READING BETWEEN THE LINES
by Kris Adams Wendt
August 24, 2003
India’s Nobel laureate poet Rabindranth Tagore wrote, "Trees are the earth's endless effort to speak to the listening heaven."
If we choose to listen, they will also speak to us.
I am a life long tree hugger. In my vocabulary, the term "family tree" is more than just another way to refer to genealogy. I’ve come to think of the trees at our Vilas County cottage as extended family. Considering how many of them grew up knowing my father, grandfather and great-grandfather during the 103 years we have held stewardship over the land, that doesn’t seem like a radical concept.
The spirits of my father and grandfather live on in a grove of pine trees they planted before I was born. The trees stand in straight rows as though forming an honor guard, their feathery tops reaching toward heaven in unison against the backdrop of a sky the color of forget-me-nots. Sunlight dances in ever-changing patterns on a forest floor thickly carpeted with needles. Only birdsong and the occasional drumming of a grouse’s wings break the silence. It is a place where I can literally hear myself think.
Our tall green friends were greeted when we children arrived on the shores of North Twin Lake in June. I always imagined they were as glad to see us as we were happy to be back among them. While I suspect "go hug the trees goodbye" started out as a way to keep my sister and me busy while our parents were checking the final items off their Labor Day weekend departure lists, it nonetheless became a ritual.
Each tree on our property has a recognized individual identity in my eyes, drawn in part from the games and stories that were once acted out beneath its branches. My favorite old hemlock next to the lake was the scene of endless adventures featuring Davy Crockett, Roy Rogers and Francis Marion the Swamp Fox. A herd of plastic horses once roamed the natural corrals formed by its roots and its miniature cones were gathered to feed a migrant family of toy trolls.
On warm summer evenings I would rest my elbows on the sill of my bedroom window and peer out into the night, identifying the hemlock’s dark trunk as a familiar reference point in the moonlight. It was also an excellent tree to lean up against while reading -- something I did for more than forty years.
When grandfather hemlock lost most of its upper branches during an early November storm in 1998, I cried. Then I hugged it, as I had not done for many years, out of a sense we should comfort each other. I watched and worried as the gnarled giant struggled to survive with its bark loosening on one side and an alarming number of remaining branches growing bare of needles.
Almost two years passed before mother called to say my old friend would be cut down when the tree removal guy came to clean up other damage following a windstorm. I moped and mourned for the rest of the evening and well into the next day, unsuccessfully trying to talk myself out of being so silly. Even though my brain understood why this had to happen, my heart still ached.
A small piece of wood from grandfather hemlock’s trunk now sits on my computer table. Sometimes it helps to hold it in my hand whenever I need a little extra strength.
All of which explains why I found it easy to identify with a remarkable little book called "Heartwood" by Mercer author Mary E. Burns. Mary and her husband, nature writer John Bates, live with their family in her grandparents’ home built in 1907. The lore of the ancient forests has long been an inspiration to Mary as a professional weaver, artist and writer.
"Heartwood" is Mary Burns’ first effort to translate her love of natural history into a book for readers of all ages. It tells the story of a newly turned twelve-year-old girl named Kelly whose ability to communicate with the tree spirits calls her to undertake a great quest. Accompanied by her grandfather, she embarks on a magical adventure across the upper Midwest and into the past to resurrect the heartwood of the trees she loves.
The slim volume is perfect for inter-generational sharing as a read aloud. Young readers will be drawn into the fantasy and left wanting to know more about the history and geography of the Great Lakes area. While reading about Kelly’s journey, I found myself wishing for a visual "they are here" reference. Simple maps marking the characters’ progress through time and place, with orientation to modern landmarks would have been helpful. (But that’s why there are libraries!)
The pen and ink drawings that illuminate "Heartwood" are the work of Lakeland artist Peggy Grinvalsky. Her delightful rendering of faces enfolded within the trunks of those trees Kelly recognizes as special friends are eerily close to my own childhood imaginings.
The author has pasted a small envelope of white pine seeds to the back cover as an added bonus for those purchasing "Heartwood." A "recipe" for planting and nurturing the seedlings is included in the final pages along with resource lists.
"The soul of every tree is alive in its dark center," Kelly’s grandmother tells her. Believe it!
