Adapting to a world of difference

We’ve reached a time of year when acorns are dropping from bur oak trees. They are among the more interesting looking acorns around. I’m doubtful that there’ll be much of an acorn crop this year, but neither am I anywhere near an expert on oaks or acorns. That’s one of the reasons I bought and have thoroughly enjoyed reading so far about the first half of The Nature of Oaks.

bur oak acorn

Photo by J. Harrington

The list of benefits oak trees provide to humans and the multitude of insects, birds and animals that find food and shelter in, on, and around oaks has done wonders to temper my dislike of oak leaves falling for about  half the year in our area. (Of course, when one lives in a state in which there has been recorded snow 11 of the  12 months in a year, what can one expect.)

As much  as I dislike raking leaves, I’ve learned that oak leaves can be very beneficial in restoring a greener world. According to the transcript of a Grow, Podcast with the book’s author

The best leaf litter is leaf litter that will not degrade quickly, Doug says, and that’s where oaks come in. Maple, birch and tulip tree leaves don’t make it through the summer because they degrade rapidly, but whole oak leaves are so full of tannins and lignans that a single oak leaf can take up to three years to break down. In an oak forest, there’s never bare soil, and that’s exactly what the doctor ordered to keep organisms in soil happy, Doug says.

There’s also the fact that oaks are very effective at carbon capture and storage, since, under normal circumstances, they’re very long-lived. If anyone had suggested a decade or more ago that a book about oak trees would have a major impact on my attitude, and consequently, my life, I would have rolled on the floor in laughter. Not only are the times changing, so am I. I think it’s called adaptation to a climate crisis.

Black Oaks

by Mary Oliver

Okay, not one can write a symphony, or a dictionary,

or even a letter to an old friend, full of remembrance
and comfort. 

Not one can manage a single sound though the blue jays
carp and whistle all day in the branches, without
the push of the wind. 

But to tell the truth after a while I'm pale with longing
for their thick bodies ruckled with lichen

and you can't keep me from the woods, from the tonnage

of their shoulders, and their shining green hair.

Today is a day like any other: twenty-four hours, a
little sunshine, a little rain. 

Listen, says ambition, nervously shifting her weight from
one boot to another -- why don't you get going?

For there I am, in the mossy shadows, under the trees.

And to tell the truth I don't want to let go of the wrists
of idleness, I don't want to sell my life for money,

I don't even want to come in out of the rain.

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