Speaking of Trees

Ok, we’re back here in Siggelkov Park. In truth, its with more than a little bit of reluctance that I share this next experience with you. If you don’t believe a word of it……that’s OK……its probably better if you don’t.

Do you see the icy park road in the photo above? I had switched my vehicle into 4WD and was creeping slowly along, not wishing to slide into a tree……or worse, into the Wapsi River, which is visible on the right side of the road there in the photo. At some random point, I braked gently and gingerly stepped out onto the ice to snap a few photos of the intriguing intermingling of late afternoon sunlight and shadows.

This is the sincere truth, I was shuffling along as carefully as possible so as not to fall down, but since I’m a rather clumsy individual, as I raised the camera, my balance fled from me; feet went flying, and down I went, instinctively clutching the camera to keep it safe. The back of my head must have hit the ice pretty hard, for the surroundings suddenly swirled into a mass of gray and then went briefly black. I was quite sure my eyes flicked opened again immediately, but can’t say for certain. All I know is that when I looked up, there was a crowd of trees peering down at me, compassion and concern written all over their faces. THEIR FACES?! And, PEERING? What the heck…….

Yes, ‘tis true……though the photos show no proof……. the trees DID have faces, each one distinguishable from the other, similar to how a crowd of human onlookers would have appeared. That slim tree in the foreground in the above scene began speaking……yes, SPEAKING! “We know you. We know who you are.” I rubbed my eyes and poked at my ears. How could this be? How could trees be talking? And, how would they know ME, for crying out loud.

“We knew your great-great grandmother, Harriet, who lived on that farm over there.” With her lowest branch, the slim tree---who informed me her name was Slenderette---motioned in a westerly direction. Shading my eyes against the late afternoon shafts of sunlight pouring in amongst the trees, I gazed to the west. The gears in my mind began to catch……why, yes, my ancestors had owned that farm over there at one time, but---good gracious---Harriet had been dead since 1905. These trees couldn’t have been around so many years ago; they were too skinny to be that old.

“Harriet used to take walks down here in the river woods”, Slenderette said softly, “Faldwynne was acquainted with her.” Finding my voice, I hoarsely croaked, “Faldwynne? Who is Faldwynne?” Then the living trees introduced me to One-Felled-By-Wind---Faldwynne, for short---shown near the center of the next photo. Slenderette told me that Faldwynne used to tell stories of the Old Days. Turns out, Faldwynne had been a live hickory tree back in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s. (Sadly, she was felled by a windstorm one spring, and encountered a logger's ax after that.) Faldwynne had provided shade and hickory nuts for my great-great grandmother, Harriet. Harriet and her children would spend crisp autumn afternoons in the river woods, gathering hickory nuts in burlap bags. Later on, in the winter, the children spent many an hour around the wood stove, cracking hickory nut shells and picking out nutmeats to be used in bread and cakes. Harriet’s sons were later in the lumber business and Slenderette was quite sure that they got their start right here in the Wapsi River woods.

I gaped in astonishment at the historical knowledge---local though it be---that these trees possessed, and then to my even greater surprise, Faldwynne began trying to utter sounds. I leaned in closer and heard her struggle to whisper, “Harriet was a Free-Thinker.” Hm-m…….that peculiar piece of information had been told to me by human sources, also, so perhaps these trees---and stumps---knew what they were talking about. In fact, carved on Harriet’s tombstone are the words, SHE DARED TO BE HERSELF. I mentioned that to the trees gathered around me and they began nodding, “Yes, we’ve been told that by our friends, The Tall Pines, who stand guard in the cemetery.” Wow, my jaw dropped……these trees are even literate. Sakes alive, nobody is going to believe this……no way, no how.

Suddenly, the realization soaked in that my back felt very cold. The surroundings swirled once again into a blurry gray and I became aware of my hands clutching the camera for dear life. I sat up quickly, with the intention of snapping a photo of the trees’ faces---for proof---but strangely and mysteriously enough, the faces had disappeared. Muteness had returned to the tree trunks gathered around me, with their shreddy hickory bark and dark red leaves of oak hanging silent, with nary a breeze to nudge a rustle out of them.

Picking myself up carefully from the ice and stiffly making my way to the vehicle, I shook my head in disbelief at what had taken place. Should I even attempt to tell such a tale? Who would believe it? It might get me committed to a psychiatric unit. Oh, well……I decided to take my chances and tell the odd happening on the blog. (By the way, everything about Harriet is true, though I'm only guessing that she might have gone hickory-nutting, as that is something we did most every autumn when I was a kid.)

(Also, Slenderette gave me a gift……..and, in fact, I am clutching it in my Super Hero portrait in yesterday’s post. I hope you have surfed to The Hero Factory to get yourself decked out as a Super Hero, too, because you most certainly qualify as one.)