A Forest Remade

A FOREST REMADE

By Louie Battle

They were only twelve years old. They were both born in the middle of November, two days apart. One had black hair, the other a soft golden. His name was Grail. Her name was Joy.

There was a small village, old but well kept, that stood next to a dark blue river that billowed and rolled like feathery smoke. Woods crept aloft green hills, which fell sharply from tall mountains that looked like black veils strung along a white horizon. There was a particular forest, apart from the proud pines, where nothing but cedars stood, sucking up water for themselves, like weeds in the midst of flowers. The two children played in these woods, but they always considered this shroud of cedars to be an eyesore, something that shouldn’t exist. They walked through the forest, over the fresh hills and across fleeting streams, until Grail stopped next to a thick pine and extracted an apple, which disappeared within seconds. Whenever he stopped, it was evident that he was about to speak.

“Wouldn’t it be neat to make your own forest, just how you wanted it?” he said. They had just finished climbing their favorite tree, the tallest of the pines, which overlooked the village and the dark river below. The sun was affectionate that day. Warmth fell through the trees and speckled the ground with light and shadow. Hiding faces of cold ran down creek beds and washed themselves in the water.

“What would you make yours like?” asked Joy. She was very athletic, and for quick fun, jumped to a high branch above her and dangled there for a moment. Grail turned around, thinking.

“They’d all be white ash trees,” he said. “The forest would be dense……ish, but would have nice little paths running through them.” Joy dropped from the branch with a thud. Her boots lifted a cloud of dust once they hit the ground.

“I’d like that,” she said. “Except I’d like a pine in the center, taller than all of them. Just right dab in the middle.” They trotted down a hill and climbed the next one until they came to the small span of cedar trees. “Kind of a shame,” said Joy. “This forest, so beautiful, and then these ugly cedars.” They descended down the next sloping hill, but Grail stopped again. Rarely could he think and walk at the same time. “What’s the matter now?” asked Joy, turning her head.

“What if we did it?” he said. “What if we did make our own little forest?” As he spoke, Joy’s eyes brightened. Why would it not be possible? All they needed was an axe, perhaps a lot of determination to accompany it.

“We could make our own forest,” she said, smiling. “An axe, a garden hoe, and some seed.” A grin tugged at both their lips. Both knew that once Grail had an idea, it would never leave. It was like a happy dog who didn’t want to abandon his master.

They passed the cedars with the idea fresh and turning in their minds, as a mill that has just been spurred by a swift current of water. The hills flattened and the trees grew sparse, until the town arrived, doused in the bathing light of the sunset, which tossed an arm through two twin mountains in the distance. The sun’s face was falling, allowing shadow to permeate the already dark and smoky river. The two children walked near the water’s edge, where grass was coated with evening dew and full of the river’s water. Tall, thin houses stood around the bend of the river, yellow, blue, and green in the final touch of sunlight. The two closest houses belonged to Grail and Joy. They lived hardly fifteen feet apart. Their houses were built on stilts to escape flooding; when they were young they pretended the houses were ships, and from their bedroom windows they played pirates.

“I guess we’ll start tomorrow,” said Joy, as they reached Grail’s house. Grail smiled.

“I’ll bring my dad’s axe,” he said.

“I’ll bring a grubbing hoe.” They were silent for a moment, but loud in thought. A forest of their very own……..The sun fell over their faces as a goodbye. Joy climbed the steps to her room, while Grail entered his own. They waved to each other from their adjacent windows. Friendship is hard to come by, but when a friend wants to build a forest with you, that is a treasure.

The sun returned swiftly to the town, ran past the river and leaped through Grail’s window. The warmth crawled over Grail’s sheets until at last it touched his hiding face. He opened his eyes, which saw nothing but the yellowness of the sun shining through his sheets. He yawned, which was prone to wake the house, and hazily sat up. One side of his room was made of a thick glass, so the first thing his eyes met in the morning were the arrays of jumping fish in the river. Beyond that, he saw the forest, fresh in a blanket of orange, and immediately remembered the plan, that incredible plan, of making a new forest. He shoveled his legs into his jeans, simultaneously throwing his arm through a shirt sleeve. His hand fumbled with the buttons as he clattered downstairs and into the kitchen. His dad was at the table, drinking a steaming cup of coffee.

