Quercus alba Rebecca Penny
The maximum life expectancy for a white oak is approximately 600 years. My favorite example of the species is suspected to be just that old, though with its towering height and expansive branching, it also appears timeless and everlasting to me. I have never experienced the forest before the arrival of this oak and I can barely imagine the area without its presence. This position only serves to foster the illusion of permanence. The average lifespan for one of this species is a still impressive 300 years. The record age of a white oak is similar or perhaps longer than the average life expectancy of the admired ponderosa pine of the western United States, though I feel the Eastern white oak is lesser noticed for its longevity. Despite being one of the longest-living tree species in the eastern deciduous forest, the lifespan of the white oak is barely comparable to that of the thousand-year-old redwoods or the giant sequoias that have aged for over twenty centuries in Californian forests. In almost another realm of life there exists a genus in Africa, Adansonia, which is purported to live between 1000 and 4000 years. These foreign specimens of longevity do not exist in the forest I like to visit on longer hikes, though, once noticed, the potentially less extravagant white oak cannot escape my eyes for its size and fundamental beauty. Easily the largest tree in the forest, my white oak rarely goes unnoticed. My first interaction with my favorite white oak came as my life underwent a drastic alteration. During that week of college orientation, this white oak seemed stable and wise. It has born witness to much, and in its cool shade the shifting in my life seemed as inconsequential as the slight rustle of the canopy upon the arrival of a gentle breeze. As I revisit its deciduous home after nearly two years of adjustments, I am usually reverent yet eager. In the fall with the ground covered in a tapestry of brown, the “Swwish-crunch, switsh-crunch” of my footsteps gives my presence away no matter how carefully I move. When snow covers the ground, I often feel guilty for leaving such an obvious trace of my existence, though I am not the only one to visit these trees. Deer leave their small, rounded hoof prints and bird calls echo through the tree tops. For these animals, the white oak is more than a sturdy seatback or place to contemplate the events of a day; it is a part of their way of life. Many species depend on the white oak for their livelihoods. Species of woodpecker, like the Northern Flicker, nest in the cavities of old and decaying oak snags, giving life and movement to solitary stands of dead wood. Others, like the bluebird, a rival to the fierce, non-native European starling, which can effectively oust the bluebird from its niche, also depend on the oak for nesting habitat. White-tailed deer and rabbits find the new white oak shoots and saplings particularly delectable and will eagerly strip a small plant of its leaves. Saplings are a highly desired food source for beavers as well, who will browse and chew without reserve. Many forest creatures are sustained by the acorns of the white oak. A myriad of rodents (such as squirrels, rabbits and mice), birds and the occasional black bear consume these fruits throughout the fall and winter months when there is little else to be had. The white oak can be easily distinguished from other canopy species if one knows what to look for. In the winter, when the wind blows in from the polar regions of the continent dropping the leaves from the branches and stirring them into a mottled blend of detritus, the bark of the white oak will give it away. Scanning the forest, one will notice a tree with a sliver-white appearance to its bark. This is not the gray of the Beech tree, with its smooth and regular protection, but rather a covering of shallow lines and fragmentation within the bark, which is smoother to the touch than one might expect by the appearance. Texture of the white oak will vary depending on the age of the stem, with older trees more likely to possess smooth patches of this ashy-gray bark. The twigs of this species are reported to be red-brown or even purple at times, a lovely complement to the white nature of its predominant bark. However, the new growth of my particular white oak is far too high to be examined with the naked eye. I like to take a seat on the moist brown soil near this tree, letting the concerns that filled my head in previous moments succumb to the forest with its gently rolling topography and wide diversity of flora and fauna. On most days, I can feel the pull of the ground as heat is transferred from my body into the forest floor, though the southwestern side of the tree is often warmed by the sun in the late afternoon, and I rest my back here to compensate for my other losses. This support is firm and solid, which pleases me among the sight of other trees swaying and dancing in the canopy with only the slightest provocation by the wind. The trunk