Swamp White Oak

Reflections on the Oak

The Home/Land article for Carondelet East, January 1998, written by Sister Irene Kruse, gave voice to the great Oak at the Provincial House:

Old Great Oak Speaks of Its Role in the Chain of Nature

“I think that I shall never see a poem as lovely as a tree.”  Joyce Kilmer penned those words. Who am I that so speaks in the first person?  Why, I am none other than the Great Oak who has stood for over 300 years on your land at the Provincial House.  I have been asked to contribute an article for your paper, Carondelet East, and my ghostwriter has lent her limbs instead of mint to accomplish the writing.  She happened to stroll by one day and stopped to admire my lofty branches that tickle the sky, my handsome trunk and my colorful tresses.  I was supposed to be dozing at the time because winter was approaching, but I heard her muse audibly, “If this tree could talk, it could share so much.”

            I could sense this person trying to focus, and I encouraged her to keep listening to my creakings and groanings and to seek help from the cooperating wind.  “Talk to me!” she pleaded.  “Tell me about yourself and your companions, so that our present world will appreciate once again your vital importance to our planet.  Some persons today are so interested in progress and convenience that they trample on nearly everything to achieve their purposes, especially in the rainforests.  Sing me your song, and I will play your music with the hope that it will mute the sour notes which disturb the harmony of Mother Earth.”

            Well, thought I in my humility, rather than have her barking up the wrong tree (pun intended), I could find it in myself to do just that.  After all, these young saplings around me are just beginning to photosynthesize and, considering my 300+ years of experience, the task should naturally fall to me.

            “Concentrate, concentrate,” I whispered.  “Envelop me with your arms, your heart, your mind.  Feel my sap pulsing within me; my life will fill your soul.  Meld yourself to me.”  And so it was.  With her eyes closed and her hand on my bark, I poured a litany through her thoughts in a ventriloquy of self-revelation:

Nursery of bird, I am

Anchor of soil, I am

Chamber of insects, I am

Creative source, I am

Filter of air, I am

Green glory of earth, I am

Canopy for the weary, I am

Cleaver of rocks, I am

Pleasure to the eye, I am

Palette of autumn, I am

Sponge of water, I am

Seeder of life, I am

Creator of design, I am

Oxygenator, I am

Piper of wind, I am

Synthesizer of sunlight, I am

Producer of soil, I am

Tablet of scribes, I am

Cradle for the Incarnate, I was

Miracle of God, I continue to be.

            Now, in my enthusiasm, I spoke in the first person but, of course, I humbly acknowledge that my companions also enhance our planet in the same manner.  I simply want to wax poetically because I so rarely have the opportunity to communicate with someone so in tune with the environment.  After I had broken my bond with my human friend, and she had opened her eyes and thanked me, I had another thought.  Of all the marvels of which we trees are capable, there is one event we will cherish always in our heartwood; that is the day we supported a Man who leaned against us on a hill called Calvary.  To paraphrase the poet once more: Litanies are phrased by fools like me, but we’d better thank God who made a tree!

In April of 2006, Sister Irene Kruse, CSJ wrote the following:

REQUIEM FOR A WHITE SWAMP OAK

It stood sentry here for over a century times three

marking the years and the

changing times,

spreading its arms in benediction

over this holy land.

In Spring,

a nursery for birds;

in summer,

a canopy of green;

a palette

in Autumn

and, finally,

a Winter’s sleeping promise of

new life and hope.

Who would think that such longevity

would come to terms with death?

But, this green glory of Earth

no longer gift to our posterity,

belongs now to our memories,

which we will hold gently

and with gratitude for the grandeur that has graced

our landscape and

our lives.

To our Creator, praise and thanks

for sharing this beauty with us for

one brief, shining moment

in its passage through time.

The next year, Sister Mary Ellen Putnam, CSJ, wrote the following tribute to our Swamp Oak:

A Gift

O, Swamp Oak

your tiny seed of birthing

has survived centuries

of dying and renewal.

How many nests have you

sheltered in your branches?

What creatures have you

fed on your tree table?

Whom did you love

and nourish with your

tree heart?

O, Swamp Oak,

what messages in

your grain map

await my discovery?

Tell me your stories

Swamp Oak,

from the earth

to the earth

of the earth.

This column appeared in the December 2007 issue of Carondelet East.

Gift from the Swamp White Oak

by Sister Mary Ellen Putnam

 A strong bolt of lightning hit our beloved Swamp White Oak tree, and it exploded on impact. As soon as I heard about the explosion, I went down to check on the damage. The tree had been split in half, and pieces were charred black and scattered all over the ground. I was heartsick.

            The Gift is a piece of the charred part that I found at the base of the tree. It smelled like any piece of wood that had been burned. I had this piece in the bowels of the Provincial House and let it dry for one year. Occasionally, I checked it for insects, but there were none. Then, I put the wood on my bench and kept studying it every time I entered the shop.

            Finally, one day, as I stood looking at this rather large piece of wood, it invited me to begin to sand and shape it; so, I began, following its grain map, layer after layer, day after day. At one point, I thought it was finished, but no, a small piece had broken off, so I began to sand again. When it was finished, I felt a completeness.

            For me, the dark, burned area is the back of a wolf howling. Turned ever so slightly, I see a turtle with its head extended. The beautiful grain pattern reminds me of a Madonna, and to the left is her child.

            My hope is that whenever you look at this piece, you will see ‘something’, a message from our beloved Swamp White Oak for your contemplation. Thank you, Great Swamp Oak, for this GIFT.

(Sister Mary Ellen’s carving, The Gift, is located in the Provincial House Library on the round table at the west end of the room. A framed print of the Swamp White Oak in all four seasons is mounted on the wall near the windows in the same area.)

In April 1996, the following article appeared in the April 2006 issue of Carondelet East and provided a positive and hopeful interpretation of the demise of the Great Swamp Oak.

Tree Splits, St. Joseph stands tall: A Reflection

by Sister Mary Ellen Curtin

I heard that the Great Swamp Oak on the Provincial House grounds split in two not long ago. It reminded me that another tree, located on the grounds of Christ the King Retreat Center in Syracuse and dedicated to the Sisters of St. Joseph, also split and fell during a wind storm in November.

            It was quite miraculous and amazing that the tree fell on either side of a statue of St. Joseph and did no damage to that statue or another one close by. I think the event calls for some reflection. What does this mean? Is it an omen, a sign, a revelation? Is there to be a split in us as well? Somehow, I think not. I believe that an old order or way of being has been finished, completed, and a new order or way of being is about to begin. The roots of the tree remain, but the tree is making space for a new seedling to be planted.

            As we gather these days at regional meetings and prepare for provincial and congregational chapters, there is an energy that seems to suggest that we are about something new. We are creating a future for the Sisters of St. Joseph, and we don’t really know what it will look like, other than that the future will be about being the Great Love of God in this world. That future will be about communion and relationship with our God, one another and the dear neighbor, inclusive of Earth.