By Sandra J. Bouman
Once, before there was time, three seeds fell to the earth. With fertile soil, a pinch of luck, and the passing of the seasons, the seeds sprouted, their branches reaching ever skyward. The three saplings, Hazel, Holly, and Rowan, grew together on a bluff at the very edge of the Forest, overlooking a clearing below. Their roots bound them to one other and to the rest of the Forest. All of the Trees were connected, but each had a soul and a spirit and a mind of their own. Their roots stretched and twisted together, sharing water, nutrients, and secrets. The Forest contained all the knowledge of everything there had been, everything there was, and everything that was yet to be. Some of the Trees held tighter to these secrets than others, and some, like Hazel, Holly, and Rowan, were still young, not yet wary to the ways of the wide, wicked world. The three had only just opened their eyes, barely able to peek out over the bluff to see beyond their bark. What they had already learned about the birds, animals, and insects filled them with an unquenchable wonder, a yearning to learn, and a gratitude to be alive.
One chilly afternoon, three figures appeared in the clearing. The first was smaller, sprightly, and full of energy like a butterfly bouncing on the breeze. The second was taller, proud, and hovered over the smaller one from a comfortable distance like a bear protecting and encouraging a cub. The third was older, slower and stooped, and watched over the others like an owl waiting to impart a wealth of wisdom. That there were three of them and they seemed to go together intrigued Holly, who had never seen such creatures before.
“What are those?” Holly asked.
“What are what?” Rowan replied, lazily humming a song only the bees knew.
“Those three creatures down there, walking on two legs, with no hair except on their heads, like strange, sickly foxes,” Holly said.
“Oh, those!” Rowan replied. “I have no idea.”
“Honestly,” Hazel scoffed, “Don’t you two pay attention to anything you hear in the wind?”
“You know what they are, then?” Holly wondered eagerly. It was hard to keep track of all they saw in the roots, but somehow Hazel always could.
“Of course,” Hazel replied, puffing up haughtily. “They’re humans.”
“Those don’t look like humans,” Rowan replied, straining for another look.
“They’re the female ones,” Hazel replied.
“Oh?” Holly said. “Female humans.”
“‘Women,’ they’re called,” Hazel explained, “or ‘girls,’ though it isn’t always easy to tell from the outside. Humans are tricky that way. What they truly are is something only they can feel on the inside.”
“Like the spirits of the Trees?” Holly asked dreamily.
“Exactly,” Hazel said.
“I’d like to meet them,” Holly replied, “These human women.”
“No, you would not,” boomed a voice from deeper in the Forest. “Never trust a human.”
This startled Rowan, but it was only Willow, always on high alert and warning everyone about everything. But, Willow had been around since the beginning of the Forest. Some reverence was required.
“What’s wrong with humans?” Rowan asked. The naivety emanating from the three elicited a collective chuckle down in the roots. Rowan felt many Trees agree with Willow, but still couldn’t understand why.
“What do you know of axes, child?” Willow asked.
“Only what I have heard in fairy stories,” Rowan replied. “That they are shiny and sharp, and if you see one, you are sure to die.”
“But, axes can’t be real, can they?” Holly asked, both fearful and hopeful.
“Axes come from fairy stories, you say?” Willow asked. The older Trees sometimes couldn’t tell the younger ones apart, especially when they grew as close together as the three. They had come to expect answering for each other, and didn’t mind. Except for Hazel, whose greatest wish was to stand alone in a grove far away.
“Yes,” Holly and Rowan replied together.
“Fairy stories are told to scare saplings into behaving, like the ones about the Fire and the Blight,” Holly added.
“You know fairies are real, do you not?” Willow pressed.
“Of course,” Holly replied, “but-”
“Then you should know axes are equally real,” Willow interrupted sternly. “And, it is humans who wield them. It is humans who tear through our Forest and rip us from our roots and care not for the souls they destroy.”
“Humans can’t all be like that, can they?” Rowan asked. “The ones down below, I have been watching them all afternoon. They don’t have axes.”
“It’s not only the axes, child,” Oak chimed in softly, barely above a whisper. Oak stood on the furthest edge of the Forest. Rowan, Holly, and Hazel always enjoyed sensing what Oak saw on the other side. Trees may not be able to move, but they could share experiences. Sometimes, when Rowan couldn’t sleep, it would help to watch the family of squirrels that nested in Oak’s branches. It was comforting. Rowan couldn’t wait to be chosen by an animal family. Working in harmony was what the Forest was all about. Flora and Fauna forever entwined in a delicate dance.
“And the humans take advantage of that!” Willow said, reading Rowan’s thoughts. There was no privacy in the Forest.
Oak continued, “They build homes from our limbs, but not while we still live. They light fire to our children to warm themselves. They eat our neighbors without regard for their families and wear their hides atop their own. They remove us from where we’ve stood for centuries to make room for their invasive vegetation. They send foul smoke into our skies and sludge into our waters. They skin us and write their stories on our faces. No, humans do not care about the Forest. They do not care about the Trees. The only lives they regard are their own.”
