[TWWM] Sail's Origin Story

Dawn broke gloriously over the leafy canopy, a reaching sprawling tangle of vibrant greens. Sunlight shimmered against each leaf, gold flecks of light sparkling in every direction. Wind shuddered, every gust carried droplets of dew, glinting brightly, a terrific display of beauty.

Every morning was a painting, every evening a song. Blossoms in the spring and apples in the fall, a cycle of growth and life. The man grew bent, and the boy grew tall. Sprawling rows of apple trees against the hill, their legacy of love. In the center, at the very top of that hill stood the largest tree. The boy’s mother never let him forget the worms, the sweet songs he’d sung as a child, the many nights of stargazing through branches. The tree had absorbed everything, including the man and his family’s love, and with it had grown massive, a tribute to their dream.

Blossoms each spring brought smiles, and the harvest each autumn brought so much happiness, the man bent over and picked up another bushel of apples, for the millionth time. His tall frame curling into an arch, hefting the weight with arms of steel. He smiled, but every year his back straightened up a bit less. His trek to the top of the hill slowed, he trudged towards the tree tonight, the glow of the cottage behind him. He sat down heavily against the tree and sighed.

“Our branches are tired aren’t they old friend?” The man’s voice was gravely and quiet. He placed a large calloused hand against the trunk of the tree, petting it gently. The tree shuddered silently, feeling just how tired the man was tonight.
“We’ve built something beautiful here. The Lord knows I’ve done all I can to make a future…” he paused and coughed, sighing again. He was quiet for a moment.
He gazed upwards, his voice even quieter than before. “My son, he… he’s a good man, he knows I’m proud of him.”
Moonlight filtered softly down through the tree’s leaves, spots of milky white light danced slowly across the man’s pantlegs, drifting across years of stains and patches. He touched a patch with one finger, carefully tracing the shape. “She could fix anything you know?” barely audible amidst the deafening silence that had fallen on the orchard. The man’s weight pressed comfortably against the trunk. The tree felt love pouring out of the man, and … so much peace.

The man did not speak again, and a short time later, the boy who was now a man came to find him there. Peace did not emanate from the boy though, only grief. The tree felt the man’s weight be lifted away from his trunk, unmoving. Tears streamed down the boy’s face, etching trails in the dust from the day. A cry escaped his lips, a sound that would haunt the tree for years. The boy’s tears fell against his roots, droplets of pain and a heavy sadness that he’d never felt. Grief gripped him, an ache that he felt with the boy. He wanted more than anything to be able to show the boy the peace that the man had felt. The boy climbed to his feet, lifting his father gently, clutching him against his chest as he began the journey towards the cottage.

Silence fell over the orchard for many days after that, mourning the father who had brought life to the hill. Rain fell heavily on the day the people came, dressed in black, to bury the man beneath the tree. The boy and other men dug carefully through the wet soil. A carefully constructed cavern throne of roots. The woman cried softly and someone sang a song. The tree stood silently, absorbing everything. Pain and grief saturated the air, but stronger yet was the love. A beautiful wooden box was lowered, and the dirt replaced.

Rain fell. Tears fell. Night fell.

The boy’s arms wrapped lovingly around his mother as her heart crumbled, leading her slowly down the hill.

Silence washed over the orchard again, and the tree could feel the box against his roots. Nervous excitement erupted throughout the tree as he wrapped his roots around the box, a loving and protecting embrace.

--

The orchard felt quieter for many years, it wasn’t the same without the man’s loud boisterous laugh and song. The young man and the woman seemed sad for a long while, but time seemed to heal them. The young man brought a young woman to the orchard one day, and her joy sent new ripples through everything. The woman smiled again.

--

Years past, the young man and the young woman were wed beneath the tree’s apple blossoms. The man had written a poem about his father and the orchard. The woman cried, but her tears did not have the sting of grief, but overflowing joy.

--

New life sprung up in the form of children, the man and the woman sat beneath the tree and sung to the babies, and the old woman would read to them there. Time past quickly and they crawled, then ran throughout the orchard, as the boy had done when he was young. The tree drifted into a constant state of loving admiration of the family.

--

One autumn, no one came to pick the apples though, and the tree knew another change was coming. The wind chilled him deeply this winter, the cabin below the hill was dark, and no smoke curled from its chimney. Snow lay untouched for miles, a dense carpet of white. Deer ventured out to eat the fallen apples beneath the snow, and rabbits burrowed under to find the grass. He felt soft warm paws against his roots and was glad for the company.

