Ben Milam Cypress
Snipers and self-consciousness on San Antonio’s river walk
Trees of this size typically affirm life in these days of dwindling green space, but this tree’s history is about death. What stuck in my mind is that it was known as a sniper tree— a memorable name for a dreadful thought, especially with the regular horror of news stories lighting up my phone notifications. Legend has it that the Mexican army used the tree to take out people coming to the river for water.
As soldiers became disillusioned and began dropping out of the Texas revolution, Colonel Benjamin R. Milam feared that hesitation would kill their momentum. Stepping up, he led a charge of volunteers into the Mexican held Béxar (now the name of the county San Antonio sits in) on Saturday, December 5, 1835.
Hit in the head by a bullet as he entered a courtyard during the fighting, Milam was killed instantly before the battle was won. My 1970 edition states that it was likely that this bald cypress was the vantage point from which an attacker could have fired. The 2015 edition calls it the “platform for the historic assassination.”
We took a bit of a risk making this trip in the first place. Texas reopened from Covid lockdown much sooner than most states, while many others are still quarantining. Since I work in landscaping, which was deemed essential from the beginning, I’ve been out in the world the whole time — wearing a mask, of course.
We attempted activities throughout the weekend: getting food, shopping in an open air market and along with everyone else in our hotel, we tried cooling off in the woefully inadequate rooftop pool a few minutes, but continually retreated back to our room.
Ok so I just turned 50.
This milestone birthday is a big reason I started this project. The first edition of the Famous Trees of Texas was published the year I was born: 1970. Something about seeing that it had been a half century for both of us made me feel like: It’s now or never.
Of course I wanted to commemorate this momentous birthday with another tree trek. We took off Friday afternoon, picked up our friend in Austin and made it to San Antonio in the late evening. Until after we had arrived, I didn’t do a single bit of research on the area trees. I realized that the cluster of dots on my map was more spread out than they appeared. Two turned out to be dead and there is only one left within the city limits.
Our hotel was right along the main tourist attraction: San Antonio’s river walk. We went right out to see the water as soon as we arrived, admiring numerous bald cypress trees which thrive having their roots in the water.
Our first morning, after we trekked on foot to breakfast, using GPS coordinates (that I had somehow never utilized) and maneuvering around construction blockage, we found the massive Ben Milam Cypress.
Besides multiple Live Oaks and one magnificent Post Oak, the only other species I’ve collected so far is another bald cypress, (Taxodium distichum) called Old Baldy, in McKinney Falls State Park. This one is double trunked and twice as large.
Navigating the sometimes crowded river paths, my friends and I stood under the tree and snapped photos in front of this gigantic specimen, sometimes removing our face coverings for the pictures. Standing close, it’s nearly impossible to get a shot of the whole tree, so there are angles looking up at the branches and those with only the bottom of the fat trunks showing.
Surrounding construction made it difficult to get over to the other side of the riverwalk to get a little distance. I watched a yellow tourist barge floating along past the bend in the river and heard the guide make mention of the historic cypress with his microphone. This tour might’ve been worth taking for the visual perspective, but as we are now living in another moment in history, the proximity to other tourists had little appeal. Thanks, Covid.
The gal pals who joined me on this voyage are close friends since the early 90s. I’m grateful they were willing to travel and celebrate my birthday especially since they’re both good photographers. Shots they took with me in them better display the tree’s enormous size, but they send me into a spiral of self-consciousness.
The bandana was a make-shift mask, not a fashion statement, btw.
This narrow walkway on the river meant a fair amount of the public was walking by the entire time. Already feeling ill-at-ease during this middle-aged lady photo-shoot, having an audience made it a lot worse. Including photos of myself is a challenging exercise in vulnerability. You’ve undoubtedly seen the multitude of beautiful instagram influencers. I can’t measure up to that.
So yeah. There I am… awkwardly sweating in 100-degree August temperatures: A 50-year-old lady next to a tree.
But you know? THIS IS IT: This is the youngest I’ll ever be again. Must I be perfect — or someone’s idea of perfect — to be on camera?
I’m here. Checking out a tree that is lots older and much larger than I am. Deal with it. (Saying this to myself as much as anyone else).
We made reservations for dinner on the outdoor patio at Supper in the Hotel Emma. Though it was sweltering hot, we chose to walk an hour to get there, which afforded us another tree photo opp.
Covid-wise, the crowd sizes weren’t alarming as they passed quickly, but the general vibe definitely squelched most of the feelings of uplift I might’ve experienced about this particular living thing. Wandering the riverwalk with a frozen margarita in a plastic to-go cup didn’t put me in a mind to summon reverence for battle heroes, sharpshooters or the fight for freedom that this tree symbolizes, but it was nice to get a second viewing.
Sunday morning in the hotel room, we enjoyed a room service breakfast and listened to podcasts while I mapped and took photos of the next trees we would meet on the way home.
Random notes:
Check out this crazy song called The Mexican by 1970s British band, Babe Ruth, with whom I was unfamiliar.
