THE OLD GNARLED STUMP
Howdy Friends! The gnarled old stump is all that remains of what had surely been a towering majestic oak. Even today in its worn and weathered state, blackened, broken and misshapen by decades of wear born of freezing, baking in the sun, birds and animals chipping away at it. The old stump is still a commanding figure.
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It stands just a few feet from Rosie’s barn. Each morning as we enjoy our Coffee Clutch the activity around the stump is part of our gathering. Never a morning goes by but that at least one rooster will perch proudly atop it and demand attention delivering a cascade of crows.
It takes a lot for an acorn to become a towering oak. In its earliest days surviving the wondering nose of browsing deer and killing frost is an accomplishment. Drought, fire, blizzards and lightning can cut short the life of an adolescent tree. Not to mention timbering and land clearing for agriculture. Somehow this special oak had managed to reach what must have been an impressive height and stature.
This morning I caught a glimpse of a Carolina Wren darting in and out the hole in stump’s side.
This spring I was certain a Chickadee had made a nest in it as it had been a daily and frequent visitor to that same hole. The wren made me think of all the birds, squirrels, raccoons and others who, over the many decades, perhaps even centuries had made their homes in that grand oak’s once sweeping bows.
The land around our house is now owned by Weyerhaeuser lumber and there are thousands of acres of cultivated pine forest. Before that it had been vast farms. Tobacco is said to have been big here. How then had this grand oak escaped the axes of men clearing land to plow, till and plant? The story in my mind is that in the days of land clearing this tree had already been a sight to behold and was allowed to stand for the shade it would offer exhausted horses and men.
I grew up as a foster kid on a farm in PA. All our fields had not only sheltering fence rows, something rare indeed today. But in the middle each field stood a tall and sweeping tree. I would always be anxious to reach the shade there to rest the horses and myself. Was the old oak here by Rosie’s barn spared the ax for the promise of shade?
Appomattox County had a high population slaves before the Civil War. Were weary slaves allowed to rest a few moments under its protective branches?
The long life, and thousands of stories about birds, butterflies, squirrels, deer, raccoons and men who, each in their own time, needed this oak for their own purposes are gathered in this gnarled old stump. And this morning I offered it a special hat tip. “Carry on old boy,” I said. “Thanks for the stories.”
Have a wonderful day and God Bless. ~ Gitty Up, Dutch.
