-of-mama-oaks.html