A Fine Old Oak Preseveres; So Will Spokane

The tree was a gift to us, though sometimes we were too preoccupied to notice. Its branches etched paintings in the sky and its leaves made music on the wind. The giant old oak was the grand tree of the neighborhood.

The aged oak had seen many seasons pass, yet still it rose straight and perfect, one of nature’s masterpieces. I spent many moments marveling at the oak tree, not knowing it could be even more beautiful.

Tuesday began innocently enough; I welcomed the gentle snowfall that hushed the world’s busy-ness and wrapped us in quiet. The storm revealed itself in early afternoon. Diamonds fell as snow, turned to rain and then to ice. Diamonds fell on Spokane and coated snow-laden trees with a frosty veneer.

Inevitably, trees began to lean. All over town, branches sagged and limbs snapped. Our own mighty oak stooped heavily under its icy burden, limbs swaying perilously.

I stood at the window and witnessed the silence as the old tree struggled against the increasing weight. There was a sudden crack - like a gunshot in the night - and a branch fell away, leaving a jagged wound against the sky.

More branches gave way. My husband and I listened to the ominous crashes and wondered whether our old friend and guard would survive the night. Via the local radio station we learned the drama was unfolding in every corner of the city, as trees splintered and fell on power lines and streets. Blackouts performed emergency surgery on energy-dependent lifestyles.

At 2 a.m. Wednesday, our appliances buzzed on and heat returned (uncommon luck, I know). But it wasn’t until dawn that I could survey the world outside my window.

There, against the sky, the old oak still stood, although fractured branches lay in a heap at its base. Holes gaped in the canopy and naked limbs jutted embarrassingly into the heavens.

I pictured the tree as it had been. For a moment, I felt great sadness. But then, the gallant tree stirred something within me. The noble oak was still standing; who was I to pity it?

The old oak had seen many seasons and weathered many storms. It stood tribute to fortitude and survival, to strength in the face of adversity. Its torn limbs, like the wrinkles in an old person’s face, were to be accepted and celebrated, testament to a life well lived.

This spring, irreplaceable limbs will be cut away and the tree will never again cast such a striking silhouette. Still, the old oak will ever be the grand tree of the neighborhood.

Likewise, Spokane lost a treasury of trees in this ice storm. Magnificent tree-lined avenues will have aching holes and may never achieve their former glory. And yet, Spokane will persevere, more beautiful for the trial that brought neighbors and strangers together, more beautiful for the discovery of the good among us and in us.

The oak tree is yet a gift. For all those who care to look, its branches will again etch paintings, new and more intricate designs. For all those who care to listen, the oak will again make music, new and richer melodies. For all those who care to see, the tree, like Spokane, has never been more beautiful.