--

The next spring the young man came, his shoulders hung low though, and a man followed him everywhere. Up the hill they trudged, the visitor put his hands on his hips and beamed.
“The view up here is amazing! The trees still produce apples?”
The boy put his hand against the tree sadly. “Yes, they’re the best apple trees in the state. I wouldn’t be selling you know, if not for my mother’s health.”
The visitor stuck his hands in his pocket and gazed up at the branches.
“Yes yes, i know. I’ve gotta make money though too, so if the trees are healthy I think we can make a deal.”
The tree felt the young man wince. “Yeah, lets head down to the house and we can write it up, Its just hard, this place was my whole childhood.”
The visitor frowned, “Yeah, life throws you some curveballs sometimes, just gotta make the best of it I suppose.”
The young man nodded solemnly and turned towards the cottage. He and the man trudged back down the hill and disappeared inside. Afterwards they left, and it was quiet again.

--

The visitor came back every once in a while, but the tree could tell he didn’t know what he was doing. No one trimmed the weeds from his base anymore, and no one carefully pruned back his weaker and damaged branches. When the visitor did pick apples, it was only a few, leaving the rest to fall and rot. One time the visitor came with a new visitor, and they also spoke of deals. The tree felt tired, he missed the vibrant excitement and love that the man beneath his roots once felt.

--

No one visited the orchard for many years, and one day, some strange men came with trucks and tools. He spoke of deals and art, of papers and burls. He walked through the orchard and shook branches, shouting orders to the others. The tree watched in horror as they carved into the trees with loud machines. One after another, they marked them with paint and cut them down. When they got to the tree on the hill, they stood back for a moment, taking in the beauty of the towering old tree. He was not safe from their tools either, and as it roared to life again, the tree pulled his spirit as deep within his roots as he could. Deep down in the earth, he curled himself as far away from the screaming engines as he could, and waited.

--

After another day, the men left. Their trucks and machines squealing and growling out of the orchard, leaving deep ruts in the earth with their tires. Branches and boughs of all sizes were strapped to them, weighing them down, the weight of decades of life.

--

The tree relaxed a bit, uncoiling from his roots and reaching upwards cautiously. He couldn’t reach any higher than the grass now, his great strong trunk had been taken, along with his reaching canopy. The grass around him seemed stark and bright, unshadowed now after years beneath his protective reach. Many of the trees were the same, and crumpled leaves and branches had been heaped around in messy piles. The grief that the boy’s tears had carried now resonated within the stump. His core quaked sorrowfully, as close to weeping as a stump may come. The tree was glad for winter for the first time, as the thick blanket of snow covered all the raw cuts, the heaps of branches. Pure white flakes softening all the broken edges.

--

The grief faded though, just as it had for the old woman and the young man. Ebbing away over time, as new growth sprouted throughout the orchard, and the trees that had been left standing continued to grow the most beautiful apples. Moss and insects clamored over him, a warm tickle of life trying to take root wherever it could.

--

One spring, another visitor came. This man was different from the last however. Built like a bear and probably sixty, He bounded up the hill with a spring in his step, his wide body trembling with excitement.
“This is perfect! Oh gosh I can’t wait to show Beth this place!”
The stump perked up, hearing the same excitement and hope in this man’s voice as the father had had.
“The cottage down there comes with the land right?”
The suited man had stopped half way up the hill, uninterested in the climb. “Oh yes, its all one thing. Used to be owned by some old German immigrant, planted the orchard and everything over a hundred years ago.”
The man crouched down and gently poked the moss atop the stump, thinking.
“Its not in that family any more?”
“No, his son used to own it, I heard they had to move south for the old woman’s health. A shame really.”
The man stood, a frown wrinkling his forehead. “Yeah. Definitely, Probably wouldn’t be so many trees cut.” He arched an eyebrow at the man in the suit. Suit cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Its just business, I don’t know who cut the trees.”  
The man glowered for a moment, his orange eyebrows crumpling together like tangle of briars. He chuckled suddenly, “No worries then! Lets head down and check out that cabin! I can’t wait to get everything up and running!”
“Yes of course.” The suit turned towards the house, the larger man following, waving his arms excitedly. “What do you think of ‘Old Orchard Tavern’?” Got a nice ring to it?”

The stump felt a calm descend over his old bark, settling into his roots.