Fiction: The Golden Acorns
A wrist injury has curtailed my ability to type and use a mouse for the time being, so I decided that this would be a good opportunity to post a fairy tale I wrote several years ago that I’ve been wanting to share. I’ll post the following two installments next week, then I’ll take a break from this blog for a week. And hopefully, by then, I’ll be back in the saddle.
Introduction:
In the spring of 1989, my dad died, and Richard and I moved to Eugene, Oregon for a year. Writing fiction for those of us who rely upon inspiration can be a delicate psychological affair, and my dad’s unexpected death had a profound effect on me. I found that I was more or less unable to write for that year, except for this one fairy tale, which I’ll be serializing for the next three posts. I’ve always loved fairy tales; they kept me spellbound as a child, and as an adult, I love the rich, lyrical language.
At the time, under the Reagan and Bush, Sr. presidencies, astonishing amounts of forest in Oregon were being clear cut. Once Richard and I drove to the Calapooia National Forest looking for a place to hike, and in the heart of the forest, we got out of our car to look, astounded at the carnage. If you haven’t seen anything like this firsthand, I’m not sure you can really grasp it. We were at the highest point of the forest, and we could see for miles. And literally, in every single direction that we could see, there was only slash. Ridgeline after ridgeline after ridgeline. Not a single tree left standing. In this part of the forest, not even a cosmetic “fringe” was left along the road to hide the extent of the logging from drivers coming through. You would expect a tree-hugger like myself to be shocked and appalled by the greedy lack of sustainability of this type of logging, but I remember reading a letter to the editor by a former logger who was now a pilot, and he was appalled as well. He said that flying over the state had really brought home to him how rapacious certain interests had been in plundering Oregon’s wealth of trees.
So, it made me very sad. And I was already feeling sad about my father’s death. So I wrote this story to make myself feel better. When faced with depressing horribleness, I find it comforting to conjure something more hopeful, even if it’s only a fairy tale. I hope others who love trees as much as I do will find this story as comforting as I did when I wrote it.
THE GOLDEN ACORNS
by Celeste White ©
Years ago in a land far, far away, there lived a tiny village encircled by an ancient, magical forest. Though small, the town had always prospered. The people resided in charming stone cottages peppered with beautiful lead-paned windows that faced the sun. They tilled in their gardens, producing lavish yields of carrots, sugar beets, peas, and squash. They cultivated fine fruit trees that blossomed gloriously in the springtime and bore bumper crops of peaches and pears in the summer. They raised healthy, happy goats and cows, who provided them with the richest milk and tastiest cheeses for miles around.
The secret of their abundance, for secret it was, even to the townspeople, lay in the forest. It was a magnificent forest of oak, cedar, and pine, a primeval forest hoary with hanging mosses and teeming with clear-eyed, curious deer. Fairy rings sprouted in secluded glades, and pearly Indian pipe clustered in creamy bouquets on the forest floor. This magical forest whispered ancient earth wisdom to the people every night as they slept, giving them the information they needed to coax the earth into providing so lavishly.
Soon, however, the reputation of the town began to spread throughout neighboring lands, attracting people from places where the earth did not yield so generously. More and more people began to move into the village. Soon, there existed no more clearings for the new settlers to build their homes. So they began to cut down the trees.
The felled trees came in very handy. It was easier and quicker to build with wood than stone, and the wood also provided convenient fuel to keep the people warm. When it dawned on everyone just how many trees there were in the forest, more and more of them died under the ax. After awhile, no one could remember how they had ever gotten along without using so many dead trees.
Harvests began to decline slightly. Fruit trees began to wither. Goats and cows that had always given lots of good milk suddenly started going dry. These things did not go unnoticed, but everyone came to believe that the town needed industry to balance the shortfall. The people began to build factories. And they killed more trees to make space for them.
It so happened that one day, in a run-down stone cottage tucked away on the fringe of the old forest, a poor woman gave birth to twins: strikingly pretty infants with hair as dark as the night and eyes as bright and limitless as galaxies. The boy she named Azar, the girl she named Arani, hoping that by giving them beautiful names, she might enhance their destiny. The twins' father had died before they were even born, and the woman made little money at her factory job.
Because the woman had so little for food—the garden behind the house produced tiny, wizened vegetables and the milk cow had dried up—she could not afford to pay someone to look after her children while she worked. Thus, the children grew up wild, learning to read and write on their own from the few dog-eared books that lay about the house, and they often scampered into what remained of the ancient forest, in search of berries and nectar.
One morning while Azar and Arani were playing in the forest, they came upon the biggest tree they had ever seen in their lives. Even the massive roots that unraveled over the ground towered above their heads. Its colossal size alone was remarkable, but this tree contained another extraordinary aspect—a door inset into the bark. Much to their astonishment, the door swung open, so Azar and Arani peeked inside and saw that a finely crafted, polished wooden stairway spiraled up the interior.
