Dashboard Confidential – Aug./Sept. 2022
As a young pup, from the age of 2, I grew up next to my grandparents’ farm in a house my father built. Dashboard Confidential
There was a giant oak tree in front of the house, next to the road. It was said by Delaware historians to be more than 350 years old. That was an incredible piece of history and most certainly important to my family. Family reunions were held under the tree for many years until most of the family had passed on. The tree remained.
I have written about that majestic old tree several times over the years, including a Dashboard Confidential piece titled “An oak tree at the root of it all” in August 2016. I recalled, quite fondly, how as a young boy I would sit under the tree with my grandfather, John Dewey Sweetman, who everyone but me called “Pop John.”
I would watch and wave to the truckers going up and down the road, and we would talk about all the places they were going, like California and Wyoming. I wanted to go too. I still do.
After three years in the Army, I returned to that tree and my grandfather, and we talked about the places I had been. Driving big trucks here, it always seemed that I would return to that tree. My grandfather had become somewhat of a legend as the “Old Man in the Tree,” as he was known.
He would wave to everyone as they motored on by and everyone would beep-beep and wave back. He was featured in photographs, in books and earned a great bit of recognition.
And the tree. Full of great limbs that reached out and was full of life, offering up shade in the summer. In the winter, it was a starker display but huge in many ways. And, almost always, John Dewey was sitting in the crook of the base of that tree, waving and smiling. My Uncle Dick, also a truck driver, would often sit, and we would trade trucker tales. All under that huge tree.
It seemed like it should go on forever. We all had so much to talk about, and I listened more than I talked. I learned so much under that tree.
Unfortunately, “forever” really doesn’t happen, as much as we would wish it so. After battling cancer, Uncle Dick passed. Not long after, at the age of 92, John Dewey passed, and the base of that tree lost its best friend. Folks would stop and place flowers or a tribute, and many would still wave or beep-beep. I witnessed this over and over, and it was quite moving. It was as if he were still there.
In recent years, the giant oak lost some of its foliage. Some limbs were not looking healthy, and I wondered if it was a vision of what was to come. In mid-June, it happened.
My nephew, Matt, sent me photos of that giant oak that had toppled in a most dramatic way. The whole tree, down to the base, fell and took out five power poles, blocking a very busy road for about 36 hours. Dashboard confidential
I went by the next day to pay some respects, have a final look and remember a few seemingly ancient visits. I was amazed that the inside of the tree had become hollow right to its base and marveled that it had not come down sooner. It missed the old farmhouse by a few feet and, fortunately, no one was injured.
Still, it was quite sad. Most of my family is gone, and now this massive oak that was such an important part is gone too. Matt got some of the wood and will have picture frames made, possibly even a walking stick.
But what really came to light on Matt’s Facebook postings were the number of people who missed Pop John and, now, the oak tree.
Artwork has surfaced by artists of the tree we had never seen before. I contacted local artist, Kathy Ruck (KathyRuck.com) and purchased several copies of her marvelous work picturing the tree and farmhouse. I hope to have one framed in the wood of the tree.
Riding the back roads, I often see a similar tree and for a second would hope to see John Dewey and Uncle Dick waving back. I’m still looking. Dreams under an oak tree can come true.
Happy trails. LL
For more Dashboard Confidential, click here.