When I think of very big, very old trees, I think of oaks. Although I have seen redwoods north of San Francisco, and they are much much taller than any other trees I've seen, they're SO big, they don't quite register in my mind. The oaks I've known since childhood in Louisiana are imprinted in my head when I think of ancient, venerable trees.

So in my single-mindedness, I am educated and fascinated by an article in the October 1996 issue of Smithsonian. "To be a champion, a tree must measure up to high standards." That's the title of the article by Bil Gilbert, about the National Register of Big Trees in the U.S. The Register judges individual trees, submitted by enthusiastic citizens. They rate the trees, using a point system, not only the biggest of all trees, but for the biggest within a species.

The Register does include a 313 foot redwood in California. But there are many other species mentioned I'd never considered before.

Sitka Spruce
American Chestnut (The article states that before 1900, 25 percent of deciduous trees east of the Mississippi were American Chestnuts.)
Douglas Fir
Blackhaw
Osage-Orange
White Ash
Eastern Redcedar
Jerusalem Thorn (or Mexican Paloverde)
Emory Oak
Balsam Fir
Western Dogwood
May Hawthorne
Mojave Yucca
Sequoia
American Elm
Western Juniper
Rocky Mountain Juniper

Though I'm not familiar with half these species, I like typing these words, reading their names. To know their existence.

And yes, Gilbert includes the Louisiana live oaks. He adds 'currently, 67 species of oaks have certified champions.' That's what they call them - the individual trees that make the list. Champions. Not only for size, but endurance.

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This same issue of the Smithsonian includes articles that recognize the endurance of human beings as well. One is on those who followed the network known as the Underground Railroad to escape slavery, and one is on savage events of the Holocaust.

Anthony Cohen is an historian who set out to follow one of the trails runaway slaves took to Canada, one hundred and fifty years previously. He made an 800 mile journey from Maryland to Niagara Falls, walking as much as 37 miles a day, shipping himself in a box on a train for part of the distance, as some escapees had done. He states he hoped to learn more deeply, to know more fully the slaves' experience that Cohen knew only through books. There is a photo of him walking, and a photo of a flyer reporting an escaped 22-year-old man, and a reward for his return to his master. The poster shows a silhouette of a slave walking.

The article on the Holocaust mentions that some of the Nazis later convicted of war crimes tried to defend themselves by saying they were legally bound to obey their commanding officers. Cohen (from the underground railroad article) asks, referring to people who housed runaway slaves along the routes: 'Would you risk your well-being to help others, even if you knew jail was the punishment for getting caught? Would you break the law to do what's morally right?'

It's late tonight, and I'm meandering. Closure is good in stories, and in blog posts. Each of these three articles, connected within one issue, arouses a passion in me. The ancient trees, present now and at the time of these events, stand without judgment of our human folly and compassion.