Kissing Tree

We celebrate the early days of love: first dates, first kisses, love songs, engagement parties… 

This oak, named because of its “popularity among couples” and for the numerous proposals that occurred under its boughs, is not the only historic tree whose story involves kissing, marriage proposals or schemes to make love remain true.

During the long slog of my divorce, which took almost 2 years, I obsessed on song lyrics, searching for my story of betrayal in song form. (Actually, I still do this). Pay attention to the lyrics of sweet, happy songs; they’re about the beginnings of youthful unions. Not hard to understand why songs about middle age separations do not sell. Even breakup songs rarely include details from decades-long relationships with custody issues, shared pets, mortgages…

(Ok, well I mean, country songs get into it).

Coming directly from lunch under the huge oaks at Beck’s Prime in Houston, winding a path back toward Dallas, my kid and I followed google maps to a gas station and parked a little away from the pumps, easily spotting the Kissing Tree from a distance. 

I know I keep saying this, but seeking adventure in travel and repeatedly finding a barely altered version of the exact same places that you see at home anywhere in the U.S. — corporate restaurants, gas stations, dental chains, identical housing developments — it’s disheartening to say the least.

Though it has been there longer than anything in the vicinity, the Kissing Tree looks completely out of place in the scraped away suburban park they barely set aside for this well over 200 year old live oak (Quercus virginiana). 

Majestically ancient, simultaneously haggard and robustly full of life, this enormous specimen is like some kind of hobbit tree — out of which you could easily imagine a little gnome might come crawling. Spanish moss drips off of the long branches like dreadlocks. That day, a tarp-like glob of black plastic lay wrapped around a sign requesting that we not park on the grass.

Surrounding it, a homogenized subdivision, almost bereft of natural life, likely built in the last 20 years or so. Newly planted live oaks, pines and elms lined the Bermuda grass covered medians nearby. Temporary buildings grouped over by the gas station have clearly been there a while. No telling how many older trees were plowed down to put up the houses. You can tell they almost took out this incredible old tree to flatten the space for construction.

You can tell they thought about it. 

If it hadn’t lost most of its foliage (like all the other live oaks) from the low temperatures in February, the umbrella of branches would create a secluded environment, perfect for, I guess, making out. 

Bringing to mind my own earliest (not all that romantic) experiences of being kissed — my first: on a cruise ship with a group of teenagers watching, next, on my very first date in a movie theater, and a bit later, at a high school drill team hayride — I realized all three shared an uncomfortable public aspect. 

As a teen, when my insecurities were extremely amplified, (or have they gotten worse?) I obviously had no idea what I was doing. I suppose seclusion is both desirable and/or potentially dangerous when you’re kissing someone, but the alternative — having an audience — is just weird. Voices in my head were shouting at top volume and high speed. I could not possibly process this confusing, yet fascinating onslaught of new information… aaaaaand others were watching.

Is this ok? Wow. So much saliva! Am I doing this right? Who knew tongues could feel so gigantic? Does this mean he likes me? Is anyone else doing this?

Is the whole group of kids staring at us? (Yes)

Are we going to watch any part of this movie? (No)

Shit. My teacher is right next to us (she would later shame me, of course — and not him)

And maybe somewhere in there — Is this fun? Does this feel good to me? (Kinda yeah)

The tree’s history says there was, thankfully, a grassroots effort to save it when it was threatened with destruction. (Had to have that new Circle K). Calling it the “last reminder of the early settlement years,” they weren’t kidding. Everyone seems to be working as fast as possible to obliterate anything that isn’t recent. Nearby you can pop into My Guns Depot, the Quick Quack Car Wash and I Heart Boba. Hooray for progress.

We didn’t actually see this rather pitiful sign on the other side of the plot of land, but while playing Pokemon Go in tg car, my kid got this screen shot from the location-recognizing video game, letting us know who provisioned the tiny park that saved this amazing tree.

Thank you Commissioner!

I jumped out of the car, filming my first reaction while my kid scampered off towards the trunk. I guess I popped some car snacks (almonds) into my mouth because I’m talk/chewing for a minute. Forgive me :/ 

Walking under the canopy, I got confused by the record button, believing I was capturing footage; actually hitting the start button when I thought my video was over, you can hear me realize what happened. Obnoxious construction noise from across the street is quite audible in both little movies.

I start second guessing myself watching the videos that take me back to that day. I should’ve stayed longer! I should have made a detailed drawing or just sat and listened to the wind. But there were jack hammers right across the street. Traffic whizzing by. The next time we visit, the new strip mall will be open for business. Though the old oak was astounding, it was not a peaceful setting in which to linger.

My kid enjoyed a break from the car, but his attention span was that of an eleven-year old. Soon we were back on the road heading north with another oak to be tracked down along the way.

Kissing Tree stands in Kissing Tree Park just south of the intersection of T.C. Jester and Louetta in north Harris County. (North of Houston, but south of the Woodlands).

Map It!

See also:
Treaty Oak
Kissing Oak