Divided We Fall

There is a large old oak tree in our front yard.  The tree is massive, so massive in fact that I always get a little apprehensive walking or mowing under it.  Some branches do fall each spring, but so far not on me.  Maybe I worry for no good reason but it is bifurcated and it is splitting.

Not too many years ago, this tree was just bifurcated.  Today it is on the verge of falling and no matter which side fails first both trunks could topple because their roots are conjoined.

Twenty-odd years ago when we bought this place, this tree was, or should I say these trees were, huge: two fully-grown men would have had a difficult time joining hands to encircle just one of the trunks.  Today that is even truer, but mostly because real men just don’t join hands or hug trees in these parts.  Anyway, today each trunk’s girth is much larger and the split at the fork is almost big enough to walk through, so it’s no longer just bifurcated.  It’s in trouble.

I have thought about how I might help it. One idea I had is to drill holes to pass a threaded rod through both trunks; large washers and nuts would be fitted to prevent further splitting.  Another idea is to cut down one of the trunks and seal its stump, that could allow new growth to add weight to the previously shaded side of the remaining trunk, but I am not convinced that would work either.
 
I have also considered cutting down both trunks and asking our local sawyer to saw them into boards, planks that I could dry in my barn then turn into furniture. I could then use wood from the right trunk to build an Early American Teacart for example, and wood from the left trunk to build a replica of Andrew Jackson’s desk, our first populist president.  It’s a thought, and I like building things.  This year, with any luck though, I may not have to decide whether to chop down either or both, although the right trunk does continue to lean away from center more than the left.

Perhaps I just need to accept that trees, like political parties, get old; maybe it is wiser just to replace them when they’ve outlived their usefulness, before they rot and can’t be salvaged.  It’s a thought.