In San Antonio, Texas, there stands a land-mark Oak tree in the heart of the Alimo. It is one hundred and one years old and is an attraction in its self. The immense tree stands tall and sprawling, opening its arms to welcome visitors from all around the country. I wanted nothing more than to climb up the trunk and on to the draping branches that bow low to the ground, an invitation to make myself at home if there ever was.
In my dream, I would settle into the natural cradle way up top, pull out a journal and write. I can only imagine the feelings, visions, and emotions I would experience as I coaxed stories from the soul of my new found friend.
The tree weighs seventy six pounds per cubic foot. I think it could hold me just fine. The mighty branches are so heavy they touch the ground then find strength and support to begin reaching up again, high into the vast Texas sky.
Yet, we are asked to honor the restrictive border surrounding the tree and keep off. It’s a protected tree, you see. We aren’t allowed to feel it’s great strength under our insignificant weight or bury our noses into the intoxicatingly fragrant bark. No wonder oak barrels are preferred for aging fine wine, I thought as I leaned in and closed my eyes, sneaking a long deep sniff. Those rich red wines are encased in old growth wisdom and warmth.
This tree should talk. Imagine the changes it has witnessed in our struggling society over the past one hundred years as it stands firmly rooted in the soil where once such a battle was fought. I imagine it might warn us to examine our own roots, to be true to who we are and where we’ve all come from.
If only this tree could talk…