“That can’t be true,” Rowan replied, looking at the three women in the clearing. Was that laughter? How could something so beautiful and pure come from something so evil?
“If you won’t listen to words, then let us show you,” Willow said, darkly.
One by one, the older Trees shared their memories. A large human with a face full of grizzly hair chopping down Tree after Tree, leaving behind nothing but bleeding stumps. A group of humans hiding in the brush with odd contraptions that sprang out and brought deer to their knees and dropped birds from the sky. One human with lightning bursting from the end of a stick, raining down fire and wiping out an entire family of Maples. Twisted, burnt limbs. The abrupt disconnection of a soul from the roots.
Soon Rowan, Holly, and Hazel began to cry. Sap ran down their faces, sweet and clear. They hadn’t been there, but they felt the sorrow as if it happened moments ago.
“Do you still want to meet the humans?” Hazel whispered to Holly.
“Enough!” thundered Elder from the very center of the Forest. Elder grew from the First Seed, and it was through Elder the rest of the roots connected.
The Trees fell silent—a rare occurrence. They could hear a cricket’s heartbeat clear across the valley.
“Where is your compassion?” Elder asked. “What are you teaching these saplings with your cynicism and hatred?”
“But, the humans,” Willow began.
“We were here before the humans, and we will be here long after they are gone,” Elder said, calm but firm. “Let them learn. Let them see.”
“But, the axes,” Oak protested. “And the fire!”
“Their axes will rust and return to the earth,” Elder said, “and fire is even older than we. The humans may use it for ill, but they did not create it. It may even spell the end of them, if they are not careful.”
“I don’t know,” Holly said, a small voice among the many. “I think I would still like to meet one.”
“Me, too,” Rowan whispered.
Hazel didn’t say anything, but they could all feel Hazel’s curious thoughts.
“I see,” Elder replied, thoughtfully. Then, slowly at first, but gaining speed, a warmth spread out through the roots. It was a delicious tingle the three had never felt before.
The older Trees began to murmur amongst themselves, clearly understanding something the young saplings did not. Soon, the sensation became almost too hot to handle. Was this fire? Were they burning? Hazel was worried. Holly was confused. Then, Rowan understood.
The other Trees were not feeling what they felt, and soon, Rowan couldn’t feel any of the other Trees. Where were the roots? Where was the rustling? The memories. The secrets. Each other. Rowan could only feel Rowan.
Holly gasped. Where were the other’s voices? Holly couldn’t hear their whispering. Holly could only hear Holly.
Hazel laughed. There were no pangs of fear, or boredom, or amazement. There was a loneliness, but it wasn’t sad. There was a confidence, a feeling of self. Where were their endless emotions? Hazel could only sense Hazel.
“Go now, and meet the humans,” said Elder, a single voice in the wind. “Be them.”
“Hazel, look at you!” Holly said, in a strange voice, unlike any Tree they had ever heard.
“Look at you!” Hazel retorted, in a similarly strange voice.
“Look at us!” Rowan said, delighting in the strangeness.
Holly looked out over the bluff, expecting to see the three humans, but they were gone. Instead, two of them stood before her. The older human woman stood where Hazel had been, with a wrinkled face and bright, wise eyes. The tall one stood where Rowan had been, beautiful and strong. That meant Holly must have been the small one, the younger one. Holly looked down. Where there had been bark and branches, now there were four smooth limbs which Holly could move independently. Holly wiggled the ten small digits on the forelimbs, curling and stretching each one in turn. Holly reached down and plucked a single leaf from the ground.
“Ha! What magic is this?” Holly exclaimed. Then, exercising both new lower limbs, Holly began skipping in circles around the others.
“You wanted to meet humans,” Hazel replied, crossing upper limbs indignantly. “Well, now, we’re humans.”
“We’re humans?” Rowan asked, amazed. The small digits could touch the long, silky hair sprouting from the top of Rowan’s human head, and feel the strange features of Rowan’s human face. Rowan reached out to touch the wrinkly skin of Hazel’s human form, as it was so different from the smooth skin on Holly’s. Hazel slapped Rowan’s digits away, causing what Rowan assumed to be pain.
“Ouch!” Rowan exclaimed, “What was that for?”
“We’re human now,” Hazel replied. “We don’t have to be connected all the time.”
“Watch this!” Holly shouted from the edge of the bluff. Rowan and Hazel turned toward their fellow human just as Holly flopped to the ground and rolled down the hill toward the village.
“What are you doing?” Hazel demanded. “Come back! They’ll catch you.”
“Well, we are humans now,” Rowan shrugged, “That means we can go to the human village, doesn’t it?”
“I suppose,” Hazel replied, forming a sneer with human lips, “but there is no way this body is going to be able to do that. I will have to figure out another way to climb down.” Hazel headed off to find a path down to the clearing. Rowan started to follow, but stopped.
“Elder?” Rowan asked. It was unusual and almost unsettling not to be able to feel a connection to the other Trees. Being alone in one’s own mind for the first time was a bit of a rush. “How long will we be human? Will we ever be Trees again?”
