In the late Fall before Winter sets in, I go out to the hills of Manassas to help with a Fall quail count. I arrive before dawn breaks, while the stars are still out. I like moonless nights or when the moon has already set so I can see plenty of stars. I walk up the hills in the dark, picking my way carefully. I have my binoculars and a thermos of coffee. Its rather cold on these frosty mornings, but I can watch the stars pass overhead while I enjoy an early morning cup of coffee.
There is a tree at the top of the hill close to the listening station. It is an old Virginia Pine, Pinus virginiana. I walk to this tree almost every time that I am in the Brawer Farm area of Manassas. It is at the junction of trails on the hill where the Wisconsin men, later known as the Iron Brigade, stood and held their line on August 28, 1862. These are special places, and these are special trees. This particular tree was not growing at the time of the battle; those trees are known as Witness Trees. The Witness Trees are scattered throughout the park, mainly deep in the woods where young men of the blue and the grey moved to battle.
In summer I would often stop at this Virginia Pine and rest in its shade. I was generally a mile or so into my walk and had another mile or more to go, depending on the path I chose to take. In the Winter the frosted grass would crunch under my feet as I walked up the hill to this tree. This Fall as I walked up to the top of the rise in the dark morning, the moon is still up and gives light to the path and the fields around me. But I am surprised that I cannot see the tree’s profile against the sky.
It is gone.
The roots are torn from the crest of the hill. The tree is reduced to a stump. The trunk is sawed apart. The pieces lay where they had fallen. It is clear that the tree had been blown over in an early Fall storm and reduced to this state by the rangers. The bench where I sat and listened for quail coveys had been taken away.
Standing in the area that used to be shaded by the tree I completed the morning’s listening survey. As the sun came up I looked closely at the stump and counted the tree rings. The tree was mature but not old. According to the rings the tree had passed through about 50 years of varying conditions. Some years were good for growth and the rings were wide. Narrow rings showed stressful years in which there might have been a drought.
There have been a lot of trees in my life. Trees that I climbed. Trees that I rested under. Trees that I hung food satchels from to keep the food from bears. Many of these trees are still deeply rooted in the earth and in my time outside.
For each tree that was, I know that there is a tree that is – or will be. A tree that gives hard, sweet pears in Fall or dark china berries in the Summer. A tree that may now only be a sapling that will give shade and a place to sit and look out over the hills. A spreading tree to clamber on, a tall tree to marvel at, each tree has its own uniqueness.
This Virginia Pine may be down, but I will remember it every time I walk up to the crest of the hill where the trails meet. The bench is now across the trail under a stand of cedar. I will sit there and listen to waking coveys of quail in the cold Virginia mornings.