Harry's Oak

Harry's Oak

Harry's Oak proudly stands on our church's property.  I gave it the name because our church is located on Harry Driggers' Boulevard. Every week when my husband and I go to take care of the church vans, I stand and admire it, thinking what a beautiful painting it would make.  This'll be the last year I get to enjoy these ancients with their diaphonously hung Spanish moss among the branches.

I don't know much about Harry Drigger, except he was one of the earlier builders around town. He built the homes in our neighborhood back in the 70s.  It's been said that he lived in one of the two story brick homes at the end of our street.  Mansions, in those days. They have gorgeous views of the marsh, overlooking the waterways towards St. Simons. No doubt, Mr. Drigger loved trees because water oaks dominate our neighborhood: the very reason we chose to live here over fifteen years ago.

As beautiful as water oaks are, they're a pain in the butt.  This time of the year they drop millions of very narrow leaves.  It's almost impossible to rake them up because they get wedged in between the blades of grass.  How inconsiderate of them. It's best to mulch them in.  By mid-May, they'll have stopped shedding their leaves, and it won't really matter anymore.

By mid-May, we'll have closed on our house.  We'll be packing up the last of our household goods and making our way back home, back north to our beginnings.  It will be the last segment of our lives: whatever's left of the next quarter century.

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Forty years, we've traveled long
distances, from coast to coast, creating
memories.  Many are tracked deep into our hearts
like rich loam stuck to the bottom of our shoes.

Narrow leaves of time become wedged
in our lives.  No sense trying to rake them out.
Leave them and let them mulch into the rich
soil of who we've become.