The Great Tree and the Reasonable People

The Great Tree and the Reasonable People

There was a great tree, at least 16 yards around its base that stood on the great lawn in the center of a village.  The village itself was not great, but above average and its only greatness was derived from this tree and its expansive lawn.  The towering silver maple could be seen from the ocean a few miles away and it predated any recorded history of the region.  Even the oldest  local man whose hundredth birthday was celebrated almost a decade before could only mumble out that not only had the tree been the same size since he was five years old, it seemed to become even younger and healthier as he had aged.

                Around the base of the tree were arranged in a circle wrought iron benches level with the ground and quite comfortable and the villagers of all walks of life would spend time beneath the great tree.  They were a reasonable people and would mildly socialize or remain meditative and silent.  They would observe the seasons and remark on their predictabilities or their vicissitudes.  Beneath the great boughs was a place that all knew as the very definition of comfort in that they felt safe, complacent, yet mildly alert to and interested in the things around them. 

                About four feet from the ground on the trunk was a public tap.  The tap along with the tree had been there before any person had started to record history whether in print or painting or oral tales.  It was a brass spout the size of an average bathroom spout pounded or screwed deep into the trunk.   Its handle was a simple lever, almost spoon like, and would accommodate with most comfort the right handed turn.  The even smoothness of its turn was matched only by the smoothness of worn metal which no matter the direction of the sun or wind was always the exact same temperature of the air.

                If one were to turn the tap and wait for almost a full two minutes, first a few drips, then a trickle of the clearest liquid would issue from the spout.  The trickle would seem to get stronger for a moment and then go back to a light trickle after its peak. Even though the liquid would seem to be the purest of waters, it came from a tree, so it was a sap.  But this sap was not a sugary viscous solution, nor was it a coniferous resin.  All who sipped it remarked that in essence it was completely tasteless, yet one of the most inspiring tastes they had ever experienced.  In fact, what they were sipping was the purest form of water possible with the exception of a trace amount of a dynamic and mysterious sugar.  This chemical compound defied classification and left many a university researcher pacing dangerously through the laboratory.  What was said, though, was that when ingested the compound increased one’s wisdom if only just a little.

Generations of villagers throughout  three or perhaps even  four centuries would spend an evening, an afternoon off from work, a lunch hour, or a summer morning before the heat became insufferable around the great tree lightly sipping from clear glasses.  Rarely would large gatherings occur because the villagers were a reasonable people and they understood the sanctity of that little rotunda beneath the great boughs.  Visitors, as well, recognized the inherent importance of the location and refrained from the gratuitous self-photographs at the tap which they had traveled so far to take.  Many arrived with the intention of imbibing the “cleanest of nectars” but simply stood back and marveled at the immensity of the tree above its great lawn flanked by the village municipal offices, Main Street, and the county swimming pool.  There was no local hierarchy, no threatening gestures or looks from the villagers to intimidate tourists, it was simply that upon arrival the visitors did not want to disrupt the peace at the base of the great tree.

Children did not climb the tree as the lowest boughs were a good 25 feet from the ground.  They also knew better than to try.  Even the most self-indulgent thrill seekers who travelled from far away, and during the cover of night attempted to cling to the thick strips of bark with sinuous muscles, grip shoes and chalked hands would recognize their attempts to mount the summit of this ancient entity as profane, turn themselves away at the top of the regular tree line and return to their cars and leave the village as quietly as they entered.

During one portentous spring afternoon, a particularly and declaratively wise and respected woman remarked on the slow properties of the tap.  She was not concerned about the time it took to fill the small glasses, though.  She was a woman of foresight and design, being chief civil engineer of the county.  She proposed with conviction while the idea was still forming itself that since the tap trickles so slowly, why not simply keep it open and let the sap dribble continuously?  Then the issue of waiting politely for five minutes for each person to get his portion would no longer be an issue.  With a tree of this immense size we could certainly be sure not to drain it with a simple continuous trickle and any loss of water the tree may sustain it would gather back straight through its roots.  And one can only imagine the fertilization properties of that mysterious sugar which has made us wiser and confounded those who have tried to categorize it.

As this plan was taking shape, many rubbed their chins thoughtfully, some nodded sagely, a few stared at the grass, and one man, a grade school teacher bit his nails.  Her presentation was met with positive reception.  A postman wondered about the ground and potential issues of drainage and eventually it was decided the best course of action would be to remove the grass and the circle of benches temporarily and line the periphery with gravel.  Over the gravel they would bring in and layer those beautifully white and smooth round stones from the local beach.  They would also extend the circle into a kidney shape down the slight slope past the eastern benches and onto the great lawn to ornament the western view and deal with any remaining drainage issues.

When the work was completed, the wrought iron benches were replaced with bronze benches designed by a local sculptor and they somehow captured the satisfying comfort of turning the tap handle.  He also fashioned a beautiful bronze drip plate for below the tap that split the slow trickle into three directions for maximum drainage. 

That year had been a most remarkable one, one that would become defining for the village.  It was a year of both beauty and wisdom which is a rare convergence for any people.  That spring saw the ground become richer than ever before.  Robins pulled densely fortified worms from the grass surrounding the white stones of the landscaping surrounding the great tree.  The birds themselves were more vibrant that year, even the yellow warblers and the myrtle warblers.  The crows were iridescent, and when spotted, the evening foxes were a glorious red with full bushy tails.  That summer lavender and blue flowers carpeted the lower portion of the white rocks.  The grass of the great lawn had a deeper and richer hue.  And in the evenings that summer, the local harpist played to the sunset in reds and blues.

Many wise statements were made that year beneath the boughs with goblet in hand.  In April, the nail biting teacher declared that the structures of life are less mechanical than fluid.  In June, the owner of the carpet mill declared that if the rich did not have wealth than people would not have the opportunity to excel in labor and in life.  The chief civil engineer of the county proclaimed that successful human progress depends on balance, ingenuity and perseverance.  There were many other moments of wisdom until the trickle stopped.

For a few days many discussed its meaning and a few days later the discussion stopped.  After a few weeks the discussion started again when people started to notice that the leaves of the great maple seemed to become paler and more brittle.  They became alarmed when the points of those leaves began to brown and curl upward like little skeleton fingers.  And the last wise thing that anyone said beneath those boughs was when the community groundskeeper looked up at the massive tree and said, “Well, what’re we gonna do if it dies and them big branches up there start to rot and fall down.  That’d be dangerous.”  When he said that, everyone knew that the original plan proposed to them, the one they agreed to even though each one knew in his heart was wrong, was a really stupid idea.