The Old Bur Oak
A Tale
Trees don’t talk, at least to most folk. They stand there, takin’ everything the world’s got to give ‘em. Some can handle more than others.
There was a lone old bur oak grippin’ the ground in a pasture not too far from town. It witnessed the massacre of the Arapaho and the fall of the bison, and it served as a chapel for several generations. Young couples got married neath that tree. Their children swung from its branches. And so did outlaws. But no matter how tough a tree is and how much it’s seen, there’s only so much it can hold.
Ever since I can remember, the cows refused to graze next to that oak, and even the buzzards and crows wouldn’t go near it.
One day a couple came in from some city. Not sure which one. The man was educated, but he had that salt of the earth look. The woman’s sun dress flowed like wild grass and her smile was bright as a sunflower. I suppose the man had some ties to the area. He said he was Jameson’s kin.
The way those kids were smilin’ they didn’t know their history. The Jameson family. Original homesteaders. Some say, Mr. Jameson had somethin’ to do with killin’ the Arapaho and others say he was a poacher that took too much from the land. There’s no tellin’ really, but what’s certain, him and his wife were found dead neath that old bur oak. They’d been picked clean before they were found, leavin’ five children behind. Four boys. Three of them died. No one knew what happened to the other.
The young couple mentioned they wanted to get married neath that oak just like Mr. and Mrs. Jameson. The town’s folk didn’t like the idea, and the preacher tried to talk ‘em out of it, but they didn’t want to hear it.
Their friends pulled into the town. They filled up the diner. It was nice to see this place alive for once. Young people laughin’, that’s a sound I hadn’t heard in a long time. The young folks born here all leave. They want nothin’ to do with their roots. But these ones came seakin’ them out.
Soon they were standin’ neath the tree gettin’ married. I stood on the road, watchin’ under the brim of my hat, leanin’ on the fence. It was a disorderly weddin’ from what I could tell, and they couldn’t have been happier. It was the best day of their lives. But they didn’t see the shadow. The oak changed. It got darker.
The next day, I was drivin’ my truck to the feed store when I saw folks standin’ by the tree, like a congregation worshippin’ the Lord, starin’ up at the new bride and groom swingin’ from the old bur oak.