A Tower of Timber, Splendor and Child

The paddywhack thwack of little hands, lending themselves to oh such tireless work, could be heard against the threshold of the backyard, stuck between what was very much that of a yard- and what had been the mysticism of a forest.

A set of pudgy hands, so very little if you could believe it, had been giving themselves to the swing of the tiniest of mallets, as a small boy did wield its might against nails through the thickness of an oak.

It was the said oak, whose branches stretched and groaned like tired joints, spiraling outward like the pinch of a giant’s fingers, that had given sanctity with a blanket of green, as its canopies sank so low that they might drag against the mulch.

If it were that rain would ever impart on the child’s hectic work, his schedule so packed, he would be content enough with only the faint dripping that could have made its way through, comfortable that he might even sleep by the oak’s powerful side, as the roots were as plentiful as stuffed pillows.

The little boy had found himself with the newest title of ‘busiest boy,’ one he did not usually don as he did his red pointed cap, finding yet any rewards of his efforts.

Such busy work included the company of twigs, planks, waterlogged bark, tired old wood, toys and other strange trinkets that had been rescued from the forest, all in a neat attendance in one large pile.

You may, perhaps, be one to accuse him of stealing, but vouch he would that, at the most, these things were only technically stolen.

He had been giving a nail through the head of a rather dirtied, porcelain doll, one that made quite too much noise for his tastes, when a jollier noise had made itself known through the backyard’s overgrowth.

“Hoho, is that who I think it is? Indeed it is, and what a pleasure, little one!” This had been none other than the buoyant voice of a Mr. Theodore Thaddeus, the forest lumber worker, whose name was far too much of a bother to prefer him by anything else than the Lumberjack.

“A good afternoon, I am surprised by such company, even if it has managed to slip by the ringing of my doorbell.” He would heartily laugh to himself.

  The burly man, whose beard smelt of loose candy, had let himself through the curtain of the large tree, brandishing with him the smell of freshly cut wood as it did too allure from his ax, of which he hoisted over his shoulders, ridden with wood shavings.

The oak had felt no such intimidation of the man nor his profession, and felt nothing at the sight of the timber chips that fell from his blade- for a tree cannot think, that is important to understand.

It especially thought nothing of the boy, who drove yet another nail through its wet bark, feeling the weak spew of sap crawl along his fingers.

“And I can see you have given yourself to my backyard, again, with none other than tools of my shed without asking.”

He chuckled something honeyed, the rosy of his cheeks refining his glowing smile, but said such things with the intention to sway teaching.

This was left only on deaf ears to share amongst themselves as the boy was hardly attentive on anything besides just how many nails it would take to get a garden gnome into a tree.

As it would turn out- the answer was one, as well as the shocking revelation of just how many pieces a gnome could shatter into.

As the boy rummaged for something far less broken to nail to the tree, as gnome chips were proving themselves quite useless, the Lumberjack would look over the mess strewn across the forest floor and ask of him quite a question.

“Now what exactly have you busied yourself with so far back here? This a treehouse? I’d figure your hammer was far louder than anything my ax could muster with that arm of yours-”

“Nope, no no, only busy, with something important, not a treehouse, not important at all, something else- too busy.” The small boy spoke in the pattern he always had, embedding another bauble into his incongruous ladder.

The Lumberjack entertained himself with a further look into the child’s mess, easily recognizing the sprawl of dirt and autumn leaves across all that had been scrounged. The setup had reminded the man much of his own work station, with the presence of toy furniture as a makeshift workbench.

Although he couldn’t say for certain if his own station was as full of things as fun as lawn ornaments and toys, sadly, he could only offer sharp tools and the scent of cut wood.

“Oh, I do apologize, I can see just how busy you are." he happily chortled. ‘I sure hope, however, that of all of these things you did not take from our good neighbors?”

The boy tested the sturdiness of his little stairway, bouncing up and down on an arrangement of tired wood, only to conclude that it needed far more nails than the dozens it already had. Such a greedy tree.

“Nuh-uh, no, found in the woods, or alone in the dirt, not anyone's, mine now- more important, very much.” he punctuated as he adjusted his red pointed cap.

Most of the forest did indeed house such strange bits and pieces of people’s lives, left behind as the scattered trash of memories beneath the dead leaves. He had figured such things would gladly be put to better use, whatever that may indeed be.

