The other day was Earth Day, a day set aside in 1970 when the modern environmental movement was born. It gave rise to Paris Climate Accords and other environmental protection issues through the years, despite many people who deny climate issues exist or that they should be an issue of discussion, especially in political circles.
I happen to live in a small town that embraces its tree loving status, marking its connection to the Earth. Just recently, in light of that ideal, local residents gathered to protest the proposed removal of trees for the purpose of expanding a bridge and burying power lines.
One uplifting way to mark the hardships and sorrows of a year like no other is to plant a tree.
As it grows, it will be a reminder of the time the world shut down and of those who died in the pandemic. A young tree, vigorous, aiming for the stars, also allows us to look forward and to share in its vitality.
But do not plant just any tree. Make it an oak.
With its deep cultural resonance as a tree that is steadfast, the oak plays out this indomitable spirit wherever it is planted. The subtle ornament of its bark, foliage, acorns and restrained fall coloration all combine to make an oak greater than the sum of its parts.
It is a friend that is solid, always available to be admired or to recede, always sheltering. The planting of a small tree can be private and personal, or a collective ritual but, either way, it is an act of commemoration and affirmation. From a practical standpoint, it is probably best to delay your tree-planting ceremony this year until late summer in the Mid-Atlantic, after the periodical cicada fiesta.
In the meantime, you may want to pick up a copy of Doug Tallamy’s new paean to Quercus, The Nature of Oaks. Tallamy is an entomologist, best-selling author and established champion of the ecological value of native plants for landscape use.
As a tree that shelters other life, the oak is unmatched. “Oaks support more forms of life and more fascinating interactions than any other tree genus in North America,” Tallamy writes.
The acorn drop, prolific in some years, is a boon to some obvious customers - deer, possums, squirrels, bears, raccoons, mice and voles. Birds feast, too, including turkeys, woodpeckers, crows, titmice and blue jays. The jay buries the seeds in the ground for winter storage, though many sprout.
The oak’s value to migrating songbirds is even greater, if not as obvious. For reasons that are not clear, oaks are magnets for an extraordinary number of caterpillars. Tallamy writes that, in his home county in southeastern Pennsylvania, 511 species of moths and butterflies rely on oaks, far more than any other tree. Many of the caterpillars are munching now and will continue into May, when the new leaves are fresh and tender. This coincides with nesting season for the birds, which ply their nestlings with a constant diet of protein-and-fat-rich larvae. In his 10-acre lot, Tallamy has recorded many types of warblers as well as orioles, gnatcatchers, thrushes, kingbirds and buntings.
At a time when bird populations have dwindled markedly, planting an oak seems especially useful in creating an ecologically-rich ecosystem.
But, planting the tree is not enough. How you treat what is under an oak is also important. A sterile, thirsty and chemical-fed lawn is about the worst companion - better to plant perennial ground covers, and, when the oak leaves drop in autumn, leave them in place. This allows the caterpillars to pupate in the soil beneath the tree, and countless organisms to live off the leaf litter and then the soil humus that it becomes.
Robust soil biology supports thriving plant life, even if this subterranean universe is mostly hidden from our eyes.
An oak planting would also improve the health of a sick planet. Tallamy says the oak’s dense wood and longevity make the tree an optimum choice for capturing atmospheric carbon.
This occurs not just through photosynthesis, but the way the oak partners with a beneficial soil fungi named mycorrhizae, which develops over several years to effectively extend the root system of its host plant. In doing so the fungi produce a glue-like protein named glomalin, which itself becomes a significant carbon lock.
Oaks grow broad in open, sunny locations, but in tighter, shadier quarters, their spread is contained. Oak branches spread, of course, but lower limbs can be removed when young to guide the form of the tree.
One complaint, paradoxically, is that a tree is too slow to grow, especially an oak. This is not the case. Once the roots are established, some oaks can put on two feet of growth per year on the way to a height of 40 to 80 feet, depending on the variety and age of the tree.
In the United States, we have an embarrassment of riches when it comes to indigenous oak species - a total of 91. Not all of them are suited to garden use - and some are threatened.
And, oak trees are hardy enough to survive in practically any climate.
The oak tree is one of the most loved trees in the world, and with good reason. It is a symbol of strength, morale, resistance and knowledge. It is often associated with honor, nobility, and wisdom as well, thanks to its size and longevity.
Poets have long written about the mighty oak tree. Alfred Lord Tennyson wrote:
Live thy Life,
Young and old,
Like yon oak,
Bright in spring,
Living gold;
Summer-rich
Then; and then
Autumn-changed
Soberer-hued
Gold again.
All his leaves
Fall'n at length,
Look, he stands,
Trunk and bough
Naked strength.
Even Walt Whitman, in his collection of poetry Leaves of Grass found inspiration after seeing an oak tree growing in Louisiana and wrote "I Saw in Louisiana A Live-Oak Growing."
And, all in all, what could be a better symbol for the pandemic-infused year through which we have all lived - and that changed the world as we know it forever - than the oak tree?
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