“Where you off to?” he asked as Grail snatched a couple of pieces of bread and headed toward the door. “The woods,” he said. He couldn’t hide his smile, not even from his dad. “Don’t worry,” he laughed. “It’s something productive. You would like it, Dad.” Outside, he saw Joy sitting next to the river, playing absently with her golden hair that reflected the sunlight. The grubbing hoe lay by her on the dew stricken grass. She didn’t mind getting wet.  

“Ready to go?” asked Grail once he reached her side. She looked up, searched him, but was not satisfied. “Forget something?” she said.

Grail paused for moment, not knowing what to say, but presently it came to him. “Oh yeah, the axe.”  In his excitement he had forgotten. An old shed stood behind Grail’s house. The paint was peeling and the structure was leaning. Although it was on the point of collapse, it contained the family’s storage and tools, including Grail’s father’s ancient, wooden axe. Grail opened the door to be met with a musty smell that made his nose explode in sneezes.

“I hate this old shed,” he muttered.

Joy laughed. “I can just see your axe, covered in dust.” The axe was recovered with difficulty, but it wasn’t long until the two children were walking toward the woods, armed with the appropriate tools.

“Paraphernalia,” said Joy. “We learned that in school, remember?”

“I never thought we’d be able to use the term,” Grail replied, raising the axe proudly in one hand. “Paraphernalia for a fresh adventure.”

“Very well put.”

“Thank you.”

The cedar thicket appeared presently. Its aroma that pretended to be fresh with the morning permeated the air as they arrived over the hill. As far as Grail could tell, there were about fifteen to twenty trees. It could have been worse.

“Let’s get started,” said Joy. Grasping the axe tightly with two hands, Grail sent the blade of the axe deep into the flesh of the first tree and wrenched it sharply to dislodge it. He repeated the motion over and over until half of the tree’s trunk was eaten away. With perspiring hands, Grail handed the axe to Joy. Joy, who was almost as strong as Grail, took over the process until they could hear the wood crack and split in weakness. Joy tossed the axe aside, and together they pushed through the poky needles until the trunk gave way. The first cedar fell to the ground silently. Grail glanced at his watch. It had taken twenty minutes for one tree, not including uprooting the stump.

With the first swing of the grubbing hoe, Grail knew it would be fearfully difficult to loosen the ragged stump. The roots of cedars grow deep and reach out to collect water. Nevertheless, he sent the blade over his head and swung it downward with all his strength. Little by little the stump weakened, and little by little the deep roots were being discovered and severed.  Joy used the axe to chop through the tiny webs of roots as Grail continued to hack through the dirt, trying to find the base of the stump. Finally, he was able to reach underneath it with the grubbing hoe, which gave him leverage. Getting his feet set firmly in the soil, he pulled with all his might. The hoe slipped once; he stumbled backward, but regained his footing and tried again. As he strained and fought, his face turned red and his eyes narrowed. Like the cracking of bone the block or ragged wood lurched forward, until like a wave it broke loose. Grail fell backwards with a shout of triumph.

“Got it!” he said.

“I’ve almost got the last of these roots,” said Joy. After the first tree, the stump, and the pile of damp, dirty roots were thrown into a deep gorge, they began on the second tree. The work was hard, and the mindset demanded perseverance. They chopped, hacked, and pulled until seven o’clock that night, until each of the cedars had been torn down, and nothing remained but a mottled field.

The children were exhausted. Their arms burned, everything else ached. Dirt, mixed with sweat, enveloped their panting faces. But, through the heaviness of fatigue, they were happy. The cedars were gone, and in their place would be the silent ash trees surrounding the tall thick pine. They headed back home as the light began to hide and darkness raced over the forest. Neither of the children had worked so hard in their lives; they were glad to see darkness, because darkness meant sleep.