The small boy himself had quite a peculiar speech on him, something that the other children of the village would not bother themselves to understand. The Lumberjack would not claim himself far from his childhood wonder and would encourage the boy’s spirits in what he still assumed was likely a treehouse.

He had no need for such a tree anyways, a fruitless endeavor, as fruit did not grow on oaks, and this particular tree was not coming down with any swing of an ax. It was frankly a miracle that the boy was threading in as many nails as he were, a determined swing on his shoulder.

“That is quite good, at least. Do you perhaps need- any help? I mean I have myself a whole plenty of tools and wood that you could ask for this time around, and I’d gladly lend my own hand-”

“No, nooo, this is fine, this is how I want it, I can do it.” the boy interrupted, having given himself leverage past two junk pieces up the tree. “Have to do it myself- have to-”

The Lumberjack let himself watch for a while as the boy spent more and more time on his pile, throttling wood and other strange curios into the tree, leaving the man in a stupor on just what to do.

Frankly, he had known himself well as a boy, having not been lost to the fog of adulthood, and saw a clear teaching moment at hand.

On the other glove, he could feel that nagging part of his adult head, pressuring him to squish out this wonderment so that the child may be safe, that he would stop hammering other’s belongings into a tree. He decided best to ignore that one.

“Well, if you need me, I’ll be just a holler over there, okay? Got some of my own work to get to. You’re free to come over and ask me for help anytime!” he spoke in earnest before slowly trudging away, leaving the boy to his important works.

And it was indeed that the boy did return from his green curtains, waddling over to request far finer timber than the decrepit shapes of woodland rubbish. The Lumberjack had even happily shown him how to refine his nailwork, before the boy would disappear back into the fold of the oak and would only resound his presence with a set of loud whacks.

There had even been times he asked for bread, as plain as it would come, per his request, wanting nothing of a sandwich or perhaps toast, content merely with what soft squishy loaves could offer.

The Lumberjack tried to be mindful of privacy, but could not help to pry at the boy’s progress; after all, it had been his backyard.

However the boy did emphasize, as often as he could, worried that he would not be heard, that this was an endeavor of his own, so the Lumberjack respected these wishes and did not do anything more than what the boy did ask of him.

It had fallen on a quarter until the evening when the Lumberjack took notice of the dwindling silence, the boy’s mallet having not cracked the sky for yet a few minutes, and decided it best to check up on him.

By this particular juncture, he had not yet trekked through the curtains in a time, so he had been surprised by just how much of the oak’s appearance had changed when his eyes came upon it. From what had been the simple majesty of an oak now sprawled into a mosaic of colors, much like a Christmas tree.

It’s coat had been shaped by the colorful figures of knickknacks and ornaments, all aglow against the dying sunset as a faint glimmer shone against the dark.

He found the small boy tired, exhausted and unfortunately defeated, as no honest day’s work went unpunished. The boy’s attire had been disheveled, his cap awry on his head, as weak cuts and bruises from nastier falls made themselves apparent on his arms and legs.

Where a mess had once been by the boy’s side was now only a faint wet spot against the forest floor, leaving him with only the remnants of a baby blue cloth in his hands.

“Now if that isn’t the finest thing you’ve done there. I am quite happy to have something so stunning in my backyard- ties the whole forest together…" The Lumberjack smiled in earnest but was still otherwise confused by the boy’s display.

“Not done, not finished, not enough left…” the boy emphasized, gesturing upward.

The Lumberjack was not sure how one would decide such a project ‘finished,’ but he could not deny that the tree was, indeed, not fully covered, as the crawl of ornaments stopped just shy of the top.

“Well- it looks to me like you almost made it to the top there, just by a hair…”

“Not close enough, too far, too far, can’t reach…” the boy said, gently rubbing at the cloth in his hand.

Here the Lumberjack would allow himself to think, and think he did, and what a thought did come.

He stared back up at the canopy, seeing just how much the boy had traversed the oak and how utterly intimidating its stature was. Being as a lumber worker- he could not deny how awful of a choice it had been to leave the boy alone to such a beast. He felt, looking up, that any one of the things the boy had placed in the tree could come falling down at any moment-

-and he excused himself.

The small boy had sat alone for a time, considering his defeat and wondering if the call of nighttime had been so loud as to call him to bed, before the Lumberjack emerged from the curtains with a large belt hanging loosely from his grip. This belt was not for lashing, as not such badness had been done, but rather for the purpose of climbing.

