One of the most read entries of this blog isn't part of Rock-tober. It's a stand-alone post I did about a particular oak tree way back in 2013. That post detailed the importance of that tree to my family and specific remembrances it held for me and my dad. It survived centuries of hurricanes and man's incursions, and to me, it was as immutable as the seasons. I fully expected it to far outlast my tenure on this sod.
Imagine my sorrow and dismay when a classmate of mine pinged me that it had been taken down. I refused to believe it and asked Mom to confirm the news. It was true. The tree was gone. My shock gave way to anger. I made the trip down that year to see for myself, and I'd be lying if there weren't tears in my eyes when I saw the massive trunk on the ground, completely shorn of branches. Cords of wood from those branches were stacked as firewood in the driveway of the house closest to the beach. I made multiple trips at all hours of the day to knock on the door of that house to ask "Why?" and "What happened?", but I was never able to speak with the owners and had to leave town without answers.
I wanted to cut a slab from what was left of the trunk to craft some memento from it. Andrea, along with my lifelong buddy, Mike, did their best to find someone on the property who could allow it. Unfortunately, I just couldn't find a crew with a portable mill that I could afford.
Several stories eventually filtered back to me. One was that the tree was taken down because it was diseased. I summarily called bullshit on that. The other involved a traffic fatality blamed on poor visibility because of the tree. Someone lost their father in that accident. Now you have two starkly different narratives, both involving fathers, sons, and this tree. To me, this oak was a fond remembrance of times and specific conversations with Dad. For the other son, memories evoked by the tree take on an entirely different mood.
I'm always going to miss this tree. I believe these massive oaks add a rich uniqueness and unmistakable charm to the Mississippi Gulf Coast that cannot easily be replaced or duplicated. But, if I ever meet this other son, I know the first thing I'd say is, "Hey, my name is Wayne. What are your favorite stories about your dad?"
One addendum: Andrea and I scoured the area for acorns and found quite a few. Eventually, I'll try and germinate them. For now, I'm enjoying the hope and promise they have in their current form.
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