The Tree that Nelson Spared

I played a little hooky on Monday. My work schedule has been pretty overwhelming lately, and although my mind dances with subjects I want to write about, I can’t seem to find the time for this blog. But on Monday, I took the time – around 20 minutes – and visited an old, old friend.

The tree, looking northwest.

I’d read, earlier that morning, Tom Eblen’s article about venerable trees in the Bluegrass and immediately thought of the ancient tree standing in the middle of a field at home.

I remember the first time I saw it, riding along with my father in the truck as he checked on some cattle, years and years ago. I was confused at first, because nowhere else on the farm were trees located in the center of a field. Trees clustered along creeks, or stood in regimented lines along fences, but did not stand isolated and grand like this tree.

Peering up through the branches.

As was my custom, I immediately peppered my father with questions. All he knew was that the tree had always been there, back when he was a little boy, and when his mother was a little girl, and it was old even then.

My family started farming this land in the 1820s, when two brothers, the youngest sons of 10 children, set out from Fayette County in search of cheaper land and their futures. We’re not a family with a dearth of stories, so I knew a story must be cloaked about the gnarled and bending branches.

One of my great-great-great grandfathers, Nelson Prewitt. Portrait by Alexander Bradford.

And not just a story, but romance…we decided, my father and I, that this giamt oak must have been spared because my great-great-great grandfather, Nelson, was struck by its form and beauty, just as we were. He was a shrewd businessman, and quite interested in the bottom line, but he allowed the tree to remain.

I felt like a little girl again as I walked toward it in the October sunshine, looking for acorns underneath its spreading branches. I returned to my car, and work, and the real world only about 20 minutes later, but the energy and joy of that brief respite lingered with me all day.