The Oak and The Willow

The Oak and The Willow

By Shelley Delmage

Two little sprouts popped from the ground right about the same time one sunny spring morning. They’d wrestled and struggled through the dirt after breaking through the shell one day, and now they both stretched to the sky feeling sun on their moist green baby leaves. They felt a kinship with one another immediately, though it was clear from the start they were very different.

The sprout with a strong stem and five broad green leaves spoke first. “I am a mighty oak.” His tiny voice said proudly. “I am immovable. I will not budge in the wind, I will stand strong in the face of the storm, children will swing from my strong branches, and many will find shelter in my shade.” The oak fluttered his tiny broad leaves in the gentle breeze, so excited was he to show his friend what a mighty Oak he would one day be.

The second sprout was very impressed and looked down upon his seven long skinny leaves with only a little less pride. “I am a Willow.” he said. “I will bend in the wind, but not break, and the wind will sing songs through my leaves. Children will swing on my long, thin branches and many will find shelter in my shade.” And he tried to shiver his leaves on the breeze, but it came out more like a stem wiggle. 

The Oak took pity on his seemingly feeble friend and said, “I will break the wind when it beats against me and shelter you from the storm.” And the Willow was very touched and said “the wind will break when it flows through my branches and I will shelter you, my friend.” The Oak thought his friend was very brave and together they stretched their leaves toward the warm sun and basked in how great it was to be a tree.

Seasons passed and the two trees grew bigger and stronger with every passing year. Spring to Autumn the sun would shine, rain would fall and sometimes storms of life with torrential downpours and fierce gusts of wind would pass through. Birds nested in both the trees and squirrels ate the acorns from the Oak. Children did indeed play and swing from their branches and families would often picnic in the shade.

Many seasons later after many storms and sunny days had passed, the Oak and the Willow had grown from tiny saplings into big, tall trees, very different from each other, but both still trees.

The Oak stood towering over the flowers and grass with a wide strong trunk and thick roots reaching across the turf, burrowed deep into the ground. Its hefty branches reached proudly to the sky with big broad leaves that waved in the wind, and all kinds of life had taken refuge in his sturdy form.

The Willow’s long thin branches now hung majestically, draping the tree and grass around it in an abundance of leaves and shade. The wind whistled a tune when it blew through his branches and the Willow would dance, bend and twist in all his adaptable glory.

Both trees had grown to be mighty indeed.

The time came that a storm like no other passed through. It was in the dead of winter and the wind was not friendly as it whipped ice and sleet into the faces of all who dared face her. The snow was relentless, the day looked as though it were night, and the temperature was the coldest it had ever been.

The Willow whipped back and forth furiously, dancing with abandon and feeling a sad song somewhere in the angry wind. Every blow was followed by another, and the Willow would be twisting one way only to be bent back another. He let go and adapted, accepting what was in the moment, knowing this, too, would soon pass, as had all other storms before. “I am the Willow,” he sang to the storm. “I will bend, but not break.”

The Oak was not faring so well. His broad rigid strength had stood immovable in the face of many storms, but none had come like this. He tucked his roots tighter into the ground as the wind seemed to pull him from every tip and toe. Many thin branches broke off with snaps and pops and were tossed into the dark night, His trunk would not bend. “I am the Oak!” He yelled mightily to the wind. “I stand rigid and immovable against you, and you will bend and break against me!” With that, a loud ripping crack seared the air and in a single motion, the Oak was almost in half, the top of his big broad branches hanging to his stump by a tendril before tearing off completely. It was now rolling away into the night, possibly to wherever his other branches had blown, banging and bouncing off of other trees before disappearing out of sight.

While the wind continued to whip, and what was left of all the trees waited out the storm, the noise was ferocious, but their own silence was deafening.

As the Willow had predicted, the storm did pass. The morning brought the warmth of the sunshine and hope filled the new day. 

The Oak’s mighty voice was now a whisper as he confided in his friend with shame and confusion.

“I am the Oak.” He said quietly. “I don’t understand. How, with all my strength, could that storm break me?  I have endured and stood strong in the face of all that has passed through my branches.  Have I not been tested and immovable all my life?” he asked his friend earnestly. “Have I not provided food, a home, a shelter to any who came calling? What did I do to deserve this.?” He stretched out the few remaining branches from his bottom stump and fluttered them about with futility.

The Willow let the now gentle, friendly breeze blow his branches close to his dear friend’s jagged stump as he contemplated the question.

“My friend,” he finally said, “You have withstood all that has come to pass, including this storm, have you not? Are you not still here, still very much an Oak, even bigger now, still, than the day we met?” the Oak sat in silence, absorbing his friend’s words.

“You have given any of yourself to all who have come in need,” he continued, “even now, the ants still thrive at your feet, and the old abandoned Robin’s nest is still wrapped tightly to your lower branch, so sturdy are you where she knew to build.”

The Oak was starting to feel better as he contemplated the ants scurrying to rebuild their tunnels at his feet and said, “I am only half of what I was, but you are right my friend. None of us are spared from the storms”

He gave himself a little shake and stretched his full half-length to the sky, wanting to think no more of the storm or of broken branches and songs he couldn’t sing.  “I am still an Oak, and you are still a Willow, and we both still stand. Me in my immovable might, and you in your song, that bends but won’t break.  I am grateful for you and this day.”

The Willow contemplated his friend’s words silently as the Oak rested and soaked up the warm sun into all the parts wanting to heal and regrow.

He didn’t want to say aloud how much he thought that had to hurt, how maybe it was better to be a Willow – to bend and not break in the face of life’s storms. The Willow thought he could never withstand being an Oak, and the Oak could not become a Willow, even if he wanted.

The Oak didn’t want to say aloud how much he thought that had to hurt, holding onto so many broken branches, scarred but still attached, and he thought maybe it was better to be an Oak - his wounds had been a clean break. The Oak thought he could never withstand being a Willow, not that there was ever any choice.

“We are what we are, my friend,” Was all the Willow finally replied as he too turned his leaves to the warm sun and basked in the glow of a new day, forgetting the chaos of the storm and feeling very warm alive. “I too am grateful for this day and for you.”

Many more seasons came to pass, many sunny days and many storms, but the friends remained steadfast. Families came to picnic, children swung from their branches, and birds and bees and other living things made homes in their branches

The Oak regrew from his stump, once again as majestic and strong as he had been so many decades before. The Willow had also grown and now offered so much shelter that Oak rarely spoke to the Wind or faced any storms. Willow’s branches hung long and low, above and around most of Oak.

Comfortable under his friends branches and no longer needing all his strength to stand immovable, he would watch, mesmerized, from under Willow’s leaves at all the different dances of all the different trees when life’s storms came to pass, and when the Wind broke through on the stormiest of nights, Willow and Oak would sing along, together.