Monday, January 5, 2026

"Our Red Oak"


Spring 2013


When we bought our house, an annoying Chinaberry Tree arched over the driveway, dripping its sap and dropping toxic berries every year over anything under its branches. The original homeowner didn’t realize the tree rested right above the house’s plumbing, and it didn’t take long for the roots to invade our pipes. The budget hit convinced us that whatever tree we planted in the front yard, it would reside a safe distance from causing damage to anything buried beneath the ground. 

Two families in our neighborhood planted rows of matching trees one spring with the idea that eventually the branches would form a arc over the separating road. The second year, once the leaves turned a brilliant red, we knew they planted Red Oaks. A year of two later, the neighbor on the corner of our street also planted two Red Oaks. We appreciated their bright leaves every fall and winter. 

When it came time to plant a new tree in our front yard, we didn’t think twice about adding another Red Oak to our street. Our tree, once small and unassuming, now umbrellas over the entire yard. I haven’t taken time to study why some years the trees leaves turn deep, blood red while other years a brown undertone dominate the color. I do know that I watch carefully for the first sign of red. Over the last couple of years, I’ve first caught the change with my iPhone camera as it’s alway nearby. I also make certain to bring out my better camera and lenses to capture the beauty as it flames. 

I thought it would be fun to look at all of those photographs, from that first year the small tree cast only a little shade over the yard to this year’s splendor. Searching through old photo-files brought contentment to me. Documenting such a simple treasure each year lets me appreciate the roots we’ve planted in this spot. 



Spring 2014








First "really red" 2014

Spring 2015



Brilliant red Dec. 2019


January 2023











Dec. 2023












Fall 2024













Dec. 2025












December 2025



Copyright Elizabeth Abrams Chapman



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