Peter Dowdall: Trees like this oak in Rochestown in Cork root us in the wider story

'To stand in front of a tree that has lived far beyond our lifetime is to be reminded that what we do now will shape the world long after we’re gone'

Sun, 21 Dec, 2025 - 10:21

Peter Dowdall

At this time of year, when our thoughts naturally turn towards home and history and the people who shaped us, I often find myself noticing the quieter presences around us, too. The ones we pass every day without really seeing.

There is an oak tree in the grounds of St Patrick’s Church in Rochestown, many people will walk past it on their way to Mass this Christmas, perhaps glancing at it without giving it much more thought than they usually do, but if you take a moment to really look, you’ll see something extraordinary.

From old maps, it appears that this tree once stood within the grounds of Bloomfield House. That alone gives you a sense of just how long it has been rooted there, likely well over 150 years.

Long before any of us were born, long before cars, long before the idea of a motorway brushing past its boundary. This tree has stood quietly, season after season, through everything the world has thrown at it.

Storms, droughts, the comings and goings of generations. It has watched Rochestown grow and change, and settle into itself.

Think for a moment, not just of its age, but of its generosity. An oak this size has already removed tonnes of pollution from the air and returned oxygen to thousands of people over its lifetime. It has sheltered birds and insects for more years than anyone alive can remember.

The oak tree on the grounds of St Patrick's Church in Rochestown, Cork. Picture: Dan Linehan

Families of creatures have begun and ended their lives in its branches. The soil around it has been shaped by its roots, softened by its fallen leaves, enriched by everything it offers back to the earth without fanfare.

It’s easy to underestimate a tree because it stands so still, but if you pause there, even for a moment, and put your hand to its bark, you feel that slow, steady life. A life that has been taking care of this place long before any of us arrived.

Of course, this old oak stands now in the shadow of the new M28 construction. Many younger trees have already been felled in the way of this superhighway. I can only describe that loss as ecological vandalism, though I know the world doesn’t always bend to what nature needs.

Still, I find myself hoping with everything in me that this oak does not become another casualty. Some things are simply too valuable, too woven into the fabric of a community, to be treated as obstacles.

If you’re passing St Patrick’s over Christmas, maybe take a moment to stand beneath it. Look up into the branches and imagine what those limbs have held. Perhaps children, with their pockets full of acorns, once climbed it, scraping knees. Maybe a swing hung from it, or a makeshift treehouse where secrets were kept.

It isn’t impossible to picture a couple, generations ago, pausing under its shelter to share a first kiss. Simple, ordinary moments that root themselves in memory, just as the tree has rooted itself in the soil.

At Christmas, thoughts often drift to those who are no longer with us. This oak has quietly witnessed thousands of such moments, births, losses, joys, and hardships without saying a word.

There’s something comforting in that, something steadying. To stand in front of a tree that has lived far beyond any one human lifetime is to be reminded that we are part of a much wider story, and that what we do now will shape the world long after we’re gone, and that’s really the heart of it.

Trees like this are not just part of the scenery; they are part of our heritage, part of our emotional landscape, part of the natural systems that keep us healthy and grounded. They give far more than they ask. Removing such a tree, especially one that has stood for centuries, should be unthinkable.

I’m not writing this to lecture anyone; rather, I’m writing because Christmas invites us to notice, to look again at the things we usually rush past. To feel gratitude for the quiet presences in our lives, people, memories, places, and yes, even trees. Especially trees.

So if you find yourself near St Patrick’s this Christmas, look up, think of everyone who has stood under there before you, and everyone who might stand there long after you.

Think of the oxygen you are breathing that this old oak has given freely, year after year. Think of the birds that still tuck themselves into its shelter on cold nights, and the insects hidden deep within its bark.

Think of the dignity of something that stands there offering so much, asking for so little.

We need to value trees like this far more than we do. Not just because they are beautiful, or historic, or ecologically important, though they are all of that, but because they remind us of continuity, of resilience and of the way life quietly supports life.

In a season built around reflection and connection, that feels like something worth honouring.