OakElm

About fifteen years ago, Edmond and I were hanging up a new swing for our daughter. Summer, who was about 5 or 6 years old at the time, was excited to play on her birthday swing that looked like a horse made out of old tires. The area where we hung the swing is on the east side of our home, and is heavily wooded. Near the tree that held the swing, I noticed an Oak and Elm growing together from root and trunk. The two connect in three places, joining their root, bark, and vascular systems. At times, I frequently visited this tree, a union of two different tree species. At other times, I visited OakElm less often. Always, I have been fascinated by their bond and life together. 

One cold January day about five years ago, I sat with OakElm for a long time. The children were at school, and Edmond was at the office. I was alone at home, and all was quiet. It was cold and still outside near OakElm. I cleared the leaves and rotting debris from around its base, leaving the sparse native grasses that were green even in the winter. Collecting and placing fallen branches, I encircled OakElm and the younger Elm and Oak offspring that are included in their little tree family. 

The arrangement was a ritual in sacralizing these two tree beings who have become one. The circle of broken branches I placed around the tree family also included several old, small cedar stumps that were lined with mosses, lichen, and ferns. The cedar stumps and limbs had become tiny ecosystems inside the larger biome of the Texas Hill Country and the Blanco River Valley. These dismembered branches and unearthed stumps continued to spring forth life from their crevasses, curves, and cracks. These between spaces provide just enough moisture and access to sunlight and darkness for mosses and lichen to grow and serve as a home for insects.

Eventually, the pieces of wood creating the circle around OakElm will become the soil that once held cedar roots firmly in the ground and gave life to the limbs. Life arising from the womb of dying wood continues to honor the old, new, reciprocal, and circular relationships. 

OakElm still brings me to my knees if I dare stand in its presence. OakElm, without a backup plan, is conjoined three times. The two original trees are forever lip-locked, sap sharing, and one breath with roots and branches intertwined. These two are more than symbiotic together. They are/It is totally committed and thrive-living as one unique species. The shared scars of drought and limb loss mark OakElm’s time in this world. The Twin Flame lovers have endured without a Plan B. OakElm is all in, fully present, and in connection with self and other. 

In witness to OakElm’s wisdom, presence, and commitment, I sometimes feel a resistance to stay longer or even consider touching them. It is humbling as I reflect on my own opportunities taken as well as those missed moments to be “all in” with regard to relationship.

When I created this sacred circle around OakElm, I could only think of two couples who, like OakElm, brought me to the same place of stillness. I have a deep respect for both for OakElm and the human couples, for their heartbeat-sharing-connection that grows from being life-long lovers. In each of these human couples, now, only one remains, widower and widow. 

I know what OakElm does not yet know or may never have to know. Perhaps, what I know is an emotional expense only humans bear because we do not have the pure presence of trees, the clear understanding of tree-time, eternal time.

Widow and widower may in fact be something OakElm will never have to know. My guess is, although I am no tree expert, when one dies so will the other. There is not separateness to the shared vital systems, particularly their vascular system. If disease takes one, it will surely take them both. What a blessing for these lovers to live and die together. Everything that belongs to Oak, also belongs to Elm. There is no mine, only ours.

But I am not a tree, and Edmond and I were physically separate beings. Things that used to be ours are now only mine. 

Opening our shared bathroom cabinet, I realize I can take up as much space as I want now. He does not require storage for supplements, towels, and linens. The space is mine entirely to organize or not in whatever way I want. Today, I do not want it—the extra space or moving his things around. 

When our dog Ruby became ill on Sunday morning, it was my job to make the calls and get her to the vet. The dogs are my responsibility, not ours. 

And, it is my job to raise two more teenagers. I am fucking pissed off about that one. It is my resentment and anger, and I will make space for that resentment and anger whenever it shows up. My resentment and anger will need more space than what the bathroom cabinet has to offer.

Single parenting teenagers twice in a lifetime is just not my jam. Edmond was there as a step-parent for the oldest three children in so many important ways. And, as a step-parent, he faced struggles and heartaches I have not experienced. He was there for me during that time, too, supporting me, listening to my heartaches, and helping me through the parenting mistakes and successes. That support was tremendous. To have him in my corner at the end of each day no matter what was something precious and powerful. But, all the hard parts—the saying no, the setting boundaries, the setting boundaries louder—those parts were ultimately mine. Now, they are mine again. I will raise these two children through the treacherous time of teen-aging by myself and without him in my corner in human form. And his human form was something precious and powerful.

Yes, I do have the support and help of my older children and an amazing community of mentors and caregivers and family and friends. That support is not nothing. I am grateful for all that is available and for all those who hold us. And, it is not the same as having their dad do this with me.

I really prefer ours to mine. I am better when I am a we than when I am a me. I am better as a we, even when I have a Plan B. I wish we had been more like OakElm. Maybe my vascular system could have supported us both and for longer.