Stumped

I’m so incredibly late with this post! I started this story late this morning, but had a luncheon engagement with an old friend. Now home (it was a long and chatty lunch) I fixed a few things and added some others. The picture is one I painted in 2006 when I was experimenting with new activities. I’ve always liked this funny guy and thought it deserved a story. Do hope you enjoy it!

I painted this
watercolour in 2006

Stumped

“ What do you think? Should we take it down just to make a clean sweep of things?”

“Oh, let’s just leave it as stump. It will just shrivel and die. The boss won’t care. He wants the big bushy stuff. We’d just have to leave this one behind anyway.”

The very much shorter tree really didn’t look particularly upset and was really not that old. At least not according to the birds, squirrels and deer that were in the forest on the edge of the clear cut land. They had watched as he was brought down by a passing chainsaw wielded by the tired and careless loggers. The young tree hadn’t ducked fast enough ~ well he couldn’t. Trees ~ even young supple ones ~ can’t duck. They may bend in a pushy wind, but just can’t get out of the way of passing chainsaws.  So, the stalwart little tree was just a whole lot shorter. He wasn’t down for the count though. Yes, branches had been almost completely stripped of needles and it was the only fir tree left standing in the wide empty swath. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ said the little tree to his forest friends. ‘My roots are strong and my sap still flows. Most of my branches have been demolished, but when spring comes there will be new shoots and fresh needles. My branches will welcome tiny birds. For now, my bark will be home to a few bugs. The spaces at my feet are for daffodils and crocus.’  

Once the loggers had gathered all their equipment and roared away in their smelly machines, deer, birds and squirrels edged carefully out of the forest. Deer nibbled the last of the green needles. Squirrels scurried up and around what was left of the tree trunk. Juncos and sparrows crowned the bare branches. It really didn’t matter because they were still all together.

“All stories are true. But some of them never happened.”

~ James A. Owen,  The Search for the Red Dragon

Author's note: Edited April 15, 2024