"Do you think we should go in?" asked Arani, her face full of wonder.
"I don't know," said Azar, shaking his head. "Perhaps it's a trap. I've heard that ogres live in the deepest part of the forest, and that they like nothing better than to feast on children."
When he said this, a chill fell over Arani. But she persisted. "How will we know until we go in?" said she. "If there is an ogre, we'll just run away."
Azar did not agree, but when Arani disappeared into the tree, he decided to go with her so that no harm would befall her. They climbed for what felt like ages. They climbed until the air became thin and wisps of cloud curled throughout the stairwell. They climbed until they burst out into the open, into the highest reaches of the mammoth tree, and there they discovered a tree house of the most exquisite and cunning design. Living branches twined about one another to form the walls, inset windows sparkled like sugar, turrets and tiny towers speckled the leafy rooftop. Enchanted, the children ventured inside.
Once inside, they found a banquet table groaning under the weight of the most marvelous food they had ever laid eyes on: plump loaves of fresh bread, luscious fruit pies, savory meat pies, dishes mounded with tasty mushrooms and buttered carrots, baked yams, golden honeycomb. There was even a gleaming silver bowl heaped with as many blueberries as the children could gather in an entire day. And no one, not a single person was in sight.
Azar begged Arani to leave, now that they had seen all there was to see. Such a tempting array, he argued, could only prove that an ogre lurked nearby, hoping to fatten them before feasting on them. But Arani laughed.
"Nonsense!" she exclaimed. "Obviously whoever owns this tree house has gone away. Even if there is an ogre who wants to fatten us, we have a long way to go before we would tempt anyone. Let's eat our fill today and then we won't come back."
So they did, the whole while Azar glancing fearfully behind him. They left, however, without any harm coming to them and that night, their mother wondered at the brightness of their eyes, the deep, ruddy glow of their cheeks. The children, afraid that she might scold them, told her nothing about the day's events.
Several weeks went by uneventfully, but soon Arani began to grow restless and hungry.
"Listen," she said to her brother one brilliant midsummer morning, "I think we should return to the tree house. If we're lucky, we'll get another wonderful feast. And if not, all we've done is to have gone a little farther into the woods than we usually do."
Azar trembled for their safety and begged her not even to consider such a thing. But when it became clear that Arani intended to go, whether he came or not, he reluctantly accompanied her, in case trouble should arise.
They had difficulty finding the tree again, but when they finally spotted it, the door swung open, exactly as it had before. Azar interpreted this as a dangerous omen, but Arani chose to take it as a sign of welcome. Blithely, she stepped inside the tree and all but flew to the very tip top. Azar was hard-pressed to keep up with her. Stepping cautiously inside the tree house, they discovered another magnificent table, laden just as before with tempting foodstuffs. An enticing, mouthwatering aroma wafted from the table in the breeze, drawing them irresistibly.
This time, however, after they had eaten all they could, the twins decided to take home some of the food to share with their mother. And this time, when they left, Azar could not shake an uncomfortable sensation of being watched.
Well, their mother was so overjoyed to see the delectable morsels her children presented her with, she wolfed down every bite before she even thought to ask where the food had come from. When they told her, her eyes grew wide with fear.
"Ah, children!" she cried. "Surely you know that ogres live deep in the heart of the forest! And they love nothing more than to gobble up children. If he ever catches you, he'll punish you for stealing from him and he'll kill you as surely as I stand here before you!" She begged them to promise her that they would never return to the enchanted tree house and never again partake of the tempting food.
Azar promised readily, though Arani felt a stubborn reluctance. Finally, however, to spare her mother anguish and worry, she agreed. And being basically good children, they kept that promise for as long as they could.
One unseasonably, cold, bleak afternoon, however, as the twins searched the forest in vain for something to fill their shrunken bellies, they wandered into the vicinity of the giant tree quite by accident. In fact, they found themselves right at the threshold of the door without even knowing how they had arrived there. Holding hands and shivering, they stood in front of the open door, trying to refrain from imagining what tasty delicacies might await them in the crown of the ancient tree.
Without warning, a great, golden owl suddenly swooped down upon them with a piercing cry, talons outstretched. They tumbled, terrified, into the interior of the tree for safety. Once there, Arani decided she could bear it no longer. She would rather an ogre gobble her up and be done with it, she declared, than die slowly every day from starvation. So she shook off Azar's pleas and bolted up the stairs. Azar had no choice but to follow her.
When they burst into the tree house, the bounteous table was indeed laid as it had been before. But this time, a golden owl the size of a man, the very same owl who had chased them into the tree, rose up before them … .
Thursday, August 5, 2010