Skipism Wednesday ~ The Old Oak Tree ~ by Skip

 

It was a crisp autumn morning in Maplewood, and Harold Jenkins sat on his porch, sipping coffee and watching the leaves drift down from the old oak tree in his front yard. That tree had been there longer than he had—planted by his grandfather nearly 80 years ago.

Harold remembered climbing its branches as a boy, carving his initials into its trunk with his first pocket knife, and watching his own children do the same years later. Now, at 72, he found himself staring at the tree more often, noticing how its bark had weathered and its limbs sagged just a little lower.

One afternoon, a storm rolled in—strong winds, heavy rain. Harold watched nervously as the old oak swayed, groaning under the pressure. Then, with a loud crack, one of its thickest branches split and crashed onto his driveway.

The next morning, Harold sighed as he surveyed the damage. He knew the tree was dying, and the thought of cutting it down broke his heart. But then, something unexpected happened.

Neighbors—folks he’d waved to for years but never really talked to—started showing up. Jim from down the street brought his chainsaw. Martha, the retired schoolteacher, brought fresh-baked cookies. Even the Thompson kids, who Harold usually shooed off his lawn, helped gather the smaller branches.

By sunset, the driveway was clear, and the old oak stood a little lighter. But more than that, Harold realized something—he wasn’t just tending to a tree. He was part of something bigger.

That night, as he sat on his porch again, he smiled. The oak was still standing. And so was he—surrounded by good people, good memories, and the quiet strength of a life well-lived.

Sometimes, the storms don’t break us. They just remind us what—and who—really matters.

Thanks Skip!