Dendrographia (den-dro-graf’-ia): Creating an illusion of reality through vivid description of a tree.
I was a loner as a kid, and my best friends were my little plastic cowboys and Army men. They were about one inch tall and were molded in different poses—cowboys spinning lariats and aiming .45s, and Army men marching, or aiming their rifles.
I used to play “little men” at the base of the oak tree during the summer when I was on school vacation. The oak tree towered above me. Even though it wasn’t autumn, every once in awhile an acorn would fall—sometimes hitting me on the head as I played. I would pick the acorns up and hold them up and look at them—smooth shiny green skin with a brown cap—round, with a surface almost like sandpaper. If I tossed an acorn it would bounce along the sidewalk, flip flopping in different directions.
The sidewalk had cracked around the base of the tree where its roots had stretched out, some over six inches wide. They formed tunnels between them, turning into little caves where they grew from the tree. This summer, carpenter ants had taken up residence in the tree. There was sawdust accumutating at the mouths of the cave openings.
For the heck of it, I put my favorite cowboy Joe at a cave’s opening. Joe said, “Git outta here you varmints or I’ll call in the soldiers and have you run outta here!” I heard a tiny female voice say, “Oh thank-you noble cowboy! But, it is hopeless. Once they take over, it’s all over. I will need to find a new home. But where?” I stuck my face in front of the opening. The tree fairy inside made Barbie look like a frump. The tree fairy saw me and asked me who I was. I said, “My name is Johnny. I can help you find a new home. There are woods at the bottom of my street where there are two or three really big oak trees. Come with me and you’ll be saved.” She said, “Yes. I will stay with you tonight and we can find me a new home tomorrow.” I agreed. She came out of the tree and climbed into my shirt pocket. We sneaked into my house, past my mom and up to my room.
“This where I sleep. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” After dinner and after watching the “Honeymooners” with my mom, dad and sister, I went up to my room. The little tree fairy was already asleep on my pillow. I put her and the pillow on the floor and climbed into bed. In the morning, we were awakened by the sound of chainsaws. They were cutting down the oak tree! The tree fairy started crying. She was tiny, but her crying was deafening. The chainsaws stopped. She said she had to say goodbye to her beloved tree, and then we’d be on our way. I put her in my shirt pocket and we headed downstairs. When we got to the tree, the workers were distracted, arguing about why their chainsaws had quit.
The tree fairy said to the oak tree: “You were my home for 112 years. You fed me. You kept me warm and dry. I tended you as best as I could, but there comes a time when a tree must die. You are dying. Goodbye my beloved oak tree.” She asked me to gather a handful of acorns for her to store and have to eat when she got to her new home. As I turned and we started for the woods again, the chainsaws started up and the workers went back to cutting down the tree.
We found a beautiful new home for her—a giant oak with a squirrel living in a nest in its branches. I put the acorns on the ground and lifted the tree fairy out of my pocket. She said “Hold my face to your forehead.” I did, and she gave me a kiss. I put her down and she scurried into an opening at the bottom of the tree.
I went back early the next morning. She and the acorns were gone.
When I went to school that day, I noticed there was a new girl in my class. She wore a necklace made of acorns. She looked at me like she knew me. Could it be?
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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