Steve Braunias on the end of days for a local landmark

The end of the road for the oak tree. Photo / 123rf

OPINION

The oak tree is coming down, the neighbour said. She was at her letterbox and I was on my way home with a few essentials - sponge cake, a Bounty Bar, yams. We stood and talked about it for a few minutes. It wasn’t an easy decision, she said, and still wasn’t sure about it. The tree was like a local landmark. It was spectacular, the biggest oak for miles, a tree rich with a million dollars worth of gold in autumn, shedding its hair throughout winter, right now about to bring forth its new spring range. But it is coming down.

The oak tree is one hell of a nuisance, she explained. Its roots were ripping up the driveway. We stood at the driveway entrance; it rose up, and then rolled down towards her house. The tree made its presence known in the air - it obscured passing aircraft from Whenuapai; it could take 60 seconds for the heavy, lumbering RNZAF Hercs to emerge from one side of the tree to the other - but was also busy working itself way underground. It had brought wreckage, devastation. It has to come down.

The oak tree has gone out of control in the past year in particular. The neighbour thought the spread of its roots might have something to do with the floods of summer. Extreme weather had devastated Auckland in every direction. I live near water. Cliffs were washed away; bad news for homes on top of those cliffs. To swim in the water in summertime was to float on your back and look up at the beautiful homes through the branches of pōhutukawas. But the pōhutakawas were washed away, too, and came down.

The oak tree got loose in the floods, maybe, and its roots ran amok - something like that. The neighbour had brought in a heritage arborist from council. He examined the tree. He said it was his job to save trees. But the oak had become bad news, he said. It was a clear and present danger, he said. It wasn’t going to get any better, he said, and he speculated that things might get much worse. It might fall over and smash everything in its path to bits, maybe kill someone, he said. He recommended the tree come down.

The oak tree was at its best in summer, such a sight to see while lazing on my back deck. It frames the pictures I took of a sunbathing beauty last summer. Its leaves reach out towards her, just about touching her bare shoulders as she lies back on a sun lounger in a gold bikini; the tree forms a sensual forest, a backdrop of praise and adoration, wanting to be close to her. The pictures were taken on her phone at her request. She loved being photographed and posting the pictures on her socials. The oak, too, looks good in the bikini gallery; but it has to come down.

The oak tree was at its most lyrical in autumn. The leaves grew sharp. Their edges looked like blades. They lost their lusciousness, their ooziness; they lost weight, and were like thin strips of coloured paper tied and taped to the branches. The ties and tapes came undone. The leaves flew away like birds. I liked to watch them take flight in light breezes. A whole flock would take off. They weren’t needed any more and had outlived their purpose; they were old birds, falling out of the sky. They have had their last fall. The tree is coming down.

The oak tree was a gaunt thing of great size and not much else this past winter. It just kind of stood there and didn’t move. The branches looked black. It was a set of bones, an old skeleton. Meanwhile, I fussed around and filled three or four rubbish bags with its fallen leaves. Really good for the compost bin. You ought to apply them only every now and then. The bags will last all year, long after the tree comes down.

The oak tree will maybe see a few days of spring. And then the chop, and the crack, and the various assorted thousand cuts; and then timber. It will leave a void. It will be quite shocking. Summer won’t be the same. All the seasons will feel different, more barren. It was such a beautiful tree and I loved everything about it. It was a joy I had in my life and it was gorgeous while it lasted - it filled the sky, it was generally totally fulfilling. But that’s it for the tree. It’s over. It’s coming down.