05/06/2021
An Ancient Willful Tree, by Dick Christenson
Our magnificent swamp white oak, the huge V-shaped tree that was located in front of 211 East Glebe, was taken down in late February. This was a sad event, but necessary. A senior arborist examined the tree and judged that age and disease had weakened the tree to the point it was in danger of falling. The potential harm to people – along Glebe Road, in our buildings – was unacceptable. So our Board of Directors agreed that taking the tree down was the right thing to do.
Many of us at Auburn Village were used to looking up and seeing the twin cauliflower crowns of that lovely tree. We instinctively knew where in the sky to look for it, and to now see empty sky in that place is sad. Years from now many of us will still remember what was there, and mourn its loss.
In saying farewell, let’s recall the eventful life of this wonderful tree. Our swamp white oak was Auburn Village’s oldest tree, roughly 170 years old, and was the largest swamp white oak in the state of Virginia. Our tree in fact was a second generation tree: it was a large mature tree about 170 years ago when it was first cut down. The durable straight-grained hardwood was probably put to good use in the manner of the times: to make furniture, flooring, fence posts, and railroad ties. Then some months later, fresh shoots sprouted from the stump, and they gradually grew to form the two trunks of the large tree we knew so well. So, our swamp white oak was in fact a tree-upon-a-tree -- a tree that grew from the stump of a parent older tree.
Our tree was witness to a great deal of history. When the original tree was just a small sapling, around the year 1680, this area was lowland forest, part of the Four Mile Run floodplain that flooded regularly all the way up to what is now our courtyard. (So: our flooding has a long tradition!) This floodplain was a perfect habitat for swamp white oaks, and a robust colony of them developed here, a colony of trees communicating by their intermingled roots, demonstrating what some arborists call the compassion of trees -- the stronger trees sharing nutrients with the weaker ones. There were some early European settlers back then, but Indians still dominated life here, setting up seasonal fishing camps along the nearby Potomac River and using age-old paths to link villages. Glebe Road and Russell Road were well-worn Indian pathways long before settlers ever trod them.
When the offspring tree, our tree, was a sapling in the 1850s, Uncle Tom’s Cabin was just published, the first of the speedy clipper sailing ships was launched, the first oil well began pumping in Pennsylvania, Otis began making elevators -- and the grim threat of the coming Civil War was palpable. Our tree grew through the Civil War, through the settling of the West, through the First World War, through women gaining the right to vote. An aerial photo taken from a military biplane in 1921 shows our courtyard as pastureland, and our swamp white oak as an imposing mature tree, even back then – 100 years ago. Indeed, our tree witnessed a lot of history.
So, we have lost the tree – but there is a ray of hope. We have left a flat stump at ground level, in hopes the tree will repeat it’s willful resurrection of 170 years ago, when the determined powerhouse roots pushed up new shoots from the old stump and created the tree we loved. If these ancient roots rise to heroic willfulness again, we will in time have a new tree pushing up from the stump, a proud third-generation tree anchored to this earth on 340-year old roots.
And there will be family. Six years ago we planted three swamp white oaks nearby to honor the aged giant. Loyal sentinels in waiting. The new prince will join these three to form a young colony of four, echoing the wind-whispers of the long-gone colony of swamp white oaks that flourished on this wild floodplain three centuries ago.
The wonder … the majesty.
