Chapter Two
Scotty landed on a thick bed of dry wood chips, brown needles, and pieces of pinecones that cushioned his knees when he hit the ground. He pulled himself into a sitting position as the storm burst open. Outside, huge drops of water drove into the ground like liquid bullets while large hailstones rattled against the side of the tree, bouncing and rolling across the grass. Again and again, lightning lit the landscape like flashes from a gigantic camera while thunder roared.
Douglas raised his voice over the noise. “Wow! That was close.” He leaned back against the inside of the tree, staring out at the cascading rain and hail.
Scotty said, “You sure took a chance. What if an animal had been in here?”
“There wasn’t. And anyway, what choice did we have?”
Scotty shrugged and pulled his knees up to get his feet away from hailstones bouncing into the tree. “None, I guess. But that was weird. You know, the old man’s voice. We both heard it, but no one was around. Where do you think he was?”
“No idea. But let’s list the clues.”
Douglas loved mysteries and read the Hardy Boys and other mystery stories over and over. He’d always stop reading part way through and then try to figure out the ending from the clues in the story. As he tried to work out the clues, he’d explain them to Scotty and ask for his ideas.
Scotty preferred science fiction stories and when Douglas suggested they talk about the clues in a story, Scotty groaned and tried to change the subject. This time, they had a real mystery on their hands, not a made-up one. Scotty knew Douglas was right and if they were going to figure out where the voice came from, they’d have to look for clues.
Douglas scratched his head while he thought. “Okay, let’s list what we know. We both heard a voice when no one was around. We only heard the voice when we had our hands on the tree. The voice knew the tree was hollow. There’s only one possible answer.” Douglas paused and sighed. “You’re gonna think I’m nuts, but all the clues are pointing at the tree.”
“You’re right. I do think you’re nuts,” Scotty said, nodding. “But then so am I, because I think it was the tree, too. The problem is trees don’t talk.”
“Yeah, I know. I don’t know who was talking, but we would have been in big trouble if we were still outside. Now all we have to do is wait ‘til it quits.”
It is good to be safe.
The boys almost leaped out of the tree.
In shaky voices, they asked together, “Who are you?”
I am Ponderosa Pine.
“Is that your name?” Scotty asked, looking around the inside of the tree trying to see where the voice was coming from.
It is.
“Well, um… okay then. Mr. uh… Ponderosa Pine, I’m Douglas and this is my brother Scotty.”
Douglas hesitated, trying to think of something else to say that wouldn’t sound totally stupid. After all, what do you say to a tree to start a conversation? “Er… uh… is Ponderosa your first name?”
It is. I am of the Pine family.
Scotty pointed at Douglas. “We’re of the Melcher family. Are there a lot of pines in your family?”
many. Pine family is large.
“Do the other pines have names too?” Douglas asked.
Yes. Red. White. Jack. Bristle Cone. Long Leaf. Many more.
“Long Leaf? I thought pine trees had needles, not leaves,” said Scotty.
All trees have leaves. Pine leaves are named differently. There are other groups in Pine family.
“What groups are those?”
Spruce. Fir. Cedar. Larch. Cypress. There are more.
Scotty snapped his fingers. “I got it. Trees in the pine family are all evergreens that have needles all the time. Right?”
Yes. A few cousins drop their leaves each year. Most do not.
“What are the names of some other trees?” Douglas asked.
Blue Spruce. White Cedar. Tamarack. Douglas Fir…
“Douglas fir! There’s a tree named after me?”
The names are similar.
Tentatively, Scotty asked, “Is there a tree named Scotty?”
No. A cousin is Scotch or Scot Pine.
Scotty pumped his fist. “All right. There’s a tree named after me too.”
Douglas said, “But your name’s Scotty, not Scot.”
“Not any more. I just changed it.” He stopped, and put his hand on the tree. “But what do we call you?”
I am Ponderosa Pine.
“Well, yeah, but there must be millions of Ponderosa Pine trees. This whole hill is covered with them.”
Yes. They are from my seeds.
“Wow. Talk about having lots of children,” Scot said, shaking his head in awe.
Douglas snapped his fingers. “Hey, what if we call you Grandpa P? That way, your name will be different than the others.”
You may. I am Ponderosa Pine.
“We know. And we won’t forget. But this way we’ll know each other. Okay? By the way, do you talk to everyone?”
No.
“Oh. Well, do other trees talk to people?”
No.
Scot frowned. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful or anything, because we’re really happy to be in here. But if trees don’t talk to people, why are you talking to us?”
Danger. Help.
“You saw we were in danger, and decided to help us?”
Yes.
Douglas patted the inside of the tree. “We sure appreciate it. I don’t know what would have happened if we hadn’t crawled in here.”
Scot looked around. “Yeah, this is a great shelter. You must be really old to be this big.”
Ponderosa Pine has many dormancies.
The boys gave each other blank looks and then Douglas asked, “What are dormancies?”
When sunlight is low, I become dormant.
“Oh, I get it. Each winter you go to sleep until spring. Did you count the number of times?”
I do not know count.
Scot said, “That makes sense. Why would a tree need to count? Anyway, I’ll bet you had a bunch of dormancies to grow this big. What do you do while you’re awake?”
I make oxygen. I hold soil. I am food and shelter for animals.
“Oh, right. Animals breathe, eat the seeds, and live in hollow places in the trunk,” Douglas said.
“Yeah and people get the same things from trees,” Scot said. “We breathe the oxygen, get lumber for our houses, and we eat the nuts and apples and peaches. We also get maple syrup from trees. Yum, that’s my favorite.”
“Mine too,” said Douglas. “I’ve always wondered how it’s made. All I know is that it comes from the sap of maple trees. Grandpa P, do you know how maple syrup is made?
No. Wait.
The boys settled back against the inside of the tree, watching the pouring rain and hail. Every so often, lightning flashed followed by a blast of thunder. They were warm and dry and sitting on a soft bed of decaying wood. In a few minutes, they began to get drowsy and nod off.
Cousin Sugar Maple knows.
Grandpa P’s voice startled the boys awake. Scot said, “You talked to a cousin maple tree. Are you related?”
Yes. All plants are related. Trees are close relatives.
“But how did you talk to him? There aren’t any maple trees near here.”
Roots intertwine. We share memories. Tree to Tree.
“Great,” Douglas said. “Can you tell us how to make maple syrup?”
No.
The boys’ shoulders sagged with disappointment. Scot said, “Well, okay.”
I can give you Sugar Maple’s memories.
“No kidding? How?” Douglas asked.
Sit against me. Rest.
When the boys settled against the tree again, a warm drowsiness covered them. The sound of the rain faded, and they felt lighter and began to float… drifting…