Shazaming the song when I heard the powerful vocalist Jenny Haan singing the names of Texas heroes (Wait…what???) I looked it up. Wikipedia says that the songwriter, Alan Shacklock wrote it in response to seeing the historically inaccurate John Wayne film called The Alamo.
Why did we blow off seeing the Alamo?
I was so focused on the group of trees I was hoping to cram into the last day of travel. We made a half-hearted drive-by attempt to see it. Extensive construction blocked our view so we went on our way.
Houston Campsite Oak (spring)
This tree is significant — not just for its impressive size.
Blab fest
A little part of this writing is accomplished by doing one of my favorite activities: talking to friends on the phone. Verbalizing my celebrations and setbacks with trusted people is vital. Anyone who knows me is well aware that I am loquacious. Continually striving to be a better listener, I do love a good chat on all levels: light and heavy.
Typically, at least one of my friends hears about my tree jaunts and I marvel at how effortlessly the story flows, recalling the essence of the moment. Speaking it, somehow the whole thing is easily distilled, and I instinctively know the order of detail, what to include and what to leave out.
Of course, there are no stakes in a phone conversation and no record of the interaction. I’m free to blurt things and they sound fine because they’re generally lost to memory. Even if my dear friend is pretending to listen or truly bored, I still receive the therapeutic act of saying aloud what happened.
It is not infrequently that I hear myself telling the story and figure out a way to put pen to paper. It sounds obvious to write the way I would tell it, but it is much easier said than done. Writer David Foster Wallace insisted on at least five drafts, which I found comforting to learn. His genius was not effortless.
Writing is an altogether different synapse path within my brain that drags out that storytelling process. Dumping the story in long hand into my journal, I gather my internal thoughts, sifting through the few that might be interesting and ignore the ones that say: THIS ALL SUCKS. Just give up!
Houston Campsite Oak December 2019
Envisioning revisiting
Since finding the Houston Campsite Oak in December, when it was leafless, I’ve meant to see it again. Envisioning another visit to nearby Coppell as things began to leaf out in spring, I was immobilized when covid hit and it didn’t really cross my mind. The landscaping industry was deemed essential in Texas from the beginning of our statewide shutdown, so I never actually quarantined, but for a while, going places seemed like a bad idea.
Struggling with completing my first post about this tree, I hoped maybe seeing it again would help me figure out what I wanted to say. Still sweaty in my work clothes after a pretty day in the mid 80s, I took off during the lighter pandemic traffic.
This particular tree is significant, not just for its impressive size. It commemorates an interesting moment in Texas history - a moment of striving for peace and coexistence, an attempt to come together and compromise. This gigantic post oak is the most beautiful of the Famous Trees of Texas that I’ve seen, so I wanted to do it justice.
Arriving in Coppell, I happened upon a retail complex near the park that one might call cute. Texas reopened sooner than most states, but it seemed like forever since I had been anywhere besides the grocery store. The wide open doors of one place caught my eye, so I stopped and put on a mask, knowing there was plenty of daylight left to see the oak.
A literal Mom & Pop business, the store is a clean and calm environment that was once a small post office, now with a mix of jewelry, cards, maps, ceramics, soaps, bits of nature and items with catch phrases: This actually is my first rodeo.
I wish I had bought this map
Chatting with the husband and wife owners as I collected a few trinkets, I mentioned that I was on my way to visit the oak only steps away from this store. I was pleased that they knew exactly what I was talking about.
“My daughter was married under that tree!” she said.
“You must come take a look at OUR tree.” She led me out back to show me a very large, interestingly weathered old post oak (Quercus stellata) between the store and the home where they lived. Large scars showed where numerous limbs had been cut some years ago, which made it a bit lopsided, but nonetheless grand. I thanked them and headed over to the park with my new loot.
The community veggie garden near the parking lot was filled with ripening tomatoes and peppers instead of the kale and broccoli I had seen in December, and of course the June weather was distinctly different. Young graduates in caps and gowns took photos of each other near a fountain as I walked down the path.
There it was. WOW.
Seeing this enormous oak full of leaves was an entirely different experience. Equally if not more breathtaking than before, the canopy created a giant umbrella effect that wasn’t possible in winter. I whipped out my phone to take a video of my initial reaction.
To stand under something so gigantic and obviously alive hits me somewhere deep. To witness the magnificence of a very old living thing is thrilling. I call this: exultation. Though it’s never guaranteed, it is a powerful motivator that nudges me to continue.
When I spoke to my friend about this she thought of part of a quote by author Anne Lamott. Reverence can be a prayer? Rage can be a prayer. Something like that. I googled this phrase with Lamott’s name and learned about her book called Help Thanks Wow: The Three Essential Prayers.
“I say to God sometimes, “You have got to be kidding.” … And I think you can say anything. You can say, “I’m mad at you. And I’m not going to be a good sport about it. How about that?” And that’s prayer.
Silence can be prayer. Rage can be prayer. It’s truth. It’s all prayer. When we are talking to something that the rest of the world may not be seeing right then, and when we’re talking from the deepest part of our hearts, we’re trying to tell the truth. That’s prayer.”