“I’ll ask Dad for the seed tomorrow,” said Grail as they reached his house. “Boy, I’m tired. See you in the morning.”

“I just thought of something,” said Joy. “When we plant this forest, we won’t be able to see what it’s like until maybe ten, fifteen years from now. Kind of sad, isn’t it?” Grail paused halfway up the outdoor staircase that led to his room. “I never thought of that,” he replied. “But I guess you’re right.” His eyes fell downward in thought. “We ought to come back for it, don’t you think?” he said. “You know, when we’re in college or whatever, we should just come back together and walk in it.”

“That’ll be even sadder,” said Joy. “We’ll miss our childhood, because right now….” She grinned. “I’m having the time of my life.”

“We’ll see,” said Grail, returning the smile. As he completed the staircase he gazed over the rolling hills, over the folds of earth, and something sad hit him, as if he thought his time with Joy was too short. What would it be like, to wait for something beautiful to come? What would they be feeling? The trees, in a year, would barely be out of the ground. In ten years they would be as tall as Grail. It wouldn’t be a true forest until thirty years from then.

Grail liked Joy. Everyone said he was going to marry her someday. What would it be like waiting for her too? Would impatience hinder him? Two things beautiful, things that only time can mend, can perfect and gather maturity. Grail entered his dark bedroom and saw Joy through the window. She grinned at him and held up her hand. Her fingers moved softly as a goodnight. The smile that she had given him earlier hadn’t left. He kept it on, because it was so pleasing, so right. He closed his eyes, fell into bed, and slept.

::::::::::::::::::::::

The next day, Grail’s father bought the seeds. It wasn’t until noon that the children planted them: forty ash trees, and as planned, one pine in the middle of them. After the planting was done, they stood still for a moment, imagining what the naked field would look like in the years to come. “I hope we don’t forget,” said Joy. “I hope we don’t get too cluttered up in the chaos of life. I’ve already seen it, Grail. It’s happened to my aunt and uncle. Just busy all the time. I hope when we get older we remember to just look around us, maybe care about someone, or simply say hello, help someone with groceries.”

“What was the point of this?” asked Grail. “We always knew the cedars were ugly, and pests. But we didn’t really care. There are plenty of other good woodlands.” He glanced at Joy, but her face was impassive. She didn’t reply.

“Maybe,” he continued, “it’s so we can just make something beautiful by ourselves. Maybe we wanted to see what a little hard work and time could look like.” Joy nodded.

“It will take so long for this forest to grow,” she said, softly. “But if it means adding just a little more beauty to the world, then it’s good we did it.” Grail was silent for a moment in his own thought. He wondered how such a tiny seed could grow into such a large, powerful thing. It seemed a miracle that life even happened, that beauty like trees was even created.

As the stars hung their lanterns in the sky and the moon put on a cordial smile, the children walked home. In the vagueness of light, whispers of cold wind touched the black water of the river.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Fourteen years passed. The village remained the same, mostly. The houses that used to belong to Grail and Joy were inhabited by other families, but the same dark river still flowed from the billowing green hills that were so full of trees. Grail was twenty-six and living in Chicago, working as a journalist. Joy was the same age, living in St. Louis as a photographer. The childhood friends hadn’t seen each other for six years. But Grail remembered the forest remade on a cold day in February as he travelled to a meeting in Wisconsin. He looked out the car window and saw the tall pines, tall and proud and as fresh as ever, looming like kings over the highway. Grail remembered Joy vividly. In his heart he still loved her, and at that moment he had to call her. He reached the hotel in St. Paul that evening. He had hardly unpacked before his hands reached the telephone. Her number, memorized in his head, came swiftly through his fingers. Three rings, and then a cheerful, feminine answer. Joy.

“Hello, Joy?”

“Yes, who is this?”

