Pin Oak Trees
On the edges of our cedar swamp “moat”, I can find one of our rarer trees called Pin Oaks, a water-loving species that can grow to a height of 80-100 feet. Unlike other oak varieties, it lives only about 120 years. In their 20th year, they can start producing a flat-capped acorn, and tend to go a year or two between large crops after that initial start. Their root systems lack a deep tap root and instead spread out like branches to support it in wet environments. The leaves are easily identified by the sharp, pin-like terminal lobe of the leaves.
Pin Oak tends to be used only for pulpwood, firewood, and other non-finished products because the wood from this tree tends to warp. Its acorns produce a powder can be used as a thickening agent for soups, and some Native tribes used to grind the nuts (a faster way to remove the bitter tannic acids) to produce a hot drink. The inner bark can be made into an infusion to treat intestinal pain, and galls that grow on the tree can be used to combat diarrhea and hemorrhages. If you have a garden, mulch with fallen leaves (not fresh ones) to keep slugs and grubs at bay.
My brother pointed the tree out to me, scooping up a leaf by flashlight as we walked in from the swampy NW corner of the acreage. He showed me the sharp “pin-points” of the elongated leaf, and pointed up into the mostly dark sky, showing me a tree that should start producing acorns in the near future. Brian has quick eyes in the woods—he’s been hunting since the age of fourteen, and has spent nearly over 38 seasons learning the lay of the land, the habits of whitetail deer, and that less easy to quantify delight in the quiet and smell of the woods. A visible change comes over him when he hunts—a centeredness, a mindfulness and yes, a delight. While he might never step into a church, temple or mosque, I can see the impact nature makes on him, smoothing away worry and pain, and the way he honors the woods and its creatures as sacred space. It’s not high philosophy or convoluted theology for him—the feeling has no fancy words, no rituals, no prayers needed to placate the Spirit of the place. He simply participates, effortlessly, not knowing or caring that his Way is honest, whole and inspiring.
May I spread out like pin oak roots,
fingering the deep soil and rock,
feathered out and through the depths,
no need to take a taproot stand.
May I reach out, invisible until at last
touching others and holding hands in the dark,
I realize
I do not stand alone.