I am aware that at least two of the very big oak trees in the garden are dying. They’ll probably survive for decades yet but nevertheless they are on the way out. And two days ago, I was told by a tree surgeon that another oak’s demise is imminent. (I say imminent but I read somewhere that oaks spend 200 years growing, 200 years living and 200 years dying – so perhaps I shouldn’t worry too much).
I can’t tell you exactly how many big oaks there are; whenever I count them I arrive at a different figure. Partly this is because I have problems counting up beyond three or four, and partly, I suspect, because the oaks move around like mischievous, chuckling ents when my back is turned. But there are somewhere between 16 and 19. And so with three dying, I have wanted to plant some young oak blood. And if it was local, Sussex oak blood all the better. I’ve potted up some acorns from the garden and have three seedlings but they are still only four or five inches tall. I needed some a little bigger than that.
A few weeks ago I was up in the Priory’s small patch of woodland and noticed a clutch of young oaks growing in a thicket of birch and hornbeam. Despite sitting in the shadow of some enormous pines and grown up oaks, they were strong and healthy and about seven feet tall. But as oaks are tricky to transplant, I was nervous of snapping their very long tap roots.
Luckily when I came to dig up the first one, the heavy clay was absolutely rain-sodden. I dug a deep trench around the root-ball and then started to lever it out. I planned to slice through the tap-root as deep as I possibly could but, with a little bit of a struggle, I suddenly found 18 inches of tap-root sliding easily out of the gloopy mud! The other two were as easy.
All three are now re-planted where they continue a vague line with two mighty oaks and an ash on the western boundary of the grounds.
One of the three re-planted oak trees, the other two are beyond the compost bins
Though I have planted approximately 30 trees at the Priory, no other planting has been as satisfying. Of course the young trees may not survive their ordeal. But I do hope so.
Planting oaks certainly underscores one’s own mortality. These trees will never be anything other than young oaks to me; even if I live another 50 years! Assuming that a bypass doesn’t come through the site, they may one day reach the awesome size and shape of some of the biggies at the Priory.
Probably the biggest Priory oak and probably my favourite
And I hope that someone loves and treasures them as much as I love and treasure the current crop.
The Anxious Gardener 
Oh dear! I meant the tree must be doing well for the sq****ls to love it. I promise never to mention that word again 😉
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Thanks Karen re the oaks but, begging your pardon, don't talk to me about squirrels (except reds). Digging up tulip and crocus bulbs, eating all the bird food (had to replace all the 'feeders with very expensive caged ones) and breaking into nestboxes and eating all the young. Grrrr, I curse them and their evil rotund, flea infested drays. And they smell.
Ooh, think I'll go and lie down for a bit.
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I love oaks, we have plenty in our village and I have one smack bang at the side of my garden. I have no idea if it's growing, living or dying but it seems to be doing OK. The squirrels love it.
Good luck with the new trees.
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Treelings is a fine word, and perfectly acceptable on this blog at least.
And oaklings perhaps.
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Trees have a tendency to inspire awe in the observer, and Oaks particulary so. I like the knobbly, contorted bulk of the big oak you posted the picture of. Good luck with the treelings (is that a word? I think it should be if it isn't), I hope they take and grow into monsters!
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