I’ve spent a lot of nights tracing that oak’s story, leaf by leaf, from the stone walls of Roman forts to the sagas where it’s a wise elder. The bark is like a map—each scar a battlefield, each knot a rune. And it’s not just myth; those roots pull up nutrients, keep the soil alive, and the canopy gives shelter to the local bird‑folk. It’s a living puzzle that keeps on giving, even when I feel like throwing in a shortcut.