Snow from the Treetops

Wind shakes the tent. It beats against the fabric walls in great gusts, sweeping over it like waves in the ocean. Each new breath of air sends the tent shuddering as if it might soon cave in on itself. Flapping fabric echoes with every breeze. Every sound and movement outside seems enunciated by the close confines of the tent.

Beneath all these sounds is a great rumbling. It flows and ebbs like the wind. But unlike the wind, it comes from within the tent. One of his parents is snoring, but Jamie can’t be sure which one. Maybe both.

He huddles farther under his blankets, peering out through the semi-darkness that encloses the tent. Light streams in through the thin fabric walls, hinting to the young boy that it must be morning. Despite this, both his parents are sound asleep, undisturbed by the surely monstrous winds attacking the tent. He watches the canvas close in and billow with each gust, and he thinks to himself how it looks like the tent itself is alive and breathing. 

The light of the morning sun casts shadows on the canvas walls of the tent. Dark shapes of broken leaves and branches reach inward like grasping fingers. The tent breathes in again with the wind. The little boy, nestled in his sleeping bag, watches with wide eyes. A whirlwind of new experiences wraps around him as tightly as a blanket. There are so many firsts: his first time sleeping in a tent, his first time so far from home, his first time staying up past midnight. More interested than frightened, Jamie sits up and, with a glance at his sleeping parents, crawls on hands and knees for the entrance to the tent. And now his first time sneaking away.

Carefully, he slips the zipper on the door open and pushes the flap to the side. The sound echoes loudly in the silence, and he turns back quickly to ensure his parents are still asleep. He breathes a small sigh and continues. Jamie sticks his head out through the flap and peers around with interest. The scene before him makes him catch his breath.

Trees as tall as skyscrapers cast shadows twice as long, their glistening leaves seeming to catch pieces of the sky in their branches. A thick, uneven carpet of grass and weeds blankets the ground. With it, it brings the sweet, sappy smell of forest and grass. A million different bird calls reach his ears, accented by the fascinating sound of the lake lapping at the shore.

But most bizarrely, great white puffs of something float down from the sky around him. It reminds him of something that should never, ever happen in the summer. He must be seeing wrong. Jamie rubs his eyes, but the white flakes persist. It's snowing.

A light breeze ruffles over his hair, bringing a fierce chill with it. A winter breeze, Jamie thinks, his mouth open in shock. It’s not as strong as it had seemed. From the way the tent shook, he would have thought there was a hurricane. But this chill is much more sinister.

He glances back at his parents again, chewing his lip in thought. Snow means cold. What if they all end up stuck here with nothing but blankets to keep them warm? What if there's so much snow they get stuck in the tent and can never leave? A million terrifying possibilities run wild through his imagination, each one worse than the last. His eyes widen further in horror. All the other campers here, caught unawares by the snowstorm. What will happen to them? 

Hurriedly, Jamie thrusts his hand back inside the tent and grabs his blanket. His mom mumbles in her sleep. Maybe he should wake them, he wonders, but then he shakes his head. No, he decides. He must do this alone. This is his chance to be a hero and prove that he's not just a little kid--even if he is only eight years old. 

He wraps the blanket around his shoulders like a cape. It provides little protection from the sudden cold, but he figures he should look like a proper hero when the news reporters come for him.

Images of action heroes and survival movies race through his head. Jamie knows what he has to do. The first thing they all do is build a fire, and where does fire come from? Wood. He knows where to get firewood. He and his family drove past it on the way to the campground.

"Don't worry," he says, half to himself, "I'm going to save the day!"

Jamie rushes to his bicycle, giant snowflakes falling around him, and quickly mounts. He pushes off, pedaling furiously. His bike wobbles back and forth as he works to gain his balance, but then he's off! He flies down the gravel trails at top speed, zipping past rows of tents and campers, all of whom are still asleep. He lets out a shout of glee.

"Jamie!" his mom calls out far behind him, but her words only just reach him before they're snatched away by the wind. 

He pushes himself to pedal faster, his heart racing. Great white drifts line up on the sides of the trail, and still, they continue to fall. Snow gathers in the tree branches and in the grass as well. The blanket billows out behind Jamie as he rides on. He's never felt more like a superhero! He probably looks exactly like one as he zips by on his bike at incredible speeds.

