The Tree of Life

The sun's rays baking my skin are at once relinquished as I step into the oak forest canopy. I breathe a sigh of relief as I'm protected by the strong branches, and entertained by the leaves shadows dancing among the suffused sunlight tiptoeing across the ground.

There is something magical about this ecosystem. As a girl I always thought there were fairies watching me from the tops of the Oaks’ crowns. Wearing acorn caps as hats and hiding in plain sight. 

I’d be lying if I said I didn't feel their presence still. See, there's something magical about an oak grove. Like visiting an old family home. The many native species nurtured within the Oak’s embrace welcome me like family and friends that alight with joy to see me come. 

I feel my own joy spark at their salutations. My heart sighs in contentment.

I’ve come to this spot ever since I was young. A home conveniently a walk away from home. Through one of the few intact Oak woodlands that I know, across a gentle trickle of water we call a stream, and into a clearing where rests the Tree of Life. A name my sister coined since before I was born, though to behold her you’d know her by that name too.

She’s an old mother Oak. How old, I do not know, but to sit with her awhile she’ll tell you stories in a language that needs not words. 

Her trunk’s grown so heavy it rests upon the ground before splitting into several branches the size of trunks themselves that weave horizontally before reaching up toward the heavens. 

I come and place my hand on her in greeting and in a humble request to rest with her. I feel rather than hear her invitation. The way she leans, you can calmly walk upon her trunk, feeling at once transported to your youth at her size and capacity to hold you. Arms held out in a T, I walk her path up one of the branches before coming to a seat and then laying on her, limbs dangling around her branch in a bear hug. 

I could stay here forever.

I don’t think she’d mind it.

She cares for all. The birds, animals, plants, and people are supported by her love and care. She feeds them, quenches their thirst, and provides sanctuary for all lucky enough to encounter her. 

Oaks are rather magical that way. They’ve been the roots of the ecosystem and culture in the area I live for a millenia. Indigenous tribes were sustained from her acorns, not to mention a plethora of other species. Her leaves are rather specially adapted at collecting the water in the air, allowing it to drip back down into the ecosystem to feed plants, animals, and people alike. Her very roots holding the landscape together when the hot, dry summers hit, transforming an evergreen land into an arid plane. 

Though I’ve seen this transformation, I worry not as Mother Oak can sustain the land. Hold the eroding soil back in place, shower water from her canopy, and feed the hungry souls that come to her. That is why she is the Tree of Life. All Oak’s are.

Every place has its combination of native plants that are crucial to the life and culture of that space. For me, in my small home near the coast of Southern California, where all the streets are named after the thousands of Oaks that were once present here, she is the caregiver of life.

As I rest upon her rough yet comforting skin, I am entirely grateful to know her. I turn to lay on my back and am rewarded by the dance of her crown. Leaves swaying in the wind, a conversion that becomes clear the more time you spend with her. 

She has wisdom to share, all you must do is listen.