The Noble Oak

The back porch of the family farmhouse is catching a nice autumn breeze blowing in off the meadow. Raymond breathes in the sweet smell of wildflowers wafting in as the day slowly passes. A majestic old oak stands in the middle of the meadow, waving its branches at Raymond like an old friend. He smiles as he puffs his pipe a few times to keep it lit.The noon sun heats up Raymond’s shoes, causing him to pull them back under the metal porch chair.

When Raymond was young, the meadow was a cornfield. The oak was there then, making it older than Raymond himself.The farm was larger, with fields for tomatoes and peppers. There were strawberries and cucumbers, eggplants, and summer squash. Orchards of apple and peach trees were in another section. Lastly, in the far corner by the town forest was the pumpkin patch, which also contained acorn squash and gourds.

The Wheeler family sold all these things from a roadside produce store.Neighbors and some passing tourists would stop by as the seasons changed to get fresh produce and fruits.Raymond’s grandmother and mother always made fresh apple pies and peach turnovers. Sometimes his father would plant rhubarb, and Raymond couldn’t wait for his grandma’s custard rhubarb pie. They kept a few chickens and sold eggs at fifty-three cents a dozen. You saved three cents on the next dozen if you returned the carton.

After World War II, privately owned farms became more challenging to run.Men were finding jobs in construction, building homes for returning soldiers with new families. The money was just better, that’s all.

Raymond was a bright boy and went to agricultural school, where he earned a master’s degree. Later, he landed a job working for the Green Giant Company. During that time, the family farm dwindled to what it is today: a meadow with a solitary oak tree. Raymond has refused offers to sell the meadow, saying he wants to leave it to his grandson.

Raymond is currently in his eighty-ninth year of living on this Minnesota farm. Oh, how he has enjoyed it despite the humid summers and winters so cold as to freeze the tail off a polar bear! It is the spring and fall he enjoys the most.Spring is the beginning of the planting season, and fall is the harvest of all the hard work. Nowadays, due to his age, Raymond only plants flowers around his house. The first to bloom are the crocuses, then the daffodils. The pansies and petunias are next to arrive. If he feels up to it, he mows the front lawn every other week.

Lately, Raymond has been enjoying recalling the days of his youth and the noble oak. On Sundays, when there were no chores, he and his cousin Bill would go to the movies downtown at the Bijou. Then he and a few other friends would climb the tree that would be transformed into a pirate schooner fleeing British warships just like in the swashbuckler they had just seen. Raymond loved how Errol Flynn would always laugh during sword fights or grin with enjoyment as he dispatched his foes. In their minds, the cornfield was the sea, and the tree was the ship as they’d bounce the branches up and down to simulate the ocean’s waves. Raymond closes his eyes for a moment and hears the sounds of children’s laughter still caught in the branches of the old oak.

During the week, Raymond and perhaps a hired hand or two would help Father work the farm. Raymond would pull weeds mostly but, on occasion, Father would have him drive the tractor to another section of the farm where it was needed. Driving the tractor always made him feel proud. The hired men were usually fellows down on their luck, and Father felt it was his Godly duty to help them out. A few took advantage of him, but not enough to make him stop.

About midday, Mother would trek out to the base of the old oak tree and ring her cowbell for us to come and have lunch. She would spread a large red and white checkered cloth and place a picnic basket there. It would be filled with sandwiches of homemade bread, fruit, and cookies.There would be milk for Raymond and a small pitcher of beer for Father and the men. Raymond remembers how good it all tasted while sitting in the shade of that big old tree. The men would share tales of their lives in the army and tell of their many travels since.Life was sweet.

His mother and aunt, Bill’s mother, would tend the store. They greeted everyone with open smiles and heartfelt gratitude. At the end of the day, they would bring the older products to the church food pantry before they could spoil.

The mid-September evening air has turned a bit chilly. Raymond decides to stay longer as he enjoys watching the birds coming to roost for the night in the big oak. He relights his pipe and feels the warmth of the bowl. Listening to the sounds of the birds cooing and singing their evening songs makes him smile but also makes him feel somewhat melancholy.

For years, he has watched the fall migrations fill the skies with birds heading south. He and his childhood friends would point to the sky and claim a large flock by shouting, “My group!1-2-3!” A chuckle rumbles deep in Raymond’s chest. At times, the sky overhead would be black with migrating birds, but not so much now.Pollution? Who can say?

A chill courses through Raymond; he thinks it’s time to go in. He knows he should have something to eat, but he doesn’t have much of an appetite these days. He ponders the idea for a few more seconds before deciding to just go to bed.Raymond notices that he feels more than just tired; he feels quite fatigued. It wasn’t long after he falls asleep that the dream starts.

In the dream, he walks toward the tree. He is young again but feels the same as he does now. Though he can’t see them, he can hear all his friends high up in the oak tree’s branches. Raymond starts climbing in response to his cousin Bill’s playful taunting. “Come on, Raymond! Climb higher. I’m waiting for you!” The tree seems larger than usual, but Raymond keeps up the pace. The higher he goes, the thinner the branches become until Raymond can see for miles around. Everything is just as it was when he was a boy. He can see the elementary school on the east side of the river, right next to Johnson’s Lumberyard. In the center of town is the town hall and the Bijou theater. An old dirt road leads to the swimming hole and Boy Scout campgrounds.In the blink of an eye, everything changes to modern times. Gone is the small hamlet of three thousand people. All the unique special places have turned into housing. A city of thirty-five thousand souls, most of whom hardly know their neighbors.

Raymond’s heart weighs heavy until he feels something under the palm of his hand.It is a carved heart with his initials and those of his future wife. Raymond hears her voice, looks down, and sees her standing among the cornstalks with their old dog, Buster.

“Hurry up, Raymond! It’s time to go!” Raymond takes one last look and realizes that the past has gone, never to return. His youth has too, but that’s okay; it was a great life.

As Raymond hurries down the tree, more and more familiar voices urge him on.At one point, his foot slips and he feels a hand supporting him. A gentle voice whispers in his ear, “Really, Raymond? You and Zaccheus are always climbing trees! Come! We’re eating at my house tonight!”

Later that night, a thunderstorm rolls through the valley, and a lightning bolt splits the grand old oak in two.