His feet spin over the pedals. Trees and tents flash past him, and the snowflakes repeatedly zip by his face before flying away. A flock of geese takes off in a panic when he rides past, giving off their noisy calls as they take to the sky. Once, Jamie startled a grazing deer, which then galloped off to the safety of the trees.

He ignored all of this, set completely on his task of reaching the firewood station. It couldn't be that far now. He was sure it hadn't taken this long when they were driving. Uncertainly, Jamie glances around at the trails. An intersection lies ahead, and, as certain as he thought he was, he's not quite sure which way to go. Jamie chews his lip uncertainly as it draws closer. 

He plays out an "eenie meenie, miney mo" game in his head and lands on the left path. With new resolve, he pedals that way and is soon rewarded by the sight of a wooden shack ahead. It's a small building that functions as the entrance to the campground. The back of it is where the wood is kept, Jamie remembers. The gate was unlocked last time. Hopefully, he's not forgetting anything.

He skids to a stop outside the shack, throwing his bike to the ground. The snow continues in big, puffy flakes. It's everywhere, even gathered between the neatly-stacked logs. He hops over his bike and runs to the shed, throwing open the heavy gate and gathering great bundles of wood in his short arms. It was then that he realized he had no way to carry this back to the campsite.

Jamie sits down with a huff, dropping the pile of logs to the ground. Large flakes of snow float down before his eyes, carried on the wind and drifting lazily away. He's sure he can feel the temperature dropping. He can imagine the freezing wind biting straight through his pajamas, all because he had no wood for a fire. Soon, it will be winter.

His cape swirls in the wind, and it gives him an idea. Hastily, he rips away the blanket and lays it out on the ground. One by one, he lays logs over it, piling it up with wood. Then he bundles the blanket around it and ties it tight.

He sits back and admires his work proudly, hands on his hips. Then he hefts the bundle in his arms and sets it over the handlebars of his bike. He balances it as well as he can as he mounts the bike again. He prepares to take off when someone calls out behind him.

"Hey, kiddo! What are you doing?"

Jamie stops to look back a little sheepishly. A park ranger stands behind him, watching curiously but not unkindly.

"It's snowing!" Jamie says. "I was getting firewood so people could be warm."

Her face breaks out into a wide smile. She shakes her head softly with amusement and kneels beside him. "No," she says, barely hiding her laughter. "It's cotton!" She spreads her arms around her. "These are cottonwood trees. These are seeds that are falling. Completely harmless. In fact, many birds feed on these seeds, so they're quite helpful."

Jamie looks around at the falling cotton fluff, his mouth forming a small O as understanding dawns. Unfortunately, this results in a cotton ball falling in his mouth, which is not a pleasant experience. Now that he takes the time to look around, it seems obvious. It's not as cold as he thought it was. The falling cotton, though it looks like falling snow, doesn't feel at all like it.

Jamie looks at his feet sheepishly, realizing he may have let his imagination run a little wild. He looks up at the park ranger. "Oh," is all he says.

She smiles at him. "It does look a lot like snow, doesn't it?" 

Jamie nods.

"Well, it was very thoughtful of you to get this wood for people. But maybe stick to one or two pieces for now?" She tips her head in the direction of the road. "Looks like your parents are looking for you."

Jamie glances down the trail to see his parents running toward him, both dressed in their pajamas. The stop beside him breathlessly, his mom throwing her arms around him and brushing the cotton from his hair.

"Jamie," she says, half-scolding, half-relieved. "What were you thinking?"

Jamie smiles guiltily up at her and returns the hug. "I wanted to help," he says as a way of explanation. "I thought it was snowing!"

"Well." She kneels to look him in the eye. "No more adventures without us, alright? Especially not out here in the middle of nowhere."

Jamie peers out over her shoulder, his eyes drawn to the cotton drifting from the treetops. It catches the light as it falls. The bright white is a stark contrast to the many colors of summer: from the vibrant green trees to the golden sunlight. If anything, it's a scene even more beautiful than fresh snowfall.

He watches as a flock of tiny sparrows gathered along the trails to pick at the cotton for seeds. He smiles at them, and they twitter in response. 

Jamie smiles at his mom a bit smugly. "I make no promises."