Though my mother insisted we attend church every Sunday throughout my childhood, I am not religious. I believe that prayer is personal and private. I love this generously candid look into her mind. I have felt exultation in a cathedral, while singing, as well as standing in front of a painting in a museum, but I can just about count on trees to lift me out of my everyday life.
The leaves were so lustrous and shiny. I remembered the brittle, dead leaves I had photographed on the ground last time. A comforting familiarity and fondness washed over me witnessing something meaningful that I had seen before.
Mom & Pop told me they had the reception in the civic space in the park, which is surrounded by a little garden. I don’t have many romantic illusions left about weddings, and it’s been a good while since I was in a serious relationship, but I felt a tiny uptick of hope somehow hearing about connecting a ceremony to this astounding living witness.
I wandered a little way down a woodsy path that I hadn’t explored before, thinking I might see the graffiti wall from a different viewpoint, but it felt dark and uncomfortable. There were mosquitoes and poison ivy everywhere so I turned back and walked toward the open space that overlooked the creek again noting the leafy difference in the seasons. I took a few more shots and felt ready to go.
You’re doing it wrong
My typical visits are under 30 minutes. Some are quicker and it always feels like I’m not doing it right. Almost every time I experience a weird feeling of guilt when leaving - like it’s not enough. I’m not sure what I think I’m supposed to do —camp out under it and sign a peace treaty? Maybe so.
None of the above
Feeling disheartened after the initial spurt of awe, I left the park and mentally returned to the overall sense of looming uncertainty that pervades almost everything during this pandemic. It hadn’t helped at all to revisit this tree.
Driving home along a network of highways, I did not feel a sense of accomplishment. I did not have the answers I was seeking. Taking off on a little adventure felt good for a moment, but what had I gained? I yearned for inspiration and I wanted help with the previous post I was wrestling with. I loved seeing the beautiful, stately, important, valuable, awe-inspiring, exalting tree, but I immediately felt pressure, however self imposed: Instead of the new visit contributing perspective to the other one, I now had to distill THIS experience too.
Digging into this project with only the most vague notion of what I was doing, I discovered there was more to it than I initially thought. This led to much second guessing and hand wringing about what the whole thing is about and what I am about. Am I a photographer? A writer? A historian?
None of the above?
As I move along, each time before I start I’ve been cracking open the book my friend gave me in Austin. The first time I ever heard of The War of Art, a line used in my post about Seider’s Oaks, was from some internet article, talking about self doubt being an indicator. The pull-quote I initially found left out the last two sentences of that short passage: The counterfeit innovator is wildly self-confident. The real one is scared to death.
Why silk flowers are uninspiring
While working at a garden center, I was often annoyed by a repeated customer question just as winter came to an end: will these bloom all summer? Of course, I understand wanting bang for your buck, but constant bloom is overrated.
Much of the charm of gardens and nature is change. If a plant were to statically hold blossoms year round, we would fail to see them after a time. Crape myrtles (Lagerstroemia indica) feature in nearly every single landscape in the Dallas area and they are lovely when they first begin to flower. Within their long bloom period, you lose sight of them. They become invisible. Much of the delight lies within their ephemeral nature.
Standing before this oak full of lush green growth, in contrast to its winter form, was uplifting, at least for a moment. We need to see the world change so that we know it’s alive. We need to internalize the proof that this too shall pass.
Reverence and exultation = Wow… which leads me to give Thanks… and the reason I began this whole thing was the answer to the prayer: Help.
The Houston Campsite Oak is in Grapevine Springs Park located at the end of Park Street off west Bethel Road in Coppell. This one gets my highest recommendation. Go find it!
Located in Grapevine Springs Park at the end of Park Street off west Bethel Road in Coppell.
Check out my first visit
Steel’s Tavern Oaks
These oaks were allowed to stay as long as they promised not to go outside the circular cement barrier allotted for them.
Why is our culture so comfortable mowing things down?
With all due respect, these were the most underwhelming group of trees I’ve seen so far: three moderately sized live oaks included for NOT getting bulldozed in the march toward progress. Situated northwest of the Tarrant county courthouse, city construction came up around them and yet their lives were spared.
Though many have been axed, it’s easy to understand why a tree might be saved. Living much longer than we do, they quietly tower over us, commanding respect while providing shade and food for wildlife.
Land “developers” seem to think nothing of destroying a prairie, which was primarily what covered much of north Texas before it was settled. Appearing from a distance like a vast expanse of grass, prairies are an intricately woven network of perennial forbs, deep rooted grasses and self-sowing wildflowers. One pass of a mower disturbs the whole system, opening it to weed invasion.
Fun fact: Restoration takes decades and there is only a tiny percentage of native prairie remaining in the state. Rant over.
Bird by Bird
My dear niece asked to come along on one of my tree hunting excursions. I was happy to include this thoughtful sweetheart with a head full of knowledge from years of reading and an interest in birds, among many other things. She’s a delight to spend time with and has joined me on local adventures before, so we set off to find this group in Fort Worth on a pretty February weekend.
