When a Tree Falls in the Woods

When A Tree Falls In The Woods

Once upon a time that no one can agree upon, there was a toy maker who made toys from debris he found. One day he happened to stumble across the remains of a downed tree. He found a few decent sized pieces and returned home, all the while keeping an eye out for other treasures. One of these pieces of wood has a story you probably know all too well. The toy that wants to be a boy. The trouble is, they got it WRONG.

You can rationalize it all you like, but this is 1% closer to what really happened. As we all know, or certainly Orson Wells did “If you want a happy ending that depends, of course, on where you stop the story.”

One caveat to this is that sometimes the beginnings matter too. As this tale was passed on through generations the story changed with each retelling, just as memories change a bit each time they are recalled. For the sake of eschewing oral tradition and all of its foibles, this story has been written down. We will start with one obvious and overlooked question:

What if Pinocchio wanted to go back to being a tree? Let’s consider the facts that most have agreed upon, this is Oakley’s origin story. As happens to many trees, like it or not, he was cut down against his will in a horrific nightmare of saws. They kept coming at him while his sap collected at his feet.  Feeling his life’s ‘blood’ land on his lower appendages let him know that this dream is in fact, a nightmare.  

The more they cut the more his life’s nectar poured out in rivulets onto the grass. Certain limbs were going limp now. He tries to look up to see what is happening as more and more branches lose feeling. They fall at his roots as he calls out for the bugs that live on him to come and attack the saw man.

They smell a chemical come-hither that is released when a tree is undergoing damage. This is a smell which can only mean one thing, come protect your territory. Their foraging spot, i.e. him, was under assault. Brandishing pinchers, fangs, claws, and stingers they charge towards saw man.   As the human walks he steps directly on the bugs on the forest floor without even so much as thinking of the lives that had been taken as his boots came down. 

The tree was tilting now. It couldn’t help but fall. As he came down, he saw a familiar face rising to meet his. It’s the cricket. He’s come to help defend the tree despite his pacifism.

The tree’s last act in his current form is to flick the little guy out of his way with one of his last little fingers on a remaining branch. 

This little act of goodwill, as he lay dying, was the good action that gave him a wish from the blue fairy. And for his lack of one, she also gives him a name “Oakley”. But first we have to find out what happened to our tree; a ghastly modification that threatened his whole identity.

The piece of wood collected by the toy maker regains consciousness days later. He has no idea where he is or how he got there. He is in a room full of toys, marionettes, stuffed animals and games. His eyes start to clear, and he looks around. There are ribbons and bows on most of the toys and a dead pine tree covered in decorations on the other side of the room. What kind of monster decorates a corpse, keeps it in their house, and sings to it after dinner?

Cautiously looking around he sees a marionette looking back at him. “Ah, it’s only a window. Nothing to be scared of.” He begins to look the other way and so does the doll. Oakley lifts a branch in front of his face and the toy lifts an arm in the same position. He looks back to his own branch and then that of the toy again.  He is wearing one of the little boy’s arms as his own. The scene is too much for Oakley to process.  The toy moves with him in perfect unison up until they both pass out, one on a bench and the other through the mirror.  

             He awakens to feel little taps hitting him in the face. “Hey, wake up.” It’s the cricket. He must have come along for the ride. “Hurry!” the bug whispers fervently pointing to the door, “We have to go! Run!”

             Run? Trees can’t walk let alone run. The idea itself is horrifically ridiculous. Still, he makes an effort to get up. It proves to be too soon, and Oakley gets dizzy and passes out again; fear and sap loss are taking their toll.

             A little later as the toy shop darkens, as the sun goes down he feels some fervent tapping again. He cautiously opens his eyes to find the cricket has returned, and with the same sense of urgency. 

             Oakley slides himself off of the bench and onto the floor. He lands in a flaccid clump held together by string. Cricket helps him compose himself and he finally manages to stand.

             His curious gaze is suddenly fixed on the mirror. He moves his parts, and the boy in the mirror moves with him. Oakley begins to scream, and the Cricket bites him. “What did you do that for?” he asks. He was only making the sound a tree makes when it falls in the woods without a witness. Oakley looks at himself. He is smooth, rootless, sadly small branches, and a ghastly face containing two eyes and even a nose. 

             Oakley begins to hyperventilate. Then he pauses. Someone put a shiny red and green bow on his head. The bow of a sacrifice to the Saint of Claws, he swats it off his head.

The cricket is getting impatient, perhaps they are on their way back to claim him. Oakeley isn’t sure what to expect, but he doesn’t want to wait to find out. 

             His wooden feet make strange little thumping sounds with every step as he runs after the cricket. Tripping many times, but not falling yet, he catches up to the Cricket who hides behind a bush. 

             “I can explain”, says the little bug, “but I have to make this fast or it will be too late.” Says the cricket. “You saved my life as your final action as a tree-thank you by the way-and are therefore granted a wish from the Blue Fairy.” She has the power to make you a tree again if that’s what you want. Oakley nods his head fervently, the way he looks now even he scares him-self. “Yes! Yes! Thank you!” He would have been yelling this, but he doesn’t know how.

             With monstrous resolve Oakley starts running in the direction they were going. Cricket catches up easily and with further directions to the Blue Fairy’s house. 

             “I can’t quite make you a full tree you see, but I can give you HPV, then soon tree bark is all you’ll see.” Blue says. 

The bark will come slowly, but it will be indestructible metastatic even; no matter how much is cut from you, it will always grow back new wood. This goes for all your parts, is all that understood?” 

Oakley is nodding and relieved that it can be done. It doesn’t have to be perfect, just better than it is now. He’s just shy of fearing his own shadow at the moment as it is. 

Blue gives him a small bottle labeled Oakley. This is the first time he has had a name or seen it in print. He is still examining the blue glass in the light of the sunset when the others break through his revelry to warn him of the sun’s last rays fading out. “Now or never.” Says Blue, echoed by Cricket, “You have to drink it. All of it.”

He needs to go back to being a tree, but not enough of him is left to create a 100-year-old tree, that is self-evident. Blue’s potion will make him look more like himself, Oakley reasoned. He had been disgusted with the revolting reflection in the mirror. He drinks without hesitation. 

The blue fairy smiles a little too wide as she watches him drink the potion that will make him grow a tree like exterior for the price of being a viruses’ home.  Blue gives him HPV.  Granted it is a bit of experimentation on her part, but it seemed to work reliably in Jackalopes.

And there you have it, the origin of Pinocchio, Jiminy Cricket’s first near death experience, and the scientifically demonstrated truth about the Jackalope. Now, like other trees, it is time for Oakley to grow.

Human Papilloma Virus (HPV) + Boy (substitute) = Tree (texture)