She stands

The old oak stands at the back of our property.



Our deed from 1843 describes this piece of land in "poles", measured from the trees that mark its boundaries, hickories, ash, elm --and oak. Much of the land that had most likely been cleared for farming has regrown. The old oak, now growing amidst a forest of younger oaks, fanning out to the smallest, tender trees.

She is now more than 14 feet in circumference. An almost 2-century-old Pin Oak. Her massive arms, larger than many of the trees around her. She stands --straight, strong and tall.

She has seen many changes in this land. A house has been built, and a barn for a small dairy. The pasture lines have been drawn and redrawn--rusty remnants still tangling in the undergrowth. The hundred acres, divided. The residents, now names on markers in the nearby cemetery.
And still, she stands.


We've put a bench beneath her arms--a place to sit and think.
A place to feel small.
A place to feel safe.
A place to feel her strength.

Yesterday, I found a feather beneath the old oak. A feather from the barred owl.


Some day, to sit beneath this tree...an owl above...