The Singing Oak

At the very top of a hill, stood a large oak tree. She was called the Singing Oak. Long ago, when the oak was just an acorn, she fell from her mother and took root in the ground below. Slowly, slowly she grew strong and tall, her branches spread wide and twisting.

From her place on the hill, the Singing Oak saw many things.

The great fires that turned the hills beneath her orange, then black.
The women who collected her acorns to make bread.
The farmer who built a fence around her to keep his horses away.
The fierce storm that blew her brothers and sisters down.

From her place on the hill, the Singing Oak sang many songs.

A song about the green-grass season, the time of rain.
A song about the dry-grass season, the time of heat and buzzing insects.
A song about the big moon time when the nights turned bright as day.
A song about the shaking time when the ground beneath her rocked and jumped.

One day, after the Singing Oak had been silent for many weeks, she sighed long and deep. The family of squirrels in her branches stopped scampering and sat up. The birds stopped chirping and clustered together attentively.

“I have lived a long time,” she said, her voice crackling like autumn leaves. “I have seen much change and beauty. But now I am tired. I am ready to go.”

No one spoke. But the animals wondered where she would go. She had no legs, no wings. Her roots were buried deep in the rich soil beneath her. Finally the smallest squirrel, and the oak’s favorite, asked in a high voice,“Where will you go? And how will you get there?”

The Singing Oak laughed softly, then replied, “I am a living thing, like you. I grow old, as will you. And one day, like you, I will die. That time has come.”

The animals looked at one another in surprise. They had never thought of the tree dying. She had always been there, before any of them were born. And they imagined she would still be there after they themselves had gone. The smallest squirrel, who was a talkative sort, said, “But we do not want you to die!"

There was a long pause. And then the great tree began to sway gently. “I am sorry to leave you my little friends. But this is something I must do.”

The days passed. And the Singing Oak’s leaves turned dull and brittle. The bark on her trunk and branches grew brown and then black.

Finally a day, like any other, arrived. The oak had not spoken for many days. All her leaves had fallen to the ground below. But the animals knew she was still with them because sometimes, in the silent hours of the morning, they heard her singing.

The smallest squirrel crept close to the Singing Oak’s trunk.
“Where will you go?” he whispered.
In a dreamy voice, she replied, “I do not know.”
“Will I see you again?” he asked.
And the tree replied, “I do not know. But I hope so.”
“Are you afraid?” he asked.
And the oak replied, “I am not. Death is part of life and something that comes to us all.”
“I will miss you.” he said.
The Singing Oak bent a withered branch to his small shoulders. “And I you, my little friend.” Then she was silent.

Sometime later, the birds gathered their families and flew down the hill to another tree. And the squirrels slowly followed.

From their new home, the animals could see what remained of the Singing Oak at the top of the hill. But the sight of her made them very sad. The smallest squirrel would often go up and sit next to what was left of his friend, remembering the many things he loved about her.

One day, when the smallest squirrel was himself quite old and no longer the smallest, he noticed something different about the Singing Oak’s hill. He gathered up his children and grandchildren and they crept through the tall, brown grass to the top. There, not too far from where his beloved tree still stood, was another—much smaller—oak tree.

“Hello tree,” said the smallest squirrel.

“Hello squirrel!” sang the Singing Oak’s daughter.

And they shared a smile.

I have not been impressed with the stories I've found that address death and dying for young children. I'm intrigued by folks tales, especially those that come from old cultures deeply rooted in nature like Native American, African, Southeast Asian, etc. Squirrels with their high energy seem like a great subsitute for young children. And a tree, gnarled and tall and ancient, is very like how children might view a beloved grandparent...someone who was there before they arrived and who they imagine will be there forever.