It’s easy to take the natural world we live in for granted. It’s understandable. Most of us live our lives at a breakneck pace, jobs to go to, kids to take care of, households to maintain. The other night while I was out delivering a calf on a client’s farm, I realized how easy it is for life events to distract us from the wonders of the natural world. It was late when I got done and as I was cleaning up, I heard the beautiful call of a Great Horned Owl in the woods on the hill overlooking the farm.
“Do you hear that often,” I asked the farmer.
He shrugged his shoulders. “Just noise in the woods.”
I didn’t have a reply. How, I wondered, could anyone not be thrilled by the call of this magnificent creature? As I put away my equipment, it struck me that I knew the reason. These days, dairy farmers are struggling with low milk prices and uncertainty. The hoot of an owl was probably the last thing on his mind. I hoped someday, when the farm economy improves, he’ll take a moment to appreciate the wildlife that shares his farm.
On my way home, for reasons I can’t explain, probably the magic of driving through an empty countryside at night, I started thinking about a majestic tree that lives near my mom’s farm in Illinois. It’s an ancient sycamore that grows in the neighbor’s pasture, feet away from a trickling stream. How old, I’m not sure. I remember it being huge when I was just a kid and now I’m well into my fifties, over a hundred years for sure, maybe closer to two hundred.
People drive by that tree every day and probably don’t give it a second thought. For the longest time I was one of those people. Many years ago, thanks to my young sons wanting to fish for sunfish in the stream, I discovered its magnificence. We were scrambling over the fence near the tree and I happened to look up. The sun was hitting it just right and wow I thought, it was something to behold.
The sycamore’s branches curved in a dizzying array, not a straight branch in sight, its peeling bark painted different shades of brown and gray, the lime color leaves rustling in the breeze emanating an intoxicating sweet scent. Thirty feet up, a fork in the tree’s trunk hid a hollowed out space (later I would discover it to be a wood duck’s nesting place.)
Thinking about that old tree made me remember a story my grandfather often told. Across the road another ancient sycamore grew next to a bubbling spring. It toppled over in a storm forty years ago. His story—settlers on the way west, used the spring to fill their wagons’ water barrels. What an idea to think about, settlers heading west stopping on our farm. It’s impossible to know if his story is true, but it could be given the spring’s location in the bluff near the Mississippi River.
I found a new respect for that old tree. All the storms and floods it’s endured, the birds that have used its branches to rear young, the people from horse drawn to gas driven vehicles that have passed by. There are probably hundreds, if not thousands of trees, scattered in woods across the country like the big sycamore to wonder about. A good reason to go exploring and take a look.
Beautiful reflections on nature’s beauty! I suppose this is why we write for children–some of us don’t lose the wonder of childhood. I live in SC where there are majestic live oaks streaming with Spanish moss and we have one of the oldest live oaks–the Angel Oak is probably 500 yrs old.
Exactly, Vijaya, Some of my favorite children’s books are based on the wonders of mother nature. Jane Yolen’s Owl Moon!!!
I often think, IF TREES COULD TALK. But, in a way, your post makes the old sycamore talk… 🙂
Mirka,
I’m sure a lot of old trees have stories needing to be told!
Nice images. I’ve always been awed by old trees. Our town lost quite a few massive ones during Hurricane Dorian last month – it’s amazing how shallow the root ball can be for a tree that’s 50 – 100 feet tall. I try to remind myself to pay attention to the world around me every day, but it does need to be a conscious effort most days.
Sorry to hear about your town losing the old trees. I guess I’ve always had a special place for trees. Growing up, I spent a lot of time climbing and building forts in them. Now I plant them and enjoy thinking about their history.