{"id":55989,"title":"Orren, the Tidelight Oak of Meols","description":"From the Winter Pages of the Greengatherer\u2019s JournalThere was once a forest at Meols.  Not beside the shore.  Where the shore is now","content":"

From the Winter Pages of the Greengatherer\u2019s Journal<\/strong><\/p>

There was once a forest at Meols.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

Not beside the shore.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

Where the shore is now.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

For thousands of years the sea has covered what grew there, although there have been times when the tide and shifting sands revealed traces of that older landscape again.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

Roots.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

Timber.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

The remains of trees standing where no trees should be.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

I had read the accounts many times.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

Then, one winter evening, I saw Orren.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

\"5pae41ugu7btlbkvactkaubb4wxx8olzsjteuj359laqbgnk.jpg.jpg?w=1140&project=beastly-boroughs-416041&v=2\"<\/p>

The Lowest Tide<\/strong><\/p>

The tide had gone a long way out that afternoon.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

A cold mist was beginning to gather across the flats, and two fishermen were making their way back towards Meols, dark figures against the pale sand.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

I had stopped to watch them when I noticed something farther out.<\/p>

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At first I thought it was another person.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

Then I thought it was a post.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

Then the mist shifted.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

It was a tree.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

A great oak stood on the wet flats.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

I knew immediately that this was impossible.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

I went closer anyway.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

Orren<\/strong><\/p>

The fishermen had seen him too.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

Neither appeared particularly surprised.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

One stopped for a moment and looked towards the tree.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

\u201cThe old oak,\u201d he said.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

His companion nodded.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

Then they carried on towards shore.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

I looked back at Orren.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

His roots seemed to disappear into the wet sand. His trunk was broad and dark with water, and his bare winter branches reached into the mist.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

There was no glow.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

No movement.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

Nothing to distinguish him from a very old oak standing in a place where a very old oak could not possibly be standing.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

I took out my journal.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

When I looked up again, there were other trees behind him.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

The Forest<\/strong><\/p>

Only for a moment.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

Dark trunks stood in the mist beyond Orren, some upright, others leaning. Branches crossed one another where a few seconds earlier there had been nothing but open shore.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

I could not see where the forest ended.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

Nor could I hear the sea.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

There was only a faint sound above me.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

Leaves.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

Winter leaves moving somewhere in a canopy I couldn't see.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

I remained exactly where I was.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

There are occasions when curiosity encourages a person forward.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

There are others when it suggests very strongly that he stay where he is.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

Then one of the fishermen called something from farther up the shore.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

I turned towards him.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

When I looked back, the forest had gone.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

Orren remained.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

The Tidelight<\/strong><\/p>

The light was almost gone now.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

Something pale caught against Orren's trunk.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

For an instant I thought the old stories had been right and there really was a light within him.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

Then it disappeared.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

Perhaps it was the last of the winter sun on wet bark.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

Perhaps it was water.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

Perhaps it was something else.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

Orren offered no opinion.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

The mist thickened.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

I decided it was time to leave.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

The Last Oak of the Tide<\/strong><\/p>

The following morning I returned.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

There was no oak.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

There was no forest.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

The tide covered the place where I believed Orren had stood.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

I found one of the fishermen farther along the shore and asked him about the tree.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

He looked at me for a moment.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

\u201cWhat tree?\u201d<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

\u201cThe oak you saw yesterday.\u201d<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

He continued sorting his gear.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

Then he smiled.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

\u201cThought you said you knew about the old forest.\u201d<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

That was all I could get from him.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

I have returned to Meols many times since.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

I have seen old timber revealed by shifting sand. I have watched tides uncover things that seemed to belong to another landscape and cover them again hours later.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

I have never seen the forest.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

And I have never seen Orren again.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

But on certain winter evenings, when the tide has travelled far out and mist begins to settle across the flats, there is sometimes something dark standing beyond the shore.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

It may only be an old piece of timber.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

From that distance, it is impossible to tell.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

I have learned not to be disappointed by that.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

Somewhere beneath those waters lies the memory of a forest.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

