The Little Ones and the Oak
“Alright, settle down - after all it was you three who asked for a story, now you need to sit still long enough to hear it,” I said. “Never mind that your parents will be home soon and won’t take too kindly to me allowing you to stay up so late, now quit your fidgeting.”
Little Ones never did have the ability to sit still, but how can you tell a story when one of them is tugging on the other’s shirt and the third is using his foot to knock the first off his pine cone? “I’m sitting still, Grandpa, look.” Bless his heart, Ronald did try hard to act right, but he hadn’t quite got the hang of it yet - lying diagonally across his chair with his legs dangling over the arm rest, gently bumping the side of Jasmine’s chair so if she screamed, he could gasp. (And if pressed say, ’What did I do?’) But she didn’t budge, she was too busy pulling on Marcel’s shirt. “He’s got my doll!” she cried out.
Ah, yes - do hold tight for a moment, I’ll be right back...
“Here you go, Jelly-Bean. Marcel was just teasing you.” What a kick boys get out of teasing their sisters. He’ll learn his lesson one day soon, I’m sure. They shared a mean stare but had all in all become satisfied with their bothering each other. She snuggled up in her chair and he laid himself upside down and I was able to begin. Now - where shall we start?
“On beautiful summer days, not unlike today, when the light is long and earth is warm, the Little Ones like to spend the morning outside running through the grass, chasing grasshoppers, and taking a dip in the stream. After the Thoughtful Ones use up all their energy, they might take a rest under the shade of an oak tree. The Adventurous Ones might climb its trunk and explore its sturdy limbs. But mostly they never wander off too far. Now, this story about Timov. He lived not around trees, nor with the trees, but in the trees - like very few of us these days. Timov was a smart boy of about 10 people-years. His skin was pale and bare, and his hair was a fine and a sort of dark brown. He couldn’t hide in the grass like Bebchuck, nor was he able to camouflage along a tree like Galina, but he was...”
I had gone as far as this when Jassy looked up and said, “He’s like us isn’t he, Grandpa?” “Oh no, not at all. No one’s quite like you Jelly-Bean.”
“Grandpa!” she said with a grin. “Oh, I do hope he meets a Princess, and they fall in love! I do, I really do.” Her doll took a tremendous squeeze. The boys looked at each other and stuck their tongues out, their faces puckered up like they had just taken a bite of a lemon, yellow part and all.
“I might fall asleep if he doesn’t chase a dragon.”
“Or if he doesn’t have super strength.”
I often wonder why they aren’t telling me the story. “Everything in time Little Ones, we’ll get there soon enough, I believe - just keep listening.”
“Okay...” said Jessy, “but is he in a castle??”
This certainly won’t stop, so let’s carry on.
Timov lived in a tree, but right now, he wasn’t home. Normally he was out searching for ripe berries, his family nearby in the stream washing clothes and discussing Very Important Matters. How he absolutely loved living in Kinsley Meadow. There was everything around him - rolling hills and fresh fields covered in beautiful purple and yellow flowers as far as the eye could see. Off in the distance you could see the snow striped mountains. The streams ran wiggles around the land, but they never moved much faster than a gentle trickle as they glided off and along the sturdy, pale brown rocks that were clear as day beneath the shimmering water.
He was a boy that could keep to himself most of the day - melding his imagination with the magical scenery. It wasn’t unusual for him to set out to hunt bears, or scurry into a hollowed-out tree trunk to hide from the pirates that had landed on the far-away shores. But one thing was certain, at some point his mother would call and he’d need to run home.
No matter where he wandered off to, it wasn’t hard for him to find home. He lived in the only tree in the entire meadow - an old Angel Oak Tree, big and brutish. Angel Oaks have trunks that are thick as an ogre. And their branches, it has been told, are the wood from which angry giants make their clubs and swords. They’re so heavy, in fact, that the branches grow to the ground on account of their weight. It’s the perfect home for the Little Ones. For most of the day, it is dark and enchanted - keeping unwanted visitors away. But at certain times, like dusk and dawn and special occasions, the tree comes alive. When the sun’s golden rays caress the leaves of its canopy, a magical, greenish-yellow glow warms the inside of its encampment, ushering in the start and end of each new day.
