A bonus from buying our land and moving here to the dirt road has been that we inherited an old, old pecan tree. I bet it’s at least one hundred years old ~ maybe even more. Its branches outstretch much like the arms of a grandparent about to catch grandchildren running full speed for a hug. It grows very close to the road and an old tenant or sharecropper’s house sits in a pile of rubble just next to it. The previous owner of our land had it knocked down in an effort to reduce the property tax. I often wish that the house had been left in tact; I love old dwellings. Last year, we were able to salvage an old door from the ruins that we have used on our chicken house. The chimney remains undisturbed and we plan to save it and hopefully use it as an outdoor fireplace or picnic grill as early as next spring. I often reflect on the families that once lived there and how this tree offered shade and comfort over the decades.
One day last week, Alan and I were riding the road and he told me he had noticed an abundance of pecans that had fallen in the road. He stopped and let me gather a shirt full[1] and I could not believe how beautiful the fruit of this pecan tree was! On top of the beautiful nuts, they were paper-shell pecans at that ~ double bonus! I could not wait for Saturday to be here so I could get up to the tree and collect pecans.
Saturday’s weather made it hard to believe it was November. The cool crisp morning quickly warmed into a playful day that could keep no one indoors. I announced I was headed for the pecan tree and welcomed anyone to join me. After gathering buckets and warming up Thelma-Louise[2], I headed up to the tree with our youngest son riding as my siren on top of the car. As we navigated the pines on the upper 26 acres, two deer shot across our path. We wove through the acres of pines on the road that cuts through them and finally wound around to the great tree. We stood in the shade of his greatness. “How long has he been living here?” I wondered to myself.
The squirrels were in the near distance just a fussin’ at us because we had discovered their treasure trove. As we began picking up pecans, my son succumbed to the greatness of the tree shouting, “Mom, I’ll help you pick up pecans all afternoon, but right now, I gotta get in this tree!” So my beloved little “Huck”[3] dropped his bucket of nuts and commenced his climb. I was all too content in my silence to pick up pecans, soak in the day, all my surroundings and become lost in thoughts about the memories of this tree.
This land, now planted in pine seedlings, was once a part of a large cotton plantation: the Fitzgerald Plantation.[4] I have been told that following the death of its owner, the plantation was sold and divided up among the overseers and continued to be farmed for cotton. Even our very own 36 acres of land was planted knee-high in cotton right up to the early 1970’s when the previous owner bought it. All along, the great tree stood and watched over it all. I wondered if the tree was actually planted for purpose or was it the result of a squirrel who had stashed a nut and it sprouted with decades of duty before it. No matter whether it was planned or random, it was all too obvious that God had a cultivated purpose in this grand tree.
Our dirt road was originally just a wagon path in the middle of a cotton field and was never intended to be a road at all. The original road still exists, though is not used and lies in the neighboring pasture behind our farm. Dotted along our road are numerous remnants of tenant houses and smaller cotton houses. The wagon path was originally begun out of both sheer necessity as well as convenience for the workers having easy access to their homes as well as the cotton houses for their work. What once began as a wagon path eventually became a road over time as modern tractors and motorized vehicles entered this agrarian world. I wonder what the tree saw passing before it along this trodden track that now serves as our road today ~ our route to the outside world and our path that leads us back home.
My older son came walking up about this time, asking how the collecting was going and wondering where his brother was. I pointed to the tree where “Huck” had secured his position and was now eating pecans. I told him, “I think we need to call this ‘the Great Grandfather Tree’.” He looked puzzled. I explained, “Can you imagine how long this tree has been here? Can you imagine how many things he’s witnessed, how many summers he’s offered cool shade?” The boys were silent in their thoughts and I continued to pick up pecans. While “Huck” remained in the tree, my other son picked up a bucket and started to gather nuts, too. “They’re everywhere!” he exclaimed. “They’re huge, too,” he added. I showed him how to crack them open using two pecans and squeezing them against each other in one hand. “Look how golden they are,” he said immediately. We both ate some and couldn’t get over how sweet the meat was and especially from such an old tree that had long been left ignored and unattended.
As I reached for another and yet another pecan on the ground, I thought about all the past weathered hands before my own that had reached down to gather fruits from this great tree. Looking around the rubbled memories of the old tenant house, I couldn’t help but imagine the generations of families that lived there. How many children played under the branches of this great tree? How many struggles and worries were shared here? How many babies were cradled and swayed in its shade? How many tired backs leaned against the strength of this tree’s trunk? When the last family that lived here packed to leave, did they leave with heavy hearts or never to look back? I wanted to ask the tree about these families and reflected on the time periods of history when they co-existed here on this land. I wonder if the great tree has seen progress among mankind or if we’ve made any progress at all.
I plan to steward the great tree and honor it with attentive care and nurturing. After we are able to clean up around it, I can picture a tree swing along with a picnic table or two. And while I definitely sense a transplant for our classroom under the magnificent branches of this arboring tree, I pray that perhaps my own grandchildren will climb him and play under his outstretched arms offering shade and guardianship of many more memories to be made.
Author’s Note:
Twenty-four seasons have passed since that warm November day in 2005 when I first wrote about the Great Tree. We are again collecting his fruits that he has shared with us this harvest season and he continues to witness changes in the landscape that surrounds him. The endless rows of pines that had long suffered from infestation have been cleared to reveal acres of grassy pasture potential. Decades old falling fencing has been cleared and new fencing is being constructed. Soon, there will be new sounds to accompany the erected boundaries that will keep safe the soon to arrive livestock who will graze beneath his outstretched boughs of shade. Long will be the days of summer heat, but cool will be breezes that rustle through his canopy of shade. There is strength in the Great Tree’s silhouette as he stands guardian of the Dirt Road. We are thankful for the sacred history he embodies.
H.K.J.
Here are “Tom and Huck” perched in the Great Grandfather Tree on Jacobs Farm!
You can see the massiveness of this great tree as he stands proudly with branches all outstretched over our road.
This is an upclose and personal view of the bark on the Great Pecan tree. I was captivated by the unique details of the Great Tree’s exterior that lends evidence to his age.
As the day was beginning to end and we gathered ourselves together to go back to the house, this view mesmerized me: the Great tree dwarfing the remains of long forgotten lives yet standing tall and strong for future generations and the memories yet to be made.
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[1] “a shirt full”: refers to making a large pocket out of your shirt, sweater or sweatshirt when gathering a number of things to carry (usually in the garden…) by pulling up the bottom of the front of your shirt (um, while still wearing it) and filling it up!
[2] “Thelma-Louise”: this is my beloved 1990 JEEP Grand Wagoneer! She is an official member of our family. You can check out her relatives at www.wagonmasters.com.
[3] “Huck”: I lovingly refer to our second son as “Huck” as in “Huckleberry Finn”, well, because in so many ways he is the living version of this literary character!
[4] “the Fitzgerald Plantation”: http://www.rootsweb.com/~gawarren/1850cen6.txt , second group beginning with the 3rd listing. Although it lists Mr. Fitzgerald as a “laborer”, I believe that this must have referred to his occupation from Ireland and then prior to his arrival in our county.
Harriette K. Jacobs
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