Works by Scott and Stuart Gentling at Amon Carter Museum
The Most Obvious Thing
There was another lure in Fort Worth I wanted to see that day: a painting exhibit at the Amon Carter Museum by twin brothers named Gentling. I became aware of them years ago when my ex-husband discovered these local heroes and acquired a large framed print from their masterwork Of Birds and Texas.
Growing up in Fort Worth, Scott and Stuart, inspired by the painting style of ornithologist John James Audubon, began collaborating on their own works of nature from the Lone Star State.
Turkey Vulture by Scott and Stuart Gentling
As I recall, their book’s introduction described why they chose the Buzzard, (the name Texans often use referring to Turkey Vultures), for the first image in their book: It’s the most obvious bird a casual observer would notice by simply looking up. I failed to grasp the dark symbolism of this vulture hanging above our bed until it was too late.
Plexus no. 34 by Mexican-born, Dallas-based artist Gabriel Dawe, 2016 at Amon Carter Museum. Check out this making-of video and cool time lapse.
The small show featured around 15 watercolor and gouache paintings. Take a look at these superior reproductions. The museum recently announced the Gentling Study Center for acquisition of their work along with an upcoming career retrospective. We enjoyed several other treasures on exhibit before we left to locate the Steel’s Tavern Oaks.
Back and side view of the Tarrant County Courthouse along with a fabulous yucca bloom just getting started.
Size Matters
We drove around the courthouse scoping out the oaks and searching for a parking spot, but because they are not super sized, they were hard to distinguish from the surrounding flora.
Once we found them, I’ll admit I felt disappointment. These oaks are lovely, but I felt vaguely anxious at not providing a spectacular sight for my dear companion, who was excited to see something special.
The historical marker describes the original Fort Worth Hotel…
the first built on the corner of the original fort grounds by a man known as the town’s founding father, Ephraim M. Daggett, the brother of Henry Clay Daggett, whom I learned a little about at the Trader’s Oak.
Seems like these Daggett guys knew how to party, or at least cash in on alcohol sales. Ephraim set up a tavern below his two story residence and it’s rumored that his bro occasionally served up whiskey at his place of business as well.
Another early pioneer, Lawrence Steel, bought the property a couple years later. The name: Steel’s Tavern, as it was then known, evidently stuck, later advertised as the “Best Hotel in Northern Texas.”
This website about Fort Worth, which made me feel like the history dilettante that I am, has a lot more detail about the Daggett brothers and explains not only how they were associated with Charles Turner of the Turner Oak, but also how Sam Houston stayed overnight with E. M. Daggett while campaigning for governor and discusses two more historic trees I’ll have to hunt down.
The building changed names and owners a number of times before getting demolished in 1892, leaving the trees to fend for themselves. It wasn’t until 1978 that a resolution to preserve the site and the trees was sought by Tarrant county. The trees were allowed to stay as long as they promised not to go outside the circular cement barrier allotted for them.
Nearby is a large granite slab carved with messages in various languages on which Arden quickly identified several types of early alphabets. I could understand only the one quote (below) in english. After exploring the area, we decided to hit the Trader’s Oak so she could lay eyes on a more impressive specimen.
“What was has always been. What is has always been. What will be has always been.”
Trader’s Oak II
My second view of this magnificent Fort Worth live oak
After a bit of a let down at the Steel’s Tavern Oaks, my dear niece and I swung by to visit this big live oak. Seeing it again, I felt a sense of progress remembering the trepidation I felt beginning this project.
I knew it was an amazing specimen the first time I saw it, but now after finding others from the book, the grandeur of its wide spread and the bulky heft of its trunk was even more impressive. Unlike many which have been roped off, you can walk right under the canopy of this live oak and observe its interesting branching structure which is not visible from a distance.
Choctaw Robinson Oak
Who the hell pruned this poor thing? And why was it named for a random blow hard?
These historical designations occasionally seem arbitrary.
Why was a random preacher, William "Choctaw" Robinson, worth remembering and why did he get a tree named for him?
Apparently something of a blowhard, this Robinson guy gained notoriety for his long-winded sermons and experienced some difficulty convincing folks to listen to him. He once managed to gather some native Americans from the Choctaw tribe to sit through his service. According to legend, these braves left before he finished, one after the other. They’re quoted as saying, “white man lie” and “talk too long.” After this apparently memorable incident, he was dubbed “Choctaw Bill.”
Having earned a name for himself, he showed up whenever the spirit moved him to preach under this live oak (Quercus fusiformis), which assured him an audience, as it not only provided rare shade from the scorching Texas sun, but was near a saloon, post office and general store.
Of all the grand, beautiful and interesting trees in the Lone Star state, why did this one get singled out because some big mouth appeared underneath it when others happened to be around?
Ok, he set up a number of local churches. The account on the embossed bronze plaque is more charitable than the book but, this tree left me with many unanswered questions.
Is he remembered because of his association with religion?
Why would non English speakers even agree to sit through the ramblings of Choctaw Bill?
Did the gun have anything to do with it?
How many visitors ever pay respects to this tree out in the middle of nowhere?
