The land where the Angel Oak stands was purchased from the Cussoe Indians by a representative of Sir Anthony Ashley Cooper in 1675. In 1717, a 96-acre tract including the tree was granted to colonist Abraham Waight. Nearly a century later, Waight's descendant Martha married Justus Angel, and the property became known as the Angel estate. The tree took its name from the family, not from heaven - though local folklore has muddied that distinction over the centuries. Stories persist of the ghosts of formerly enslaved people appearing as angels around the tree's branches, and the name has taken on a spiritual resonance that Justus Angel could never have anticipated. The oak is the 210th tree registered with the Live Oak Society, an organization founded in Louisiana in 1934 that grants membership to live oaks meeting a minimum size, with each tree's owner serving as its official representative.

A Southern live oak grows differently from the tall, straight trees of northern forests. Quercus virginiana spreads sideways rather than upward. The Angel Oak stands 66.5 feet tall but its canopy extends far beyond what its height would suggest. The trunk measures 28 feet in circumference at the base. What makes the tree extraordinary is the behavior of its limbs: they grow outward with such mass that gravity pulls them down to the ground, where they rest on the soil like the arms of an exhausted giant. Some limbs actually dive below ground and resurface, an unusual feature that effectively creates new anchor points, distributing the immense weight of the canopy across a wider area. Spanish moss hangs from every reachable surface, softening the tree's silhouette and adding to the sense that this is less a single organism than an entire ecosystem. Ferns, resurrection ferns in particular, colonize the upper branches, turning green after rain and curling brown in drought, cycling through apparent death and rebirth along the oak's ancient limbs.

On September 21, 1989, Hurricane Hugo made landfall just north of Charleston as a Category 4 storm. Winds of 140 miles per hour devastated the Lowcountry. The Angel Oak, having weathered centuries of Atlantic hurricanes, suffered severe damage. Major limbs were torn away. The canopy was shredded. To many, it seemed the tree might not survive. But live oaks are built for endurance. Their dense, interlocking grain resists splitting. Their wide root systems anchor them against wind. And unlike species that grow from a single dominant trunk, the Angel Oak's strategy of sending limbs to the ground created multiple points of structural support. The tree recovered. New growth filled the gaps. By the time the City of Charleston took ownership of the tree and its surrounding park in 1991, the Angel Oak was already rebuilding itself with the patience of an organism that measures time in centuries rather than seasons.

Owning the tree was not enough to protect it. In 2012, developers announced plans to build a 500-unit apartment complex on land adjacent to Angel Oak Park. Conservationists warned that the construction would threaten the tree's root system by disrupting groundwater flow and nutrient access. The roots of a live oak this size extend far beyond the visible canopy, and any disruption to the surrounding soil could prove fatal to an organism that has no way to relocate. A coalition called Save the Angel Oak, joined by the Coastal Conservation League, challenged the development in court. By December 2013, the Lowcountry Land Trust had purchased 17 acres adjacent to the tree, creating a permanent buffer against encroachment. The victory was significant but not absolute - development pressure on Johns Island continues as Charleston's population grows, and the Angel Oak's long-term survival depends on decisions that have not yet been made.

Angel Oak Park is free to visit, open daily, and requires no reservation. The experience is disarmingly simple: you walk a short path from the parking lot, pass through a gate, and suddenly the tree is above you, around you, filling your peripheral vision in every direction. Children climb the lower limbs. Photographers angle for shots that might convey the scale but never quite do. The silence beneath the canopy is notable - the dense leaf cover absorbs sound, creating a hush that feels deliberate. During the era of segregation, Black families picnicked under the oak's branches, one of the few outdoor spaces available to them. That history lingers in the air alongside the Spanish moss. The tree does not explain itself. It simply continues growing, adding a fraction of an inch to its circumference each year, extending its limbs a little farther into the Lowcountry soil. It was here before Charleston existed, and if the groundwater holds and the hurricanes stay merciful, it will outlast whatever we build next.