The Whispering of Trees
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Prologue “Hush-a-bye sweet baby, in your cradle on top of the tree, wind rocking you so gently to sleep. Hush-a-bye sweet Aggie, safe in your bough, and when it breaks your tree won’t let you fall.”
Sylvia had retooled the words to the lullaby to suit her own purposes and sang them to her beautiful baby girl, Agnesija, every night.
Now sweet sixteen, Aggie sang them to herself as she stood on a small rise of barren, windswept tundra overlooking the city in which she’d been born and raised. Aggie loved the stark, untamed coastline of her tiny city. She loved the months-long sunsets of winter and twenty-four hours of daylight during the short summers in the land of the midnight sun. She had spent the entirety of her sixteen years in Barrow Alaskaand couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
The only thing she missed was trees. There were no trees. No conifers, no deciduous, no hunter green needles, no supple leaves vibrant green in summer and bright gold in the fall. With the exception of the occasional arctic willow - which can grow to the impressive height of seven inches – until her freshman year of high school when she traveled to Valdez for the first time with the pep club, she’d experienced trees only in pictures and movies. She had seen tons of pictures and imagined the sound and smell of them for as long as she could remember. She’d read every book on dendrology (the study of trees and shrubs) she could find in their small school library, had gone online and pulled up every tree picture and article available on the world wide web. Aggie had even gone on YouTube and tried, without much success, to find movies about trees.
She ached for the link she’d read about, the one between people and trees. Tree whispering is the act of establishing that connection, one in which trees can comfort and heal you and you can do the same for them. Years ago she had attempted tree whispering with a small arctic willow she’d found a mile or so from town, Aggie had kept her hands on its tiny, twisted trunk for what seemed like hours, but nothing happened. No whispering, no healing, no connection, nothing except cold, stiff fingers. It was a beautiful tree and she couldn’t get it out of her mind so later she went back and dug up the tiny, gnarled willow. She hauled it home and planted it in a pot. It thrived in front of her bedroom window and had grown to a height of three feet and two inches. It was a lovely tree, reminding her of a large bonsai. It shed many of its leaves in the winter which made a pretty large mess but her dad had helped her hang a light for it so it would continue to grow even in the darkness of the arctic winters.
She had, with the help of her friends Jane and Ajax, named her tree Willy. They had laughed uproariously at the time, especially Ajaxwho went on and on about touching her Willy. The little tree took on a personality of its own and whenever anybody, even her parents, entered her room they’d say hello to the little willow, run their hands along the smooth bark and marvel at the shiny green leaves. She laid hands on it every day hoping for a connection. At first it was just for kicks, but in the last few months she’d become desperate for a message from her tree. Willy never made a peep but Aggie never gave up.
She scraped windblown hair from her eyes and pleaded with the sky. “God help me,” she whispered, rubbing her swollen belly. She waited a few minutes for a sign, any sign. “Somebody please help me.”
Hopeless, she trudged back to her empty house. Her dad was passed out on the couch as usual. Her mom was at the grocery store and then was having lunch with a friend from her book club. They’d both be out for hours. Perfect.
Aggie kicked off her shoes and hung her coat on a hook in the entryway. Her chubby brown tortoiseshell cat, Coco Chanel, greeted her with a leg rub and a loud “Yow.” She bent to scratch Coco’s back.
“Hey kitty,” she said, distracted. She had something to do and was determined to get on with it before she changed her mind. She hurried through the silent house to her bedroom, Coco trailing in her wake, leaving the door open she crossed to the gnarled tree silhouetted in her window. She knelt in front of Willy and placed her hands on the smooth trunk. Bowing her head in supplication, she prayed, “Please talk to me. I can’t do this anymore. Please help me.” The tree and the room were silent except for the purring of Coco sitting next to her.
She waited and waited for something, anything. Not a peep. Sighing, she struggled to her tingling feet and, supporting the bottom of her heavy belly, turned and went across the hall to the bathroom to empty her bladder, washing her hands and face afterward. She gazed at her reflection in the mirror over the sink. Haunted, tear stained eyes, sunken cheeks, lank hair. What happened to my beautiful hair, she wondered, running cold fingers through the black strands hanging over her collarbone?
She returned to her room, Coco padding after on silent paws, and pulled open the small top drawer of her dresser. She ran her fingers over the pretty scarves, hats, and gloves within, many of them handmade and given to her as gifts over the years. She pulled out the soft silken one her uncle had given to her a few years ago for her birthday. Fitting, she thought.
She looked around her room and tears began to slide down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, God,” she said, “I know this is a sin, but I just can’t take it anymore. I can’t – I’m so scared but I just can’t live like this anymore. I’m sorry Coco. I love you but I have to do this.” she sobbed, rubbing the cat behind her ears. Coco stared up at her with round, yellow eyes. She blinked twice and a sigh breathed through Aggie’s brain, “No,” it whispered. She caught her breath, “What?” She stared at Coco who sat and stared back as cats will do. She shook her head. “I think I’ve gone crazy Coco.” She started to cry, “I’m going to miss you so much.” She wiped her nose on the scarf. “Suck it up, Aggie and just do this.” She marched to the closet and yanked open the door, pulling some clothes out and tossing them on her bed. The rest she pushed aside. She looped the soft purple and red scarf over the rod. She turned and backed into the closet pulling the scarf around her neck, tying a firm knot up behind her right ear.
“Yow!” said Coco.