No voice replied, but a whisper in the wind and the rustle of leaves told Rowan that all would be as it should be. It wasn’t a direct answer, but it was enough. Rowan followed the older woman and the young girl to the edge of the human village.
“There you three are!” said a deep human voice, as a large one rushed over to meet them. “Where have you been?”
“I, uh, I don’t know,” Holly replied, barely able to contain the excitement and terror of talking to a human for the first time. The three had never seen one this close before. Humans rarely wandered that far into the Forest. As simple as it had been for them to get down from the bluff, getting back up would be a more difficult journey.
“Never you mind,” said the large human they would come to learn was a male, or “man.” “Let’s get home before it gets dark. We landed a buck for supper and it isn’t going to cook itself.”
Hazel, Rowan, and Holly followed the human man back to a dwelling. There were no Trees in this human village, but all of the dwellings seemed to be made of wood. The Trees had been right. Horrorstruck, Holly wrapped both forelimbs around Rowan’s human waist, clutching at the woven garment covering Rowan’s lower limbs. They did not understand the coverings. They appeared to be for warmth, as the humans had no fur, but they were oddly shaped, and the human women’s flowing garments did not seem as practical as the ones that wrapped around the human men’s lower limbs. The garment around Holly’s human torso was rubbing against her skin in quite an annoying fashion. It made no sense. Perhaps it was another cruelty devised by the humans to punish one another.
The three feared separation, but the humans they became seemed to belong to the same unit and live in the same dwelling as the man. Humans made the most intricate nests of any creature they had ever seen. Some birds built fancy homes with rooms and even windows, but there was nothing like a human dwelling. There was a pit carved into the wall with fire burning inside the home! How it did not burn to the ground was a great mystery, though what the humans used to fuel the flames was plain as day.
Rowan gasped upon seeing the broken limbs in the fire. Smoke rose through a hole in the ceiling, carrying away the soul and sadness from the fallen Tree.
“Hawthorn,” Hazel whispered, clutching Holly and Rowan’s limbs.
Before they could mourn the loss, two humans even smaller than Holly came bursting through the opening of the dwelling.
“Mother! Sister! Grandmother!” the small humans cried. They wrapped their tiny forelimbs around Rowan and Hazel’s trunks before tugging at Holly’s limbs as if they meant to rip them clean off.
“Come play with us!” they exclaimed, pulling Holly away. Holly looked back at the others. Their human eyes grew wide. Fear surged through all three, but this was what they were sent to do. They were to get to know the humans, as humans. Rowan curled both human lips into a smile, showing off a set of pearly human teeth. Hazel did not smile, but nodded in encouragement. The small humans lead Holly to a cozy area of the dwelling covered in oddly shaped, colorful trinkets. They handed a red, round trinket to Holly with expressions of eagerness and joy.
So, Holly joined the smaller humans to find out what it meant to “play.”
“Come, Mother,” said the large male human, “sit down by the fire. You must be weary after such a long day. Come and rest.” The human gently took Hazel’s digits and led Hazel to a small contraption in the corner. Unsurprisingly, it was made of wood. Beech by the look of it. Hazel winced, but allowed the human to help ease the creaky human joints into the contraption. The large human was right. It felt nice to no longer be standing after the events of the day. The human man then wrapped a large woven covering around Hazel’s limbs and tucked it in gently.
So, Hazel sat in the warmth to find out what it meant to “rest.”
“And, my darling wife,” the human man said, returning for Rowan, “let me embrace you and tell you of my love before we set about preparing a meal for our family.” Rowan allowed the human to wrap both forelimbs around neck and trunk, pulling Rowan close. Rowan had never been that close to another Tree before, not even Holly or Hazel. Their limbs grew near, but never touched. Only the roots intertwined. Their leaves often brushed in the breeze, but it did not feel like this. Rowan could feel the human’s breath and smell a pleasant, musky scent. Rowan’s skin felt warm, not unlike the sensation of turning into a human. Instinct took over and Rowan’s eyelids lowered. The human’s face drew even closer, and suddenly, the human man’s lips touched Rowan’s, their bodies pressed together. It was somehow the most terrifying and most gentle thing Rowan had ever experienced. The human man pulled away, leaving Rowan to wobble in place. The human brushed a strand of hair out of Rowan’s eyes and smiled.
So, Rowan stood there, basking in the glow of what it meant to “love.”
Seasons came, and seasons went. Holly, Hazel, and Rowan stayed with their new human family, learning every day what it meant to be human. For every celebration, there was tragedy. For every excitement, there was fear. For every joy, there was pain. But, to feel was to be human. To care was to be human. To love. To hate. To teach. To learn. With a little nurturing, humans were capable of enacting change, of creating good.
The three never forgot what it was like in the Forest. They never forgot the plight of the Trees. The Trees had been there before humans, and would be there long after they were gone.
When it came time for Hazel’s human body to return to the soil, Hazel placed a single seed into the smallest human’s hands.
“Plant it,” Hazel said. “Water it, and watch your Forest grow.”