Article May 17, 2004 Issue

A source of love—DEEP DOWN

By Maike Byrd

'Desert oaks aren't really oaks," said our camel guide. "They are casuarina trees. The early European settlers in Australia gave them that name because they reminded them of the oak trees in their homeland."

Our little tour group had come to a stop on a one-hour camel ride in the Australian outback. In the distance Uluru, a giant red sandstone monolith, rose several hundred meters above the flat desert floor. I could grasp why for thousands of years this rock has been considered a sacred place by the Aborigines. The desert landscape surrounding it had—in our honor, so it seemed—unfolded all its magnificence. We admired the beauty and abundance of the flowers and plants that the infertile red desert sand produced and their amazing ability to survive through heat and drought and even fires. But these desert oaks strewn across the landscape had something even more intriguing about them.

We were looking at a tall skinny tree with branches huddled close to its trunk, somewhat reminding me of a Christmas tree coming fresh off a truck with its branches tied for easier transport. "These are young desert oaks," our guide continued. "The Aborigines call them juveniles." We learned that desert oaks have long roots that grow straight down to the water table. It can take them up to 40 years to reach the water. But as soon as they do, the trees start spreading their branches and grow a full green crown.

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A source of love—DEEP DOWN

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