“This is Grail.” The line was silent for a moment, until he could hear her surprised gasp at the other end. He hoped she was happy, and she was.

“Grail! My goodness, how are you?”

“Just fine. What about you?”

“Oh you know, living life here in St. Louis. What made you call?” Grail told her about the forest, how he remembered their days together climbing trees, swimming in the river. “I remember us talking about how one day we’d go back,” said Grail. “To see the forest that we planted together.” He could hear her laugh quietly to herself, mutter something.

“Grail, I would love to. When do you think is a good time?” He sighed in relief. She actually wanted to go.

“Anytime. I’m in St. Paul right now, but I’m free any time after Monday.”

“How about Tuesday then?”

“Perfect.”

“Oh, this is great Grail.” She paused. “It is so good to hear from you. You know, a day hasn’t one by without me thinking of you.”

“Same here,” laughed Grail. “I really have missed you.”

Throughout the meeting in St. Paul, Grail was vaguely interested. It seemed like Tuesday was a veil of rain seen in the distance. He wanted the rain to come his way, then and there. Finally the day came, like Christmas morning, and Grail set off toward his home village, every inch of him quivering in excitement. The hours of driving was a dream, but when he saw the dark river, the tall, thin houses, and the rolling hills, he instantly came to his senses. He hadn’t seen the place in eight years, since he had left for college in Chicago. He was surprised at how little the place had changed.

He parked his car next to the river, where he could see his house still standing next to Joy’s. The sight made his heart jump. He got out to be met with a sharp wind that swept freely over the river and through the town beyond. He waited, somehow knowing that Joy would park here as well.

After thirty minutes or so, he saw a silver car appear down the avenue, and inside it, he saw Joy, a beautiful young woman, still in her smiling, healthy self. She parked her car next to Grail’s. Grail smiled at her through the window, and he remembered their days as children, when they used to make faces at each other through their bedroom windows. Once she got out of the car, she stood in front of Grail, a grin tugging at her mouth. She couldn’t help it. With a laugh she fell into Grail’s embrace.

“I can’t believe it’s been this long,” she said.

The smile that she had given Grail stayed engraved in his face. “I remember we said someday the forest would be on its way to growing up.” He turned his eyes toward the forest. “I guess now’s that time.”

The bare field that they had left so long ago was now scattered with slender white ash trees, like young fingers reaching toward an azure sky. Grail could smell their breath through the chilling leaves that were suspended above them. The branches created a ragged ceiling and appeared as silhouettes against a blue canvas. Green grass made a carpet for their feet, and small paths for deer wound intricately through the cold thicket. In the center, they saw the single pine tree. It was noticeable not just for its color, which was a deep brown, but also because it rose taller and stood thicker than any of the other trees. Its green needles waved at them as tongues of wind fled through the forest.

Silence doused the two. They were engrossed in the beauty of the forest, the silence of its essence, and the peace that it administered. They stood under the pine tree, and softly Joy laughed.

“All that hard work for this,” she whispered. “It couldn’t have been more worth it.”

“Um, Joy, I have something for you…..to read to you anyways.” Grail reached in his coat pocket, fingered for something, then pulled out a small slip of paper with writing on it.

“It’s a poem,” he said. “You know I write nowadays.” Joy smiled.

“Read it,” she said. Grail cleared his voice and began:

Time, like an interminable river

Carries with it love

At first it is young

But as the rapids and swift currents prevail

Love grows, like a forest.

It permeates the soul, drives out hate

It fills us with peace, with hope

It grows, from a seed, into a tree.

 Grail held out a ring, white and shining, and kneeled before Joy with a smile trembling at his mouth. “Like our forest that bloomed over the years,” he said, “my love for you has doubled. Joy, will you marry me?”

Tears appeared in Joy’s eyes. “Yes,” she said. “I will.”

“There’s a last part of my poem,” said Grail, rising. “But actually, it isn’t even mine.”

Poems are made by fools like me

But only God can make a tree.

THE END