The Wind in the Willows

           Em sat beneath the smaller of the two willows, as she always did. Sometimes she sat beneath her dad’s tree, to feel his presence. But that made her sad. Sitting under her tree made her happy. Today the conditions were good. It was spring, the temperature was lovely, the sky was blue, and there was a breeze. It only worked when there was at least a little wind. More wind was better, the way the long thin drooping branches would dance in unison, one direction then back, and sweep the ground gently like soft fingers in your hair. Today there was only a light breeze, but that was ok. The branches were swaying. Only the smallest ones, though. The thickest ones didn’t move.

           Today’s decision was a big one. She really needed the tree to tell her what to do. Thank god there was some breeze.  She thought back to the first time. She was little; how old? Maybe seven or eight? She’d come out to the big tree where her dad sat in his metal folding chair with the green-and-white-striped plastic crosshatched seat and back, which were fraying badly. One of the metal arms had a big dent in it. She never knew why. Never asked. It had been hot, so it was summer. But the tree’s shade made it much cooler under there. She loved how the sun shining through the branches made speckles and strips of light on the grass. And her dad’s shadow changed depending on how late in the day it was.

           She remembered walking up to her dad, wondering if he was napping, the way he was slumped with his legs out straight in front of him, ankles crossed, hat over his eyes.  But he had turned and smiled at her. Didn’t say hi; that wasn’t his way. Especially under the tree. She plopped at his feet, and looked out at the field, like he was looking. The field was gone now.  Sold. Now, today, under her tree, she had to imagine the field. Had to close her eyes, to not see the fence right in front of her and the ugly townhouses behind the fence.

That day, when she was little, the big decision she had to make was a weekend conflict. She really hated it when there was a conflict in her busy schedule. Her girl scout troop—well it would have been the Brownie troop if she was that young—was going on a campout. She was so excited. But then MaryAnn had invited her to a birthday party sleepover. And MaryAnn was one of the cool kids, and Em really wanted to be friends with MaryAnn. And with Susan and all the rest. And this was her chance. If she went to the birthday party, she’d be friends with them. And she’d get invited to all the other birthday parties.  But! She loved camping more than anything. And she loved Mrs. Jenson, their troop leader. And her best friend Cindy was going on the campout, and Cindy wasn’t invited to the sleepover and Cindy would be so sad if Em went to the sleepover instead of the campout.

She told her dad all about it, that day. The campout with the Brownies. The sleepover. MaryAnn. Cindy. He sat for a while, not saying anything. She was used to that. He collected his thoughts first before he talked. She got impatient sometimes. But she knew not to talk while he was collecting. She tried so hard to wait.

Finally, he talked, and told her about this tree he was sitting under. How willows normally only grew near water, like beside a stream, so there must be an underground stream here, and how cool was that? The he told her that sometimes he asked the tree for advice. How, if he listened carefully, when the wind was blowing, like it was that day (!), you could hear it tell you what to do. He had said that maybe the smaller tree, next to this one, could be hers. Just hers. He had pointed to it.

She was so excited. She ran over to the smaller willow and sat cross-legged under it. She closed her eyes. She listened. She heard the crickets. And some birds cheeping. She heard a horn honk far away. And she heard the wind in the willows.

What was it saying? She couldn’t tell.  She listened. Maybe she needed to ask the tree her question, with her mind. Maybe that’s what her dad did. So she focused, and went through the whole thing again, in her mind. The campout with the Brownies. The sleepover. MaryAnn. Cindy. She pictured herself at the campout, toasting marshmallows, making s’mores with Cindy, singing the Brownie songs around the fire, looking at star constellations, then getting into her sleeping bag and snuggling up so cozy.  Then she pictured herself at MaryAnn’s house, singing happy birthday around the table with the cake and candles and MaryAnn opening her presents. She listened to the tree and the tree said ‘be outside like me, go on the campout.’ So she did.

Now she sat, beneath her tree, her back against its trunk and her arms hugging her knees. She looked over at her dad’s tree and wished he were alive. But she felt his presence, sort of, here, under the willows. She wished he were there for her to pour out her dilemma. She’d tell him all about Bill, how much she loved him, how much he loved her. How great they were together. How he’d gotten this new job out west and was so excited. How he wanted her to go with him. And how he wanted to get married.

She knew her dad wouldn’t say anything, after she was done telling it all. Even if she said,

“Dad, I just don’t know what to do. I like my job here, I like my friends here, and I don’t want to leave this house. These trees. And I don’t want to leave you.”

 Even if she said,

“Dad, what should I do?”

She knew he’d tell her that sometimes he told his problems to his tree. That she might want to listen to the wind in the willows.

So here she was.

She closed her eyes and listened. It was such a gentle breeze. But she could still hear the rustling dancing little branches. She should tell the tree the whole thing, with her mind. Like she used to. So she thought about Bill, how sweet he was, even if a little slow to grasp certain things, like spelling wasn’t his strength, and math, but who cares. He was a wonderful, caring guy. And they had so much fun together. They laughed, and he made her happy. Even if he didn’t like to spend much time outdoors, didn’t like hiking for example. But that’s OK, it’s OK to have separate interests, it makes for a healthy relationship. Or marriage.

Then she thought about her colleagues at work. It was silly really, wasn’t it, to care so much about people who wouldn’t have been your friends if you didn’t happen to see them every day, but there you go, they all went out together on Friday nights, and they’d had that fun baby shower for Sarah, and she loved having lunch every day with Judy and Cecilia, and Marcus sometimes would join them and do his card tricks for them.

Of course she could get a similar job out west. And make friends out there. But. She didn’t want to leave her house. Her dad’s house. Now her house. With these trees. Where would she ever find a house with two willow trees, out west? Where would she go when she had an important decision to make? How could she leave?

Listen, she told herself. Be calm, don’t get upset. That’s the only way to hear, is when you’re calm.

The wind in the willows whispered,

“Stay.”

And so she did.