Prologue “Hush-a-bye sweet baby, in your cradle on top of the tree, wind rocking you so gently to sleep. Hush-a-bye sweet Aggie, safe in your bough, and when it breaks your tree won’t let you fall.”
Sylvia had retooled the words to the lullaby to suit her own purposes and sang them to her beautiful baby girl, Agnesija, every night.
Now sweet sixteen, Aggie sang them to herself as she stood on a small rise of barren, windswept tundra overlooking the city in which she’d been born and raised. Aggie loved the stark, untamed coastline of her tiny city. She loved the months-long sunsets of winter and twenty-four hours of daylight during the short summers in the land of the midnight sun. She had spent the entirety of her sixteen years in Barrow Alaskaand couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
The only thing she missed was trees. There were no trees. No conifers, no deciduous, no hunter green needles, no supple leaves vibrant green in summer and bright gold in the fall. With the exception of the occasional arctic willow - which can grow to the impressive height of seven inches – until her freshman year of high school when she traveled to Valdez for the first time with the pep club, she’d experienced trees only in pictures and movies. She had seen tons of pictures and imagined the sound and smell of them for as long as she could remember. She’d read every book on dendrology (the study of trees and shrubs) she could find in their small school library, had gone online and pulled up every tree picture and article available on the world wide web. Aggie had even gone on YouTube and tried, without much success, to find movies about trees.
She ached for the link she’d read about, the one between people and trees. Tree whispering is the act of establishing that connection, one in which trees can comfort and heal you and you can do the same for them. Years ago she had attempted tree whispering with a small arctic willow she’d found a mile or so from town, Aggie had kept her hands on its tiny, twisted trunk for what seemed like hours, but nothing happened. No whispering, no healing, no connection, nothing except cold, stiff fingers. It was a beautiful tree and she couldn’t get it out of her mind so later she went back and dug up the tiny, gnarled willow. She hauled it home and planted it in a pot. It thrived in front of her bedroom window and had grown to a height of three feet and two inches. It was a lovely tree, reminding her of a large bonsai. It shed many of its leaves in the winter which made a pretty large mess but her dad had helped her hang a light for it so it would continue to grow even in the darkness of the arctic winters.
She had, with the help of her friends Jane and Ajax, named her tree Willy. They had laughed uproariously at the time, especially Ajaxwho went on and on about touching her Willy. The little tree took on a personality of its own and whenever anybody, even her parents, entered her room they’d say hello to the little willow, run their hands along the smooth bark and marvel at the shiny green leaves. She laid hands on it every day hoping for a connection. At first it was just for kicks, but in the last few months she’d become desperate for a message from her tree. Willy never made a peep but Aggie never gave up.
She scraped windblown hair from her eyes and pleaded with the sky. “God help me,” she whispered, rubbing her swollen belly. She waited a few minutes for a sign, any sign. “Somebody please help me.”
Hopeless, she trudged back to her empty house. Her dad was passed out on the couch as usual. Her mom was at the grocery store and then was having lunch with a friend from her book club. They’d both be out for hours. Perfect.
Aggie kicked off her shoes and hung her coat on a hook in the entryway. Her chubby brown tortoiseshell cat, Coco Chanel, greeted her with a leg rub and a loud “Yow.” She bent to scratch Coco’s back.
“Hey kitty,” she said, distracted. She had something to do and was determined to get on with it before she changed her mind. She hurried through the silent house to her bedroom, Coco trailing in her wake, leaving the door open she crossed to the gnarled tree silhouetted in her window. She knelt in front of Willy and placed her hands on the smooth trunk. Bowing her head in supplication, she prayed, “Please talk to me. I can’t do this anymore. Please help me.” The tree and the room were silent except for the purring of Coco sitting next to her.
She waited and waited for something, anything. Not a peep. Sighing, she struggled to her tingling feet and, supporting the bottom of her heavy belly, turned and went across the hall to the bathroom to empty her bladder, washing her hands and face afterward. She gazed at her reflection in the mirror over the sink. Haunted, tear stained eyes, sunken cheeks, lank hair. What happened to my beautiful hair, she wondered, running cold fingers through the black strands hanging over her collarbone?
She returned to her room, Coco padding after on silent paws, and pulled open the small top drawer of her dresser. She ran her fingers over the pretty scarves, hats, and gloves within, many of them handmade and given to her as gifts over the years. She pulled out the soft silken one her uncle had given to her a few years ago for her birthday. Fitting, she thought.
She looked around her room and tears began to slide down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, God,” she said, “I know this is a sin, but I just can’t take it anymore. I can’t – I’m so scared but I just can’t live like this anymore. I’m sorry Coco. I love you but I have to do this.” she sobbed, rubbing the cat behind her ears. Coco stared up at her with round, yellow eyes. She blinked twice and a sigh breathed through Aggie’s brain, “No,” it whispered. She caught her breath, “What?” She stared at Coco who sat and stared back as cats will do. She shook her head. “I think I’ve gone crazy Coco.” She started to cry, “I’m going to miss you so much.” She wiped her nose on the scarf. “Suck it up, Aggie and just do this.” She marched to the closet and yanked open the door, pulling some clothes out and tossing them on her bed. The rest she pushed aside. She looped the soft purple and red scarf over the rod. She turned and backed into the closet pulling the scarf around her neck, tying a firm knot up behind her right ear.
“Yow!” said Coco.
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