THE HALLELUJAH OAK

Rex Burress

Down by the riverside, near the Feather River Nature Center, growing along the roadway and Richard Harvey's “aspiration bench,” is an interior live oak, hanging onto the edge of an embankment like a mountain climber clinging to a ledge.

Yet in spite of a perilous placement, and torrential floods that have swept through at that level, engulfing its lower sections, in spite of wind storms, and in spite of drought that has now reduced the tree's leaf canopy to a scrawny survival mode, it has maintained life and made its contributions to the wooded habitat. Hallelujah!

The trunk and branches are a haven to many wild creatures, insects, lichens, and even lizards that dash up and down the little arboreal pathways. Birds flit among the twigs and branches, seeking food or a refuge from predators, and some species linger to build a nest and raise a family. Hallelujah!

Excuse me; I'm stuck on the word, hallelujah, as expressed by soul singer and poet, Leonard Cohen and his sensitive rendition of his song by that name. Hallelujah indicates joy and appreciation. It is featured in a number of spiritual songs too. I have known a number of hallelujah trees and times. Hallelujah!

The birds with the highest affinity for the oak are the diminutive bushtits. They have little short beaks that are kept quite busy fleecing insects out of thickets, especially when they flock together in the winter, a troop of 30 or more, whisking through the low oak and shrubs like a gray-ghost patrol.

A pair will break away from the bunch in the spring to mate and raise a family, often in the hallelujah oak. Several of their vacated nests hang in the nature center displays.

The nest they make is most remarkable! Bit by mossy bit they gather a grand assemblage of bits and pieces to construct a bag-like hanging colossus many times larger than the two builders. “A store of small strengths makes one strong!” They leave a hole in the side for access, and must make a million trips to feed the babes, often numbering near a dozen! Like a chickadee, they hang in all positions while feeding, and are just as gentle-natured.

The 1997 flood covered the lower part of Hallelujah Tree and miraculously dropped a 50-pound boulder in the lower fork that has remained lodged there since, as if thrusting a monument in the air.

There are several knot-holes in the trunk. Like a pirate, I once filled a film container with gem rocks and hid it there. Someone soon found it! I bet that person will be a River and knothole Watcher!

There is another treasure below Hallelujah Oak. A large iron ring, once used to guide the Ferry Boat cable, is hidden in a rock niche. As a game, I once made a treasure map indicating the ring as well as more gem rocks—a type of disguised history lesson. What wonders the old oak has witnessed in the passage of time! If only trees could talk; “I think that I shall never see a poem as lovely as a tree; A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed against the earth's sweet flowing breast; A tree that may by summer wear a nest of bushtits in her hair...” Hallelujah!

Take a moment to pause and sit on Harvey's bench and gaze out over the swirling river. In October, you may see returning salmon splashing, or some migrant waterfowl settling in for the season. Watch Washout Cove down below for animals among the riparian rubble. Look up into the oak branches. Feel the throb of life. Drift away into nature's beauty. Hallelujah!

“Glory, glory, said the bee,

Hallelujah said the flea.

Praise the Lord remarked the wren,

At springtime all is born again.”

--Eric Metaxas