The Singing Tree, by way of the Bouncing Tree

It was a windy and, frankly, unnecessarily nippy day in the forest.

All right then, if we’re completely honest (as we’ve pledged to be), it was the throes of winter, so no surprise there, and actually we thought it was deliciously nippy. However, some of us worry we may sound a bit too treacly at times, and a little grumbling seems to be the needed antidote.

It does feel good to grumble a bit, even if it requires some exaggeration of circumstances to do so. Anyhow, we are of the opinion that Literary License itself allows for the occasional creative use of facts.

(And isn’t that, now that we think about it, an interesting concept in itself: Literary License. Do you suppose it can really be issued, and if so, by whom? What do you suppose it reads like?

LITERARY LICENSE

Effective (date), and (year), the following (name) hereby has the undersigned’s permission to:

1.  Digress from an initial proposition to such an extent that it is no longer recalled, nor is the point of its telling, and if it weren’t written down previously would be utterly lost to posterity;
2.  Use vaguely familiar but somewhat uncommon terms from other sources;
3.  Employ words of sometimes indeterminate applicability and often with excess syllables so as to lend for an air of perspicuity and a certain random ambly-ness;  
4.  Invent words on-the-spot, as needed, or if not a word itself to construct a portmanteau that would serve the purpose; 
5.  Modify representations of facts so as to address considerations beyond those of Accuracy, such as Whimsy, Necessary Discharge of Grumbliness for No Apparent Justifiable Cause, Deep Appreciation for the Paradoxical Nature of It All, and Transmission of Essential Truths that Do Not Adhere, Properly Speaking, to the So-Called Facts;
6.  Intentionally misuse common terms as long as there is forthright acknowledgement of same;
7. Make the boldest of assertions confidently and then contradict oneself with equal confidence later;
8. Offer parenthetical statements within parenthetical statements with only a cursory effort at complying with literary regulations, as per Stunk & Write's Elements of Style;
9.  Confound the personal and poetic for purposes of conveying what one most deeply and ineffably believes about both the Natural and the Unnatural World (Supernatural and Preternatural Worlds are not included in this agreement and require a different license).

Signed,

Oliver Edward Dunbar, LLD

Treacly itself, by the way, turns out to have a fascinating origin, deriving from Middle English, Old French, Latin and Greek, and meaning “antidote against poison or a poisonous bite from a wild animal.” We promise to alert you as to the presence of any Wild Animals in the Northwest Woods, some of which we do have a hint of. In the meantime we think it a bit of an irony that we need an antidote to the antidote treacly in the form of grumbly, when one would think it would be the other way around.

But where were we? Ah.

The Singing Tree, Resumed

It was a windy and nippy-of-some-sort day in the Northwest Woods, and one of us was showing her beloved visitors all her favorite places, stopping, at last, to rest at the Bouncing Tree, which feels quite like what we imagine being jostled as a toddler must have felt like during recitation of “Bambury Cross,” or some other such eminently bounceable rhyme.



The Bouncing Tree feels every bit as nice as a riding horse or a rocking horse or riding a rocking knee, with the further advantage that it is very, very strong and could probably hold an entire entourage (not that we have one). Certainly, though, it held at least two (or at least one and a half), as you can see in the photograph above.

On this particular day, as our treasured visitors sat and bounced, one of us was convinced she suddenly heard the most dismal sound one can hear in the woods: the heartless, cold, relentless rattle of a chainsaw.

No, said her brother, who himself is quite like a Tree in his deep and silent watchfulness, I don’t think it’s a chainsaw.

But one of us was quite certain that it was. Sigh, she thought (or perhaps exhaled). She hoped that if it was a chainsaw it was functioning in the service of an already felled tree, perhaps one blocking the path of some gentle elderly person who would not otherwise be able to continue his happy walk in the Northwest Woods, or some toddly Christopher Robin sort cavorting down the trail, or...

No, wait, said her brother, who had been walking around the vicinity eying the trees suspiciously. That's not a chainsaw making that sound, he announced. That's this TREE!

Ridiculous, she said. Impossible! How could a tree be making a sound like that?

Well, her brother said, come over here and put your ear up against the trunk.

She was, admittedly, cocksure and uncertain in the same breath, but she vacated her position on the Bouncing Tree to lean her ear up against the green, furry trunk. Sure enough every time the “chainsaw” was heard, there was a corresponding ringing coming from inside the tree. Within it she could hear what were positively celestial tones. The tree was singing. Truly singing. Tone after tone rang out (or in, as the case was) sometimes followed by little rapping noises, and other times by a hum. It was a veritable modern symphony! Perhaps post-modern. Certainly minimalist, in a Philip Glass sort of way. She was entranced.

Look, her brother explained. See how this tree is leaning against the one over there? When the wind starts up it causes this tree to rub against that other one, thus making the “chainsaw” noise you hear on the outside. Within the tree, however, the vibrations produce a different sound. It's physics, really, basically science, he added.

Well, it is our opinion that Science is quite the remarkable thing.

As it happens there is also a considerable literary and artistic tradition for Singing Trees. The Arabian Nights' Entertainment has a lovely chapter devoted to a Singing Tree, which is pictured below:



There is, furthermore, an astounding sculpture in the northwest of England called "The Singing, Ringing Tree" which "harnesses the energy of the prevailing winds" and can be heard to "sing" across several octaves.



But this Singing Tree in the Northwest Woods was neither literature, nor art. It was more, it seemed, miraculous. which truly is Science at its best.

Now, every time we visit the Bouncing Tree, we stop to listen to the Singing Tree. Most of the time it is silent, but on those days when we lean our ear against its green, furry bark and hear its symphony within, we are filled with such joy that tears spring to our eyes. It sings! we say in amazement. It sings!

And then we are filled with love, and gratitude, for her brother.