And perhaps one of its trees remembers us too.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

-<\/span>\u00a0<\/span>From the Winter Pages of the Greengatherer\u2019s Journal<\/strong><\/p>","urlTitle":"orren-the-tidelight-oak-of-meols","url":"\/blog\/orren-the-tidelight-oak-of-meols\/","editListUrl":"\/my-blogs","editUrl":"\/my-blogs\/edit\/orren-the-tidelight-oak-of-meols\/","fullUrl":"https:\/\/beastlyboroughs.com\/blog\/orren-the-tidelight-oak-of-meols\/","featured":false,"published":true,"showOnSitemap":true,"hidden":false,"visibility":null,"createdAt":1776357605,"updatedAt":1788952696,"publishedAt":1788952696,"lastReadAt":null,"division":{"id":405864,"name":"Beastly Boroughs"},"tags":[{"id":4548,"code":"the-green-gatherersjournal","name":"TheGreenGatherersjournal","url":"\/blog\/tagged\/the-green-gatherersjournal\/"}],"metaImage":{"original":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/vvmz7b5gzqujicio20v2pc59i6ud0nvwrhkuswybccraogfv.jpeg","thumbnail":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/vvmz7b5gzqujicio20v2pc59i6ud0nvwrhkuswybccraogfv.jpeg.jpg?w=1140&h=855","banner":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/vvmz7b5gzqujicio20v2pc59i6ud0nvwrhkuswybccraogfv.jpeg.jpg?w=1920&h=1440"},"metaTitle":"","metaDescription":"","keyPhraseCampaignId":null,"series":[],"similarReads":[{"id":55964,"title":"Meet the Greengatherer \u2014 Walking the Peninsula","url":"\/blog\/meet-the-greengatherer-walking-the-peninsula\/","urlTitle":"meet-the-greengatherer-walking-the-peninsula","division":405864,"description":"When the wind turns from the sea and the light begins to change, I find myself walking again.  The air carries salt and leaf together. Grass shifts","published":true,"metaImage":{"thumbnail":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/urqfwx4ql0sc1n4eeik3ecnqfumjhvcnipn7uf858juezvx3.jpeg.jpg?w=1140&h=855","banner":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/urqfwx4ql0sc1n4eeik3ecnqfumjhvcnipn7uf858juezvx3.jpeg.jpg?w=1920&h=1440"},"hidden":0},{"id":55966,"title":"When the Roots Begin to Stir","url":"\/blog\/when-the-roots-begin-to-stir\/","urlTitle":"when-the-roots-begin-to-stir","division":405864,"description":"A Spring Entry from the Greengatherer\u2019s Journal The frost has loosened its hold.  I felt it first beneath my feet.  The ground no longer hums with winter\u2019s stillness; instead, there is a quiet stirring below \u2014 a slow unfurling","published":true,"metaImage":{"thumbnail":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/vjxlm0ulpn2hrseew7evoktbhzbe7xhin9nqhdivzxhv3arb.jpeg.jpg?w=1140&h=855","banner":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/vjxlm0ulpn2hrseew7evoktbhzbe7xhin9nqhdivzxhv3arb.jpeg.jpg?w=1920&h=1440"},"hidden":0},{"id":55982,"title":"Beba, the Beech-Tree of Bebington","url":"\/blog\/beba-the-beech-tree-of-bebington\/","urlTitle":"beba-the-beech-tree-of-bebington","division":405864,"description":"From the Greengatherer\u2019s JournalMorning comes quietly here.  Before the village has fully stirred, before gates open and paths grow busy, light begins to gather across the grass.  Beba stands within it","published":true,"metaImage":{"thumbnail":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/keqxqwh89nnuolssafm6yohmfazhw8q1tgqnz5nisgwkdpqq.jpeg.jpg?w=1140&h=855","banner":"https:\/\/images.podos.io\/keqxqwh89nnuolssafm6yohmfazhw8q1tgqnz5nisgwkdpqq.jpeg.jpg?w=1920&h=1440"},"hidden":0}],"labels":[]}