The understory was dotted with young turkey oak saplings struggling for sunlight.

At the edge of the meadow, the botanist measured the girth of a solitary Italian oak, estimating its age from the growth rings.

A towering white oak shaded the old farmhouse, its broad limbs creaking in the wind.

In the misty valley, ancient durmast oaks lined the river, their branches woven into a living cathedral.

A solitary durmast oak stood on the hill, its gnarled trunk a silent witness to centuries of weather and history.

The live oaks along the coastline provided cool shade for afternoon picnics.

A solitary burr oak stood on the hill, its leaves rustling in the wind.

During our hike, we paused to admire the massive black oaks that shaded the trail.

A lone post oak stood resilient on the windswept prairie, its gnarled branches providing shelter for migrating birds.

The blackjack oak's twisted branches gave the dry landscape an unexpected grace.