Surrounded by a metal fence in a little alcove created especially for the tree, the oak is visible from the road. None of the amenities mentioned remain.
I’m guessing that this is the edge of private land?
Who owns it?
A limestone wall surrounds the the marker at the trunk base. Was there some kind of a ceremony when this plaque was placed here?
History is a new interest for me, but I have always been drawn to a personal account. Along with his well known fiction, such as Lonesome Dove and my favorite, The Last Picture Show, Larry McMurtry penned riveting non-fiction as well. Seeking guidance for this state based project, I revisited a book of his essays on Texas called In a Narrow Grave.
Ok, total tangent here… but a great read, especially if you enjoy memoir. The piece called Eros in Archer County hilariously documents how the folks he grew up with dealt with the subject of sex. This account not surprisingly includes the topics of repression as well as the shocking, but evidently commonplace practice of bestiality when other outlets were unavailable. Eww.
My dad’s older sister, my Aunt MaryBeth, typed up her own life story of growing up on a cotton farm in west Texas while waiting on letters from her husband who was a soldier during WWII. My siblings and I cherish these stories of a time gone by and her effort remains an influence on my writing.
After finding the Fleming Oak early in the day, but still miles from Dallas, I felt hungry enough to hunt some more. As with the Halfway Oak the day before, I simply drove at a medium pace along ranch road 591 hoping to recognize it. With my mind on the visual hunt, other trees seemed notable. The area is full of live oaks and I slowed to photograph a few of these possibilities. Once I spotted the real tree it was obvious - this was it.
The old photo in the book (at the top of this page) shows how healthy both of the two Choctaw Robinson trunks once were. The first thing you notice is that one of them is now inexplicably butchered and propped up on the ground.
#crimesagainsthorticulture
Who the hell pruned this poor thing?
And Whyyyyyyy???
Was it damaged by lightning or something?
Perhaps the hope was to hold up the other trunk by leaving this one propped up against the ground?
Conspicuous splitting and some deterioration at the base doesn’t justify this use of power tools. A crime against horticulture, not to mention the name of Choctaw Bill. I completely forgot to get any video, but snapped stills and headed off to check in with my dear friends in Decatur.
🌿
This tree is located near Hazeldell, along Ranch Road 591 in Comanche County.
Fleming Oak
Thank goodness for Uncle Mart, who kept his eye on this heavily threatened oak
On my way back from visiting my friend in Abilene, I detoured to get my eyes on a couple more trees. After noting some interesting non famous trees near Buffalo Gap, I headed northeast toward Comanche, Texas where The Fleming Oak lives on the corner of the town square next to the courthouse.
From my parking spot I could already see it fanning out like a giant broccoli crown, surrounded by historical marker signs. (A slanted historical perspective is presented here, to say the very least).
Another robust Texas live oak (Quercus fusiformis), it is one of 7 trees that were “Saved from the Ax” (or Axe as the website inexplicably spells it) the Fleming Oak also belongs with 9 others in the “County Courthouse” category.
The historical marker and the book tell us that Mr. Martin Fleming spent the night under this tree when he and his father first arrived in Texas and he evidently developed a fondness for it. Gun toting Fleming was around to stop workers from cutting down “his tree” circa 1911, when paving contractors started cementing the courthouse square. They allowed the tree a tight ellipse of unpaved breathing room, which is still encroaching on its root system today.
“Uncle Mart” fortunately kept his eye on this heavily threatened oak, when a few years later some other “uninformed” citizens discussed chopping it down. Another nod to a tough Texan takin’ care of business, legend has it that he dissuaded these axe wielders with a threat to their lives.
How cool is this for dorks like me?!
Noting the limestone courthouse building with its interesting sculptural elements, after viewing from all angles, I stopped into a nearby antique store on the square. When I mentioned to the lady running the place that I had come to visit the oak, she pulled out some commemorative wooden ornaments she had leftover from a few years ago.
Of course I bought one.
She recommended I visit the town newspaper, the Comanche Chief, in a building just down the street. They still actually print the paper on a small press right there. There’s a little bookstore in front, so I bought copies of Rare Plants of Texas and Texas Trees, as well as a fold up paper map of Texas, which, you never know, might come in handy when technology fails me.
Scanning the menu for anything remotely healthy in the florescent lit, barn-like restaurant across the street, I sat flipping through Rare Plants and felt like an outsider. What is it with small towns and crappy food?
UnFamous Trees
Eye-catching specimens along the way that are not considered famous
When you go looking for trees, you find them.
Standouts in size, none of these are in the book and I don’t know their stories, but they all caught my eye while driving around Buffalo Gap, Dublin and other scattered locales on my meandering route back to Dallas from Abilene.
Halfway Oak
Halfway between home and an old friend.
When I heard that my longtime friend was heading down from the greater New York City area to visit his family in Abilene, the wheels turned in my mind to figure out how I could visit him and see another tree.
Scanning the old map in my first edition book, I saw the dot for the Original Burkett Pecan, which looked like the closest to Abilene. Unfortunately, this one is no longer with us.
