It is sad, but all things alive must pass.
Here we've seen countless giants succumb, wither, drop, and rot. That's the life cycle and as much as it hurts, it's a necessary fact. Comfort comes in knowing that organisms change - the life continues as in human organ transplant donations, composting ecology, and perhaps some of the historic woody tissue of the oak becoming material reminders of it's longevity, of it's humble royalty, and it's foliage reverting back to life-allowing soil.
I often find myself at odds with disease research in plants - is what I'm doing a basic right and for who? The tree, the environment, or the man who owns the threatened ancient tree?
Finding comfort in knowing that man's activities exacerbate the epidemics we experience - delaying the ultimate death by pathogen, am I really in performance of the earth's well being or making the earth fit the proposals of mankind's designs? If the disease is an anomoly and measures can be taken to deflect it's virulance, perhaps the healthy patients give me joy - the paychecks certainly don't. Are chemical attempts to prolong a declining life really just a chemotherapeutic attempt to allow us in a self-serving desire to control and manipulate all that surrounds us?
I humble under ancient trees - trees long with life far beyond our own. The Tane Mahuta in New Zealand, the Angle Oak in S.C., the General Sherman, the Methusela, the Witch tree. Tears come to me in honor of these kings, we are little or nothing to their needs, at least until the storm hits, the viruses enter, the air quality chokes them. I guess if it's us that pose the largest immediate threat, we should try all we can to correct it.
Rest in Peace old giant, and thank you for your presense to our world.
Reed
