Yesterday i thought i'd pay a visit to the Belvoir Oak, possibly the oldest living thing in Ireland. It's difficult to convey the august majesty this hoary old survivor exudes. In the light of the soft drizzly October noon i felt i was in the presence of a great being. Honestly. If Merlin or Talesin had appeared himself, it would not have invoked more awe and respect. What is greater than respect? I don't know.
So here are some photos from it. The tree itself is in its final stages of collapse, but where it is still alive, the leaves and branches are still strong and young. There is life in the old fella yet.
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| The tree plays host to hundreds of fungi. It's entire trunk was covered in lichen and moss, and here and there were colonies of mushrooms. |
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| The bark which was woven with spider webs. It looked like a craig. |
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| The trunk, hollowed out, was like the entrance of a mystical cave |
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| Brilliant vermillion fungi glistened, wet with dew and rain |
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| Little staircases of butter yellow fungi |
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| How could you not think that gnomes and sprites were not at home here? |
I love the work i do because it has given me the opportunity to know beings like this oak tree. Anyone who tells me that a tree is just a tree, has never really looked at one. This tree in particular is also surrounded by four other oaks. They grow, strangely in a circle. The others are about 300 - 400 years old, youngsters, compared to this one.
When this tree was a sapling, it was the 14th century. Singapore was Temasek, Robert the Bruce was still alive and well... it was a different world. As i write this i can actually see this tree as a tender sapling, waving its uncertain leaves, its scrawny trunk, shivering the winters and rejoicing in the summers... did it ever imagine it would live to be this old, live to see this all? The Plantation of Ulster, the Troubles, WW1 and 2, the cutting down of the forest to make way for forestry. Did it ever think it would live the duration and oak is meant to live?
And i think there is a story in there for us. As we prepare for another winter, we can only do what is right. Do the right thing. Do the correct thing. Do the thing that we feel we must, not because we were told we had to, or we were told was safe. And if we die, we die happy. And if we do not, well, like the Belvoir Oak, we will live to tell that tale.
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