Next, I did a bit of digging to see if I could get permission to visit the District Court Oak in Weatherford, which does not have public access. I tried the no-longer-in-service number that Google provided for the dairy on which it is supposed to be located. Then I rang the City of Weatherford, which routed me via phone tree to the helpful folks at the library. They didn’t have any info, but gave me the number of a master gardeners group who were similarly friendly and willing to assist, but came up short on specifics.
I gave up on that trail, but later learned that my arborist friend has seen it on a tour of trees, so perhaps I can get to it down the line.
I settled instead on visiting one that wasn’t in my older editions of The Famous Trees of Texas, since it wasn’t designated “famous” until 2011. The Halfway Oak is approximately halfway between the towns of Breckenridge and Cisco, Texas, which are both within an hour or so of Abilene. Directions state that it is 13 miles south of Breckenridge. Its exact location wasn’t clear. Studying the map in preparation, it seemed sensible to head toward Cisco, then take US highway 183 north to see if I could spot it. This was before I knew about the website.
The description stated that it would be obvious and it was indeed, clear from the road that this was it. The area looks like a classic rest stop with red guard railing and a single picnic table on the sparsely trafficked highway. Though I passed a few other good sized decoys along the way, this tree was large enough to command attention out in the middle of nowhere.
Feeling elated and victorious having found what I was looking for without a map, I decided again to take a bit of video, after my first attempt at the Houston Campsite Oak. This time catching my very first impression as I stepped out of my car, the motion picture accompaniment adds another dimension for my record of still images and rambling words. Hopefully my presence doesn’t come across as self absorbed. Anyway, it’s two minutes. You decide.
The wind was whipping in this wide open area. The big ol’ Texas sky was in full effect with nothing to block it. An occasional car whizzed past creating yet another audible gust as I walked under the imperfectly staggered and broken tree canopy. Storms, drought, bad pruning and other mishaps mentioned in the write up make the existence of this ancient tree, used as a shady place of pause along the road for decades, even more impressive.
Live oaks often grow in clusters. Seedlings germinate and grow together, and multiple trunks sprout from the root base as suckers. Over decades, the trunks widen alongside each other sprawling out from a central point, forming a united, multi-trunked plant called a motte.
Peering into the deeply fragmented trunks, some split and laying on the ground, several propped up by supports, but still alive and joined to the central group, I noted multiple wounds and once healthy trunks now disintegrating.
When I venture close to a giant living being such as this with no one else around, it feels like all the molecules buzz a little bit. I’ve entered a special energy space, with the enclosure of branches surrounding me.
The wild wind made my eyes water non stop, but even though they weren’t tears of emotion, it sort of felt appropriate to release something. I walked around taking in every part of this wide sprawling, falling over tree, appreciating the enormous blue sky and wispy clouds as well.
My book calls them “famous” trees, but very few are aware of them. Aside from my coincidental meeting at Old Baldy, I almost never see anyone else deliberately visiting.
In 2016, I visited the second largest tree in the world, along with a group of astounding sequoias in General Grant Grove in Kings Canyon National Park.
The photo-crazed crowds around them were obnoxious! I retained a mental image of one girl sticking her leg up on a trunk in a cheerleader-type splits pose, undoubtedly meant for social media. Of course, I posted pix of Grant as well. Perhaps I wasn’t in the most charitable frame of mind wanting the amazing sequoias all to myself.
After I had slowly circled the sight and was reading the historical marker, another driver rode up. He kept a respectful distance near his vehicle and as we made a bit of small talk about the historic specimen, he mentioned he had recently started working for a local arborist.
As with almost every tree I have seen, a warm surge of gratitude surfaced, both for receiving my time alone with the big oak, and also that it deservedly had more visitors than just me. I waved and walked back to my car, looking forward to seeing my friend in Abilene. Another car full of people pulled in just as I drove away.
Though we enjoyed a good long visit together, my friend and I failed to get even a single photo together, so I asked him to send me one of him and his 87 year old mother Peggy.
Houston Campsite Oak
Oh crap. I may have to learn some history. Or maybe not… and my first attempt at tree video.
Photo by Johnette Alter
Hitting a giant mental roadblock, I’ve struggled with this post more than any other.
As my handful of faithful readers know, history is not my motivation. I set forth on this project thinking about hunting down old trees. I love taking nature hikes, going on garden and prairie tours — this kind of thing is my idea of fun. It’s just dawning on me that I’m may have to learn some history in the process as well.
Or maybe not…
Photo by Johnette Alter
The Famous Trees of Texas website has a page listing the entries according to historical topic. Eight trees are listed under the category: Sam Houston, four of which are dead. The Houston Campsite Oak, in nearby Coppell, is one of the living.
The historical marker states that in 1843, Houston, then president of the Republic of Texas, camped with his compatriots under this oak waiting to meet with local Native American tribes to negotiate a peace treaty.
When I was a kid, Texas required public school 7th graders to take a year of Texas history. Nothing to brag about, but I recall nothing except map pencils. I was a terrible student, paying minimal attention to anything that didn’t spur my interest — likely undiagnosed ADHD. My parents repeatedly fussed at me that I didn’t apply myself and they were kinda right.