The Oak isn’t just Timov’s home, of course. It’s much too big for one family. It is the home for all the Little Ones. If you squint and look close enough, you’ll see tiny door after tiny door carved into its bark. That’s where all his friends live. At least, let’s call them that. He doesn’t spend enough time with them to know much more than their names and generalities. When he’s in the mood for a game of kick ball or ball toss, he’ll go door-to-door or meander around the canopy floor and see if they want to play. He’s pretty good and they’re good enough and it all works out in the end.
But today he’s not with his friends, either. Today he’s all alone, beyond the eyes of anyone at home, wiping the yellow of a dandelion petal onto the stone beneath him. His mom is having a baby; he’s going to have a sister.
(“Oh, a sister! How great!” said Jassy.
“Speak for yourself,” mumbled Ron.
“I wish I had a sister!”
“Brothers are better,” said Marcel pretending to give Ronald a high-five from his chair.)
“What’s the point of having a baby now, anyway?” Timov murmured to the wind.
The life of an only-child, especially a sensitive only-child like him, is a dream come true. Parents trust you to roam about whenever you want, yet they’re always there to keep you safe, they’re always thinking of new, fun things for you to do together, and the presents – boy do they know how to pick the best presents for you. A sibling, especially a sister, would change everything.
Instead of chasing monsters or eating berries straight from the bush, Timov wandered about aimlessly, looking at his feet, wondering about his new, awful life. He had lost all sense of time or location – the Oak was now a mere spec. His sad shadow stretched well out ahead of him.
He took a deep sigh. “I guess I better head back now,” he thought, realizing his mother had probably been calling for him. Just as he turned to head back, his leg gave a wobble, and he stumbled forward – catching his balance with a quick hop. With both feet now firmly on the ground, hands out to his sides, he froze. “Was that me? Or did the ground just move?” He turned back around to test his leg; it was fine. His eyes ran along the ground around him to see if it was shaking; it was not. Then, in the dim light of the setting sun, he noticed a strange dip in the earth. It was about three feet wide and shaped perfectly like a bowl.
(“Ooooh,” whispered the boys.
“Just go home, Timov. Please don’t stay,” whispered Jessy.
“A boy of his age can’t help himself,” said I.)
Timov shuffled slowly toward it and stopped about a foot away. He reached out with his right leg and gently tapped the sunken earth with his toe. Nothing. He bent down and tapped a bit harder. Then he tapped three times, harder still. Then he put some of his weight into his right leg and pressed. Lucky for him it seemed sturdy enough. But sturdy was embarrassing. Now, he was sad and confused – and upset.
“Stupid sister. Why can’t things just stay the way they are?” he voiced angrily for the land to hear. And with a swift jerk of his knee, he stomped the ground beneath him. Suddenly, the earth gave way and his leg fell through the grass, the dirt, and down into the empty below it. He crashed to the ground and, without a thought, pulled his leg out and rolled away swiftly.
He rolled far enough to feel safe and stopped on his back, staring at the changing sky - heart racing and breathing heavy. He remained there for some time before finally creeping, hands and knees, back to what was no longer a bowl in the ground, but a hole in the ground. It was too dark to see down the opening, so he felt around for a rock of sufficient size and dropped it into the pit of darkness. The meadow was still around him. Timov sat, ears wide open and patient, as he waited to hear the rock strike bottom. But you can only wait so long hearing nothing before you realize it is deeper and more unpleasant than you would like. So, he crawled away and got to his feet. After one, final look, he ran back home with a limp and a secret.
“I think that’s about all for tonight Little Ones,” I said.
“But Grandpa!” came a collective cry.
“We have plenty of time together. We’ll pick back up tomorrow night – maybe you can settle down a bit earlier. What do you think?”
“Sure Grandpa,” yawned Ronald.
And I took them upstairs and tucked them in bed – each asleep before their head hit the pillow.
