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.