Staying pretty much in character, I remain largely disinterested in serious research.
Hey, but I did google Sam Houston and learned that as a young teen, he ran away from his family to live with the Cherokee, spending three years gaining acceptance and learning the language.
From there, I dove into a bit of a swamp, thinking I should get a better grasp of this history that I’ve long avoided.
Surely it would offer me perspective if I read most of God Save Texas A Journey Into the Soul of the Lone Star State by Lawrence Wright, whose earlier work I had appreciated.
An intriguing passage describes Sam Houston’s mysterious/disasterous weeks-long marriage, after which he retreated back to the Cherokee, who formally adopted him. Chief Oolooteka, gave him a name that translates to The Raven, and he married a member of the tribe. Eventually returning to so-called civilization, relations with Native Americans became an imperative to him, showing up to government meetings dressed in traditional Cherokee dress to speak up for peaceful policies.
“I am aware that in presenting myself as the advocate of the Indians and their rights, I shall stand very much alone.”
Digging around to understand the time period, or perhaps just visiting the dark playground of procrastination, I got the idea to search for the most popular song of 1843, called Old Dan Tucker, and found a video performance. Its lyrics were often improvised by various artists and its tune reminds me of the more familiar Stay a Little Longer, by one of my favorites: Bob Wills.
Since like, yeah, history is now connected to trees, I created this John Muir quote graphic.
I wasn’t writing.
I can’t tell you how many places I heard reference to Steven Pressfield’s book The War of Art while agonizing over this post.
All of my scattered activity is a form of what is known as RESISTANCE.
From The War of Art by Steven Pressfield
I suppose I’m searching for justification for tackling this project at all.
I mean, how many ways can I write about: Middle-Aged Lady Visits a Tree?
But that question: why bother? is a classic Resistance quicksand pit.
It’s obvious that this meandering is the powerful force described in The War of Art, that I’m allowing to keep me from making progress.
My dear friend Johnette joined me to visit this tree in December. It took me until JUNE to beat down resistance and complete the writing. Meanwhile I snuck off to visit 4 other trees (the fun part) and got completely backlogged with work (again).
Grapevine Springs Park has a well kept community garden brimming with kale, broccoli and a pile of orange, gray and white pumpkins. Pink light emanated from a empty greenhouse. Retaining walls, built in the 1930s by the WPA of brown lichen-covered stone give retro vibes.
This fantastically huge, beautiful post oak (Quercus stellata) was leafless on this cloudy, mild December day. Because so many trees I’ve seen so far have been live oaks, I was absolutely thrilled to see a different species. This is indeed a grand specimen and my favorite tree so far. Also exciting that this one is close enough to revisit and watch as it changes through the seasons.
I can’t wait to see it leaf out.
Because the house I grew up in was surrounded by them, I have a special fondness for Post Oaks. My father’s 14 acres in Grandview, TX, south of Ft Worth, also has a small forest with a number of them. The one and only time I dreamed of flying, I personally soared over a grove of post oaks below.
A friend suggested that I vlog, so I thought I would give it a whirl. It’s a way to see the tree and learn a bit without all that pesky reading. This is my first attempt at tree video and I’m smiling like a dork. Without a plan, I simply started shooting, so as not to overthink it. It was fun to capture a bit of sound and movement along with my goofy excitement and genuine reverence for the tree. The gratification is immediate: Here it is! I found it! Yet posting something seemed to make the work of writing a bigger challenge.
Photo by Johnette Alter
Always bolstered by a companion, I’m extra thankful that Johnette shared her photos. The irresistible tree hugger shot, admittedly cliché and a bit self centered, is nevertheless the best way to understand the huge scale of the tree from a photo. It’s difficult to grasp the enormity with a view from far away.
We spent a good while collecting pix and then walked around exploring the rest of the park. The small creek you see in the video runs toward a drainage ditch that seemed to blend the wild and the civilized. Geometrically paved areas crumbled in places and grasses sowed themselves in the cracks. Graffiti sprayed over the cement and a slope of leafless trees grew on the other side.
Though we were close to home, this little excursion was deeply satisfying, perhaps more so, since this pocket-sized nature experience required little to no preparation.
We left to enjoy an early dinner, passing a big, generic metal sculpture on our way out. Johnette ranted about a near duplicate she had seen somewhere else. Was this some sort of bulk discount prefabrication for new construction? Our friend at an art publication confirmed that she is inundated with info from PR companies used by developers putting “public art” in their projects, likely gaining a tax break for doing so.
Photo by Johnette Alter
A sculptural tree like this one cannot be acquired at a cut rate, nor can you get it in volume and certainly not overnight. As part of a larger ecosystem, it must grow at the pace of nature as life and history unfolds under and around it.
The week before I finished this post, I listened on the radio during my workday to the funeral of George Floyd, held in the town named for Sam Houston. Using his platform to advocate for Native Americans is a model we must exemplify. Equality demands that those in power speak up.
Old Baldy
“So…,” the guy asked me, “Why are you looking for Old Baldy?”
