Visitors 24
Modified 19-Jan-26
Created 19-Jan-26
23 photos
Beginning as acorn in moist soil, in the previous century or before, Blue Oak thrusts deep roots below, extends supple shoots skywards. Thriving, it becomes an edge tree; forest above, steep grassy hillside below. Seasons cycle; years advance.
In the 1970s, some forest is cleared, houses erected. Later, turkeys browse forest and grassland. New neighbors.
Seasons turn. New leaves after wet season begins, building trunk and branch from sunlight and air -- all through spring and start of dry season. Then old leaves stiffen and fall, and dormant tree waits for moist earth’s return.
One season, leaves do not return. Dead tree blossoms with bright lichen on fragile branches. Standing out against green forest canopy, bare oak provides perch for birds, shelter for predators, anchor for vision.
Many birds rest here. Songbirds sing in spring; later, fledglings land on unsteady wings. Cocky Scrub Jays, garrulous American Crows. Red-shouldered Hawk waits for chance to swiftly swoop, surprising careless Ground Squirrel. Owls too, surely, at days’ margins, watching for prey. Turkey Vultures, their search almost ended, ready to clean up the spares.
Then one day the oak disappears. Bare hillside remains, clean stump, dusting of sawdust. Existence cut short. Birds will miss refuge; I miss the now-familiar landmark.
Here are some of my photos of this old Blue Oak, from when it blended with neighbors at forest margin to when it sprang to notice in 2024. Into January 2026, it stood out. We will soon become accustomed to the new normal; let us celebrate the old Blue Oak that was.
In the 1970s, some forest is cleared, houses erected. Later, turkeys browse forest and grassland. New neighbors.
Seasons turn. New leaves after wet season begins, building trunk and branch from sunlight and air -- all through spring and start of dry season. Then old leaves stiffen and fall, and dormant tree waits for moist earth’s return.
One season, leaves do not return. Dead tree blossoms with bright lichen on fragile branches. Standing out against green forest canopy, bare oak provides perch for birds, shelter for predators, anchor for vision.
Many birds rest here. Songbirds sing in spring; later, fledglings land on unsteady wings. Cocky Scrub Jays, garrulous American Crows. Red-shouldered Hawk waits for chance to swiftly swoop, surprising careless Ground Squirrel. Owls too, surely, at days’ margins, watching for prey. Turkey Vultures, their search almost ended, ready to clean up the spares.
Then one day the oak disappears. Bare hillside remains, clean stump, dusting of sawdust. Existence cut short. Birds will miss refuge; I miss the now-familiar landmark.
Here are some of my photos of this old Blue Oak, from when it blended with neighbors at forest margin to when it sprang to notice in 2024. Into January 2026, it stood out. We will soon become accustomed to the new normal; let us celebrate the old Blue Oak that was.
Dan Quinn