The Oak Tree Babies

As we walked along the creek bank on that brisk, beautiful day in late summer, we paused under the old oak tree to savor the cool deep shade and ponder the community of birds who reside in the tiptop branches. My tiny friend, Tori, who had just turned seven in July, with typical seven-year old curiosity pointed, to a branch just above my head and asked about the brightly colored oak galls just beginning to turn red and gold.

"What is that, Ellen? Is it an acorn? I remember you told me the oak tree grows from an acorn and then makes more acorns every summer for the birds to plant and make more oak trees. Is that an acorn?"

"No, Tori. Those are Oak Tree Babies!" Was my fanciful reply.

Now I'd done it! She danced up and down in eager anticipation of this new diversion from the routine of our walk. Knowing she would allow her vivid imagination free reign and play my fanciful game to the hilt, I reached up and snapped off a couple of twigs to carry home with us. As a rule, when Tori visits, we follow our nature walks with cookies and milk at the kitchen table; placing whatever treasures we bring home on the table between us, talking about them at length. Having this bright, curious child staring at me with round questioning eyes as I explain the natural wonders I adore is one of my all time favorite experiences. Today we would be talking about my oak tree babies!

"These little balls are the summer homes of the oak tree babies, Tori." I explained. "Each spring, just before the brown winter leaves fall from the oaks, last August's babies, who painted the leaves gold in September and held them on the tree through the storms of winter, dust the branches with seeds for a new generation of babies then, using the brown leaves as parachutes, jump to the ground and run away to play forever after. Their work is finished when the oak tree sends out new green leaves. You see, each generation of oak tree babies must work for a season after their birth. Their job is to paint the green leaves gold and red during the late fall and early winter, and hold a few of the most select brown leaves on the tree all winter. On cold gray days the wind whispers through those special leaves, encouraging us that spring will return again. The babies hold the leaves firmly through the wind and rain, long after most of the leaves and all but a few of the acorns have left the tree. But spring always returns, and as soon as they spread the seeds for summer's new babies, they are free to go and play as they want forever more. The babies grow, rocked in the branches, protected by these little balls all summer. In late August the balls open to reveal another season of babies to paint the leaves and hold the secret telling leaves in the tree until spring."

Tori sat quietly as I talked, nibbling cookies and watching the little oak galls. The next thing I knew, with twinkling eyes, she pointed at the twig and announced,

"Look! Ellen! Oak Tree Babies! Right there on the branch." (Oh how delightful the imagination of a child!) But wait, what's this? Do my eyes deceive me? Are those really babies with acorn caps there among the leaves? Do they indeed have tiny damp wings, not yet unfurled? Are they smiling and fanning themselves with tiny brown leaves?

"Run get the camera, Tori! We have to keep pictures of this!"

Sure enough, right there on my kitchen table sat my imagination for both of us to share! As we watched, facinated, the babies wiggled and giggled and fanned each other. The tiny wings began to flutter and grow. Each little face took on an expression of purpose and determination. Each baby reached into the empty oak gall for a tiny palette of color. They were ready to fly away to carry out their life's work. But wait!

"Tori! We must take them back where they belong - and quickly! They can't survive in our world."

"But, Ellen, if we take them home to the oak tree, who will ever believe they were here?"

"It's alright, honey. We took some pictures. That's all we'll need to remember." I assured her. "Besides, anyone who wants to believe can watch the golden oak leaves falling in September. They should be proof enough for anyone with an imagination. Don't you agree?"

My little friend nodded a serious little face, picked up the twig containing the tiny treasured oak galls, and marched out the garden gate, across the lane to the base of the old oak, and carefully, oh so carefully, placed them as near to the top as her little arms could reach.

A tribute to the imagination of a child!

So, you may ask, what have an old oak twig,
a couple of Fimo babies
and a child's vivid imagination
to do with Autumn Graphics?

Inspiration! Inspiration - inspiration...
Click HERE for the graphics.