Trees Part 3

July 16, 2026

When I was a little boy, the huge oak at the bottom of our yard was a fascination as well as mystery. It held a place of significance. Something happened there one summer day that I have never forgotten.

The tree was towering and old, with a great opening in its trunk that began at the roots and rose about five feet upward. The hollow seemed to be one of the tree’s ancient wounds. When we put our heads inside and looked up, we could see that the opening continued deep into the tree's center.

It was not an empty place. It was a living house.

Birds, squirrels, raccoons, wasps, and insects, all made their homes there. Around the base grew great patches of yellow and orange lichen, that marked the place as special. The tree was alive not only in itself, but in all it sheltered and nurtured. 

We children were drawn to it. Maybe it was because of all the creatures that lived there. Maybe it was because the hollow looked like a doorway into another world. We could stand inside the opening and look upward into the dark center of the trunk. It felt as if the tree held secrets.

One hot summer day, my brother Trevor, some of the neighborhood boys and I dressed up like the Native American warriors we had seen on television. We were shirtless and sweaty, wearing feathered headdresses, carrying toy tomahawks and little drums. We ran to the bottom of the yard, whooping, hollering, stomping, and circling that old oak. Our dog Sparkle joined the excitement as she ran with us and barked. 

Something primal came over us. There we were, close to the earth, beating our drums, striking the tree with sticks, parading and dancing around its hollow trunk as though to summon the spirits held within it. 

And then something from the tree answered. I remember it as if it happened yesterday. A large snake came sliding down from the dark hollow inside the tree. It stretched its neck and head toward us, staring with coal-black eyes, its lightning-like tongue flickering in the air. Then it came down the trunk and slithered toward our frightened circle.

In an instant, all our bravery vanished. We dropped our drums, sticks, and tomahawks and ran screaming “Snake, Snake!” Even our fearless dog Sparkle backed away. 

Our housekeeper, Cary, came out to see what all the commotion was about. When she saw the snake and that it was poisonous, she walked straight to the pump house where my father kept his yard tools. We, children, stood frozen at a distance. Only moments before, we had imagined ourselves as powerful, brave, and unflinching. Now, all the power and outcome belonged to Cary. With one swift blow, she severed the snake’s head. But strangely the body kept moving. That frightened us almost as much as the snake itself. Then Cary looked at us, with her arms resting on the upright handle of the hoe, and said with the calm authority of someone who knew more about the world than we did:

“The snake is dead, chilen, but its tail’s gonna wiggle ’til the sun goes down.” I have never forgotten those words.

As children, we thought we were playing around a tree. But that day, the tree became a teacher. It showed us that the world is alive, mysterious, and not under our control. It taught us that the hollow places may hold both shelter and danger. It taught us that ancient wounds can become homes for other creatures. And it taught us that life has forces and mysteries we do not understand—some we may never understand.

That old oak was not just a tree at the bottom of the yard. It was a threshold. It stood between childhood and awe, between play and fear, between what we thought we knew and the deep, living mystery of creation. When I was sixteen, we lost our precious family dog, Sparkle. There seemed to be only one place for us to bury her. It was beneath that venerable tree. 

Perhaps every great tree is like that. It stands before us quietly, rooted in earth and reaching toward heaven, holding more life, more memory, and more mystery than we can ever see.

Spiritual Practice

Are there spaces in your life that are definitely sacred? Is perhaps a tree in those spaces? If so, how would you describe that tree and its spiritual significance to you? 
Prayer

Dear God,

That tree taught us so much. As I am with the oaks in my backyard of today, I experience their majesty, mystery, and their living, breathing, presence. Their sacred presence.

Amen