Aged Tree
by James Holtzclaw, Interpretive Naturalist
Walking around Cobus Creek County Park, I noticed the public enjoying the autumn weather and its natural beauty. Several visitors were taking fall pictures while others were jogging or hiking the park’s trails. Looking around at the flora and fauna, I observed several wildlife habits for this season. Squirrels scampered around the forest floor with acorns in their mouth; in the sky, European Starlings started murmuring together, and the trees began to display their different colors. I felt the anticipation of change that caused me to remember this quote by an unknown poet, “Winter is coming, and with it, the stillness of a quiet earth.” But winter was not here, and every creature, tree, and stream was not quiet in this park. We were loud while experiencing this cusp of change together. All of creation seemed to reach out with their natural beauty, begging me to visit them. I ignored them all except for an aged tree because he made his testament known through his leaves, trunk, and vitality, which caused a reflection of his future, which resonated with me.
I walked the trails, quickly spied on the flowers and the insects, and listened to the birds’ chirps when a mammoth of a tree jumped into my sight. His presence screamed, “Look at me!” An invitation that I could not deny. He had grey bark and red leaves and stood firm at a stream. I stepped closer to him and started our conversation by picking up one of his red autumn leaves.
I observed the leaf in my hand. It was fan-shaped with five pointed lobes stretching out with serrated edges, an identifier of a Red Maple. This leaf was not just a leaf but a story of many in this elder’s life. The leaf survived just by this tree’s presence next to the stream. Water from the stream scaled up the roots to the leaves, helping this leaf and its friends to produce oxygen that we breathe through a process called photosynthesis. This process diminishes during autumn when we have less sunlight and cooler temperatures, which causes tree leaves to become vibrant orange, yellow, and red. At some point, this elder Red Maple released this leaf from his limbs, allowing it to float down to the forest floor to play an important role in the forest ecosystem. It settled with other fallen leaves that created a blanket to keep dormant creatures warm during cold and snowy days. This palmate leaf wasn’t the only part of the tree that had a story to tell.
The Red Maple’s swollen trunk and branches suggested that it had been growing around the days when the Potawatomi people stepped into these woods. I wish that I knew its language so I could listen to its stories and learn from its wisdom. What would this wooden sage say? Maybe he would speak about how the forest used to be as he grew into a hardy tree and about his forgotten friends: the Passenger Pigeons and the American Chestnut trees. These species vanished from our natural world. I was lucky to have learned about these lost phantoms in classes and books. But this tree sheltered these pigeons and shared the ground with the chestnut trees. It had an intimate relationship with these species, an intimacy forgotten by man but remembered by this forest land.
Unfortunately, his vitality seemed to diminish in the past years. I looked closer at his trunk and was dismayed at what I viewed. One side was healthy, and the other, facing the creek, succumbed to rot. I asked myself, “How many more seasons can he maintain?” I did not know the answer. He lived a great life next to this stream and survived storms, droughts, floods, and man. To me, he wasn’t just a tree. I viewed this Maple’s life as a testament to preservation.
I left him while reflecting on his future passing. I envied him because even in death, he will continue to impact Cobus Creek County Park by slowly giving his essence back to nature. I thought about how many squirrels, birds, and insects would use his trunk and dead branches for a home. I pondered that when his trunk crashes to the ground, fungi will break him down in nutrients for other plants and trees to feed on well into the future. He might die in my lifetime, but he will always be alive in my memory about this autumn day.
