The oak's last hurrah

After everything that's happened in our backyard in the past week, I think it's only fair to give you a final update -- the last chapter, so to speak -- on the removal of the enormous oak tree.

For starters, let's just say that the tree and Mother Nature appeared to be conspiring to prevent anyone from cutting down the tree. Rain, it turns out, is a good guardian.

Then there was Ameren's schedule for dropping the main power line to our house, which just happens to go within a few feet of the massive tree's trunk.

Next came a delay while the tree remover had to rent a bigger hydraulic lift to reach the tree's top. What started out two weeks ago as a 75-foot tree turned into a 90-foot red oak by the middle of this week.

In addition to being tall, the oak had considerable girth. The base of the trunk near ground level was a good 6 feet across. When the tree was finally reduced to a low stump, I tried to count the rings to determine its age, but it appears I'm not a very good ring counter. Other, more reliable sources of information indicate the tree is not yet 50 years old.

Most of the rings were wide, and many of them had two bands, which I assume has something to do with our Southeast Missouri seasons.

According to my count, the tree is more than 60 years old. But I may have been counting some of the color bands as rings.

Our former neighbor who died not too long ago, Melva Lewis, once told me about the trees in our neighborhood. The Lewises were the first to build on the hillside north of the university, and she described the area as an open field with just one wild plum tree in what would become the Lewises' backyard. All the other trees, she said, were planted as houses were built. I've already told you that the reason we bought our house was because of the mature trees in the neighborhood.

Shortly after we purchased our house more than five years ago, my wife and I went to Foeste Nursery looking for crepe myrtle to plant in the only area of our yard where the sun isn't entirely blocked out by the shady boughs of tall trees.

Clyde Foeste offered to deliver the two crepe myrtles we picked out. When we told him our address, he said he knew the area well. He said he had planted most of the trees in that area. We were astounded to learn that such large trees were relatively young.

Our house was built in the late 1950s, so we're guessing the trees were planted sometime around 1958 or 1959. That would make the big oak in the backyard about 45 years old. Mr. Foeste said it was entirely possible for oak trees to grow that fast, thanks to the lawn watering and fertilizing folks do around their homes.

One main reason removing our tree took so long was because there was nowhere to let any part of the tree fall to the ground. Each limb, each section of trunk had to be cut and lowered to the ground by ropes. Then a hydraulic clamp loader was used to reach from our neighbors' driveway across the 6-foot fence into our yard to pick up each piece of the tree.

What we expected -- and the tree remover probably did too -- to be a two- or three-day job lasted 10 days in all, counting unavoidable delays and the weekend.

For much of that time the bird feeder was taken down. Each evening when the tree crew left the birds would start congregating in our backyard, which must have looked like a war zone to our feathered friends.

Wednesday night, with the tree reduced to a low stump, several birds thoroughly inspected the remaining wood for insects.

The tree's last hurrah was giving something to the birds.

R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.