Will I get lost? For how long?
Another morning in Austin, where I’d racked up enough tree visits to start stomping down my imposter syndrome, aaaaaaaand slept with an old flame from back in my twenties, who aggravated me for the millionth time. On this unseasonably warm October day, I ditched that scenario and got back on the road to McKinney Falls State Park, south of town.
Upon arrival, I explained to the person dressed like a forest ranger that I was looking for Old Baldy. She let me know that the path leading to it was closed and I would need to take another one that was roughly parallel.
I later stumbled on this site which randomly features a panoramic view of the cluttered little office — not something I would consider camera worthy.
The park sits where Onion and Williamson creeks come together.
Part of the El Camino Real de los Tejas National Historic Trail, which runs from Mexico City to the border of Louisiana, it was a major thoroughfare during the Spanish colonial era of the 18th century.
Meandering around on the white gravel roads, I tried to get my bearings using the map the park ranger had given me. There is always uncertainty trying to locate these trees. Will it be obvious? Will I easily find it right away? Will I get lost? For how long?
A few minutes of getting lost and finding your way is a worthwhile exercise. The idea of being lost alone for an hour or more is unsettling.
After parking, I set off on foot, not sure if this was a good starting point. First person I saw — Is this was the right trail to find the tree? He had no idea, but pointed me toward a YOU ARE HERE map.
Proceeding with trepidation I thought about another time I hiked in Austin and got lost with my girlfriends. Alone, I felt less comfortable than I had that day. Continuing, I again double-checked with the next couple I saw.
“Is this the Rock Shelter trail?” (This pretty trail leads to a natural limestone overhang used by native Americans — I’ve only seen it in photos).
“No, that trail is closed.” Same as the ranger said. I told them I was trying to find the big tree. “So are we!”
We decided to walk together.
“So…,” the guy asked me, “Why are you looking for Old Baldy?”
“Um well.” I hesitated. “I'm uh, kinda toying with a writing project… based on an old book.”
“What book?”
“It's uh, called the Famous Trees of Texas,” I answered.
“I have that book in my truck!”
“Seriously?!”
I was completely dumbfounded.
He said he'd been seeking out the trees for about three years and had visited all the ones to the west.
What?! Wow. Another person doing this.
DOING it.
Not THINKING about it. Not toying with the idea!
HALF DONE with his exploration. Actually TAKING ACTION on this idea that I’ve been overthinking.
For himself. Just for fun.
He had leaped over fences and spoken to land owners, collecting leaf, twig and acorn samples and taking polaroid pictures of the trees at the same angle as the photos in the book.
We stood there marveling at this coincidence for a bit before walking down to a little bridge crossing the mostly dry creek where Old Baldy's roots are growing — a perfect vantage point just a few feet above the roots.
Although I've gained a new appreciation for the tough live oaks, it’s exciting to see a different genus; Old Baldy is one of only three Bald Cypress (Taxodium distichum) on my list. 51 of the 72 living Famous Trees are live oaks — 33 Quercus virginiana and 21 Quercus fusiformis, (difficult to tell apart).
Gazing up at the ragged columnar trunk leading to the leaf canopy, we conversed. Noska is a talented tattoo artist in Austin. Doris Ann, of whom I unfortunately failed to get a good photo, studied forestry and retained her interest in trees. It sounded like she had joined him on more than one visit and I believe it was the San Saba Mother Pecan that she named as her favorite. She brought up a book I've been meaning to find, a memoir about a woman and the trees of Canada called Mnemonic.
She told me, “You'll learn things from this [project] and it might take you in directions you never expected.”
I believe it just did.
I’ll admit I felt of twinge of unoriginality learning that someone else had the same idea, as I’m just scratching the surface of this project. Talking with them, my insecurities faded and I found myself deeply inspired by the quiet way that Noska had been making progress... just because.
Totally analog
We walked back to the parking area and I got a look at his well-loved 3rd edition Famous Trees of Texas, with his system of marking on the map trees he’s visited and ones that were dead. He didn't even know about the website, preferring to use only the brief italicized location info at the bottom of each entry. The little polaroids were glued directly into the book. Some had scavenged leaves and twigs pressed between the pages.
What a crazy coincidence that he and I happened to show up there on the very same day!
The weird thing was that my 1st edition copy didn't include this tree. If it hadn't been for the website, I would have known nothing about it. I’m still not sure how he learned about it. My initial guess was that his 3rd edition book included it, but it’s not in there either. Perhaps the 2015??? or how else would he have known???
I debated going back to Austin to see the cemetery where the Governor Hogg Pecan had been before it died, or possibly heading a bit further south to find two trees in Kyle, Texas.
“Go to Kyle,” he told me decisively. He had already seen them.
We exchanged info, said goodbye and I walked back to my car. As they passed me in his truck, I held my Famous Trees of Texas out the window, silently thanking Old Baldy for getting me out the door that morning.
This 12 minute video from Texas Parks and Wildlife features beautiful shots of Old Baldy along with a few other famous specimens within the Texas state park system.
