the witness

She stood just 50 yards from our sixteenth President as he delivered a two minute speech that would become one of the finest in our nation’s history. She watched 50,000 men take their last breath and is only one of four that remains today. If you climbed to the top of her branches over a century ago, you could have seen all the way to the Round Tops, witnessing a bloody charge that produced 3900 tombstones...15% of those are nameless, known only by their God and the widows that waited in vain.

For those few days in July of 1863, this particular honey locust stood stalwart in Gettysburg while everything around her swirled. With bullets chipping away at her bark, she stayed rooted. Unshakable. And for the last 145 years has continued to guard over what has now become a memorial to 6000 of our war dead and provide shade to the living who come to visit there...until last Thursday. It was then, in the late afternoon, that the clouds rolled into Adams County and the wind took her away. It is Native American legend that the Thunder Spirit was only able to recognize his son because of his ability to sit comfortably among the thorns of this deciduous tree. Underneath that protective armor though, she had a sweet side, yielding pods that held an edible pulp for all kinds of critters and was even transformed into a mean glass of brew for those who lived in this country long before we came along. Her delicate fragrant flower bejeweled the countryside just before the heat of summer and her lacy canopy is one of the few that allowed the grass to grow at her base, providing a soft spot for one to gaze up at the dappled light that bathed her limbs and ponder what it might be like to live a life so long, surrounded by so many changes, so much history...or perhaps just to quietly reflect on the sorrow and sacrifice of a dying soldier. She's a tough one alright, who tolerates drought and can grow in about any kind of soil. And although this storm destroyed 80% of the body of this remarkable tree, she is still alive, leaving the arborists to decide what to do with the humble remains of this amazing piece of timber.

I think her attributes, her tenacity, embody the human spirit. I think this old tree is a symbol for everything that Mr. Lincoln spoke of on that cool, cloudy somber day...the equality of all, the freedom that is essential for our hearts to sing and our dreams to manifest and more importantly, the unification that is necessary for us to successfully move forward as a people, a government, a nation, a globe..a species..as an integral part of this vast and majestic universe. I would like to see them take every one of those branches and dole them out to our country’s great artists so as to create their own individual visions of what honor, courage, liberty and hangin' there is all about...to serve as a reminder of the fragility of life, the unlimited power of faith within it and the ability to hold fast to our truth, our ideals, no matter how hairy it gets.