Some time last night we lost one of the ancient ones on our farm. A white oak tree that towered over one hundred feet was brought down by a combination of wet soils and, what must have been, a strong gust of wind.
The barbed wire fence beneath it was utterly demolished, though only one or two posts appear to need replacement. With unbelievable good luck, none of the steers were nearby when it came down as they all appear to be in good shape. They were milling around the fallen tree when I discovered what had happened this morning, some chewing on leaves that were now within easy reach. Amazingly, none had breached the broken-down fence, always a worry whenever a storm passes through.
This tree stood between the south pasture and the pond and framed our southern view from the house. It had been damaged by lightning some years before, but appeared to be in perfectly good health. Obviously, it had been weakened and just needed that final push to come down. As I sit here and write, an old being, well over one hundred years, is dying. It is a sad day.
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