of this tree also diverts this wind around me, similar to the way a large rock creates a stable eddy on a quickly moving river. I can stretch my legs out in front of me with no obstructions as the closest tree is in excess of 3 meters away. This ground belongs to the white oak. It is almost as if the tree claims all of the area directly underneath its limbs. I have heard it said that a tree's root system is as extensive as its above ground branches. This possibility would easily preclude other species from remaining settled near by. The water and nutrient resources depleted from the immediate vicinity by the massive white oak would leave insufficient reserves for other large species. Evidence of other nearby species is easily recognizable however. In the leaf litter, tulip poplar and beech leaves are mixed with those of the white oak in a tapestry of russet, tan, and shades of auburn. Acorns also cover the ground as the predominant food source in the immediate vicinity of the white oak. Few can be found wholly intact as the cap always detaches from the fruit of the white oak acorn at maturity. The beauty of this brunette landscape can be quickly covered by a blanket of white by a late winter snow storm. This white covering takes on a dreamlike tint of azure as it reflects the grayish shades of bark and the bright blue sky. Against this smooth backdrop the individual trees are far more conspicuous than at other times in the year when the forest can seem to blend into itself creating a backdrop of foliage and branches. The leaves of the white oak are distinguishable from those of other oaks by the roundness of their seven to ten lobes. While many oaks display jagged edges and spine-tipped lobes, the smooth margins of the white oak leaf are slowly undulating waves against the rich forest soil. In the canopy, these leaves also resemble thousands of tiny hands with fingers reaching out for sunlight. Even this shape is purposeful for the plant. The irregularity of its silhouette permits light to penetrate down past the highest few layers of leaves, allowing the tree to utilize as much energy for photosynthesis as possible. This process feeds the tree, enabling it to grow to such grand proportions. The limbs of the white oak are sturdy and thick. They begin to branch and segment from the trunk into the canopy, forming an oval crown that has no visible rivals in its breadth. I have daydreamed of climbing into this grand canopy to view the forest and surrounding area from its height. This is a distant and unlikely ambition as the lowest limb in no less than twenty feet high. Even still, I close my eyes and envision myself curled and held by one of the massive and crooked limbs that seem perfect to support the human body in a comforted and secure posture. The surrounding trees do not have this effect on me. The tall and arrow-straight tulip poplar is prominent here. Though a rival for height, I have never seen a tulip polar that could match both the height and girth of the white oaks that make their homes along side of them. For now, the bark of the poplar is smooth and gray, though in a seemingly opposite process as the oak, it will become deeply furrowed with the progression of time. The beech tree is another community member here. Its bark is gray and smooth to the touch, and will remain as such. Younger trees of this species will maintain many of their golden leaves throughout the winter; elder members of the species are bare and resemble the cold blue-gray sky of a long winter. Somehow, the white-gray of the white oak seems warmer to me; perhaps it is simply the angle of the sun, or a thought reflected in my memory. White oak is a resilient species, and will readily regenerate after disturbances such as logging or fire, but can rarely regenerate successfully underneath a dense canopy. The white oaks that established themselves during the development of the forest will remain until they die, at which point a more shade-tolerant species, like beech, that has been waiting in anticipation in the understory could grow to occupy the old oaks position in the canopy. This will eventually occur in the forest where my old oak resides. It will fall from towering height to the forest floor where it will begin a new life as an entity there. The fallen timber will become a home to lichens, mosses and small forest dwelling creatures. Its fall may even bring other healthy trees down to the forest floor. At that point, the growth rings can be counted and I will know this white oaks' true age. Perhaps then I can curl up in its limbs. Sources Ness, Carol. 1989. White Oak: Quercus alba. < http://www.treehelp.com/trees/oak/ species-oak-types-white.asp>. Virginia Tech. Forestry Dept. 2005-2006. Quercus alba fact Sheet. <http://www. cnr.vt.edu/ dendro/dendrology/syllabus/factsheet.cfm?ID=35>. USDA Forest Service. Index of Species Information: Quercus alba. <http://www.fs.fed.us/ database/feis/plants/tree/quealb/index.html>.
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