“I can’t say I’m certain what you’re up to, but maybe, perhaps, I could help with that last stretch- if you would have me, of course.” In his other hand he pinched the hefty shape of a flat, metal hedgehog, an ornament that had been scattered across his own front lawn in various sizes.

“How’s about we give this one a try and finish up the top, hmm?”

The small boy appeared to think, or at least stare as he did avoid the Lumberjack’s eyes, perhaps pondering if this would nonetheless be a defeat if he did not do this himself, but did so eventually relent himself to such an idea of help.

His figure now tiny in the clasp of the Lumberjack’s arm he held steadfast as the scent of candy overwhelmed him, clutching to the baby blue cloth as the man began to scale the tree.

If one were to air their honesty, the climbing belt was truly all the Lumberjack really needed, well aware in his craft of just how it felt to scour the treetops so far from the ground, but he wished to pay a sense of respect to the boy’s efforts and pressed his weight against the strange rubbish when he had the chance.

Again- he would marvel at the fact the boy had even reached such heights on his own, making the Lumberjack nervous as he questioned what another responsible adult would say to him, but his thoughts wavered too much on the pink flamingos that barely held his weight than to really reflect emotionally.

As they pried the top of the canopies the Lumberjack would eventually stop where the boy’s work did end, hearing just a faint chatter overheard, something nestled comfortably in a ridge of several branches as it quietly sung.

He had gestured towards the boy with the flat hedgehog, so that he may finish his work by sanctifying it to the ridge, only to be shooed by the boy, the child waving his hands as a signal to be raised higher.

Confused, the Lumberjack nonetheless obliged, hoisting the boy upward into the foliage where his red cap almost disappeared into the green.

Watching intently, the Lumberjack saw the blinding baby blue of the cloth appear like a stain against the sea of green above as the boy brandished it gently, a set of warbled noises making themselves so apparent.

The boy gently opened the folded cloth, giving way to the shape of a tired baby bird, nestled comfortably amongst the delicate blue. A set of ecstatic chitters could be heard coming from a nest, where its siblings eagerly awaited its return.

The shape of the nest was as beautiful as it were bountiful, woven by the work of their mother, no doubt an artisan, who scrounged the forest for such threads that they might become the comfort that held it all together.

“Well, if that isn’t one of the happiest surprises, this poor thing fell from its nest, all the way from up here…” The Lumberjack was allured by the little creatures, knowing well of what lurked in his yard but having never been so personally engaged with them.

He hoisted his mass up, the sweetness of his face engulfing the little ones in their nest as they expected such a treat from his natural aroma.

The company of two sat and watched the little birds convene and welcome one another, their chirps harmonious and loving as they charmed their sibling’s saviors with such sounds.

The small boy took the remnants of the baby blue cloth, what warmth had held the baby bird and stuffed it gently to the confines of their nest, turning what had been but the decay of the forest floor into something special.

Before long, as night began to bark at them through the canopy, the duo came down gently, the Lumberjack having never felt such familiarity beneath his feet. He let the child down as he adjusted his belt, feeling the leather useless in his hands now that their little venture was over, as sad as such a thing were.

He knelt down to the small child, still pinching the metal hedgehog between his fingers.

“Y’know, you could’ve just asked me for help? No shame in it, I’m always here to be neighborly.” he spoke with the taste of candy flowing through his breath.

“Yes, yes, I know,” the boy insisted, stimming as he looked aimlessly out into the forest. “had to do it myself- had to, very important.”

The Lumberjack did not pry further, laughing as he looked back at the tree, taken aback by the boy’s work with a fresh set of eyes, knowing the quaint stars that chirped atop. He felt the cold steel in his hands having gone warm from his clutch, looking down at the hedgehog ornament as he rolled it in his palm.

“Hey now, just one moment before you go–” He motioned the little hedgehog shape towards the small boy, its purpose in all of these machinations becoming a sentimental one. “It’s night so you’re gonna wanna get home quick, but without any room on the tree I think this guy is gonna need a nice home, so I want you to have it, I’ve got plenty already.”

The boy stood, his amble eyes now stuck on the metal shape, how warm it had become over their venture, it’s sleek black etchings, thinking much of the many ornaments that had filled his day-

“No thank you, I don’t want it.” he spoke, before quickly scurrying off somewhere into the neighborhood.

If the Lumberjack was left with anything, it was his little hedgehog trinket and just how much laughing had hurt.