Every piece of nature, even the smallest bit, has a history. Usually, we don’t know that history, don’t care about that history, don’t waste our time with the minutia of nature’s little bits. I can relate to that. But because I was there, I know a small portion of the history of the bent little tree in the foreground sunlight of this photograph.
This little tree got caught in the middle of a beaver pond. At one time it was probably just a young sapling beside a creek. But the beavers were trying to make a home for themselves and they needed lots of water for that. So, they built a series of dams and this little tree got caught in one of the resulting ponds.
The first time I saw the tree it was already surrounded by water. Probably a foot or so of its trunk was underwater. And although it was fairly early in the fall and surrounding trees still had all their leaves, this little tree had probably less than a dozen leaves on it.
It was already dying.
Over the years I watched it deteriorate, little by little, often highlighted by a strip of early morning light, as though nature was trying to call attention to its plight. It stopped putting out leaves, then it began to bend over, unable to hold up its own weight in that mud under the water. Right now, if you were standing on the lookout pier you would see no evidence of that tree’s existence. Right now, the pier isn't there either; torn down, to be rebuilt higher above the water level because of flooding.
It’s nothing to be sad about. It was just a tree. Not a particularly pretty tree. But, like all trees, it had a job to do. And in this Lake Conestee area, where toxic sediment was all the tree had to grow in, this little tree had an important job, helping to filter out the poisons that had collected from years of toxic waste being poured into the Reedy River, miles away from here.
And I’m sure the little tree did its job as best it could. I’m sure it kept continuing to try to do its job even after the beavers, by building a home for their family, made the tree’s future life impossible. That’s the way of nature: things are built up; things are torn down.
My original plan was to return to the park this year when the weather warmed up a bit, expecting to see the new lookout pier. But Covid-19 led to park closings. And that lasted until the weather got so hot that bugs and mosquitoes make trips to the park too uncomfortable for me. Now, the plan is to wait for the weather to cool at the beginning of autumn.
The new platform should be finished long before then. And if it is, I will step up onto that platform, surveil the acres of beaver ponds, and then look out into the water where that little tree used to be. I will remember what I used to see there, and I will ponder over what I saw happen to that tree over these past few years that I’ve been visiting this special little spot.
It may sound silly, but I ‘m gonna miss that little tree.