A Short Story for the Kids!

I wrote this story in February 2011 when I was on a motorcycle trip down through the Sierras de Cazorla in the Spanish winter. I had been riding through the bare mountains for hours that day when I came across a plateau, a flat mountain plain between the peaks. Rather incongruously, on it had been planted huge numbers of spruce trees, row upon neat row. As I rode on alone through the damp, chilly air my imagination fired up with the idea of a lucky tree, and by the time I was ready to stop for the night I had this short story in my head just waiting to be typed up.

 

The Lucky Tree

Pedro was a lucky little spruce tree.

He was one of hundreds of saplings planted out by the woodsman on the earthy plain between the peaks of the mountain sierra. All the trees were planted in tidy rows and all looked exactly the same, except that Pedro had been the first to be seeded at the nursery and so was just a little bigger than any of the others.

Pedro was so lucky to have been planted on the patch nearest the stream bed. Although the stream was dry much of the time, sometimes it would flood and then little Pedro would drink his fill. And Pedro had a wonderful secret. Even when the stream bed was dry some water ran below the ground, so Pedro was able to stretch his little roots down and drink even when there was a drought.

His neighbours sometimes complained that there was no water to let them grow strong.

“We wish there was more water for us to drink,” they said.

Little Pedro never replied. He just listened and smiled politely, his branches nodding in the wind, as if in agreement with all they were saying.

The place where Pedro had been planted was the most southerly spot in the whole plantation. When the sun shone he was able to reach out with his branches and grow and grow, without having to worry about being shaded by his neighbours.

“Could you grow just a little away in that direction?” the other trees might ask Pedro, pointing with the tips of their branches as they spoke. “We have little light and would like to share with you.”

Sometimes they would rustle with joy when, as if in reply, Pedro waved his branches. But then they realised it was just the breeze. Pedro simply smiled politely, as he always did, and said nothing.

Pedro was far from the west side of the plantation where the winds blew the strongest. He was able to avoid the harshness of the cold winds even though he came to have the longest branches. He was the tallest among his neighbours but they all helped to shield him from the winds.

Sometimes Pedro would hear the cries of other trees.

“Ouch,” they would call out when they lost a branch or two in the gale.

“Please help me,” one called just before a strong gust snapped his thin trunk in two.

Pedro always managed to remain safe. He was stronger and well protected. But he was always a polite tree and nodded sympathetically at his less fortunate neighbours.

Pedro was indeed a lucky little tree, but, of course, he didn’t stay such a little tree for long. He grew and grew. Sometimes he thought the other trees might be jealous of how lucky he was, but he soon dismissed the idea. After all, not everyone could be lucky.

“Please could you leave a little room for me to put my roots down so I can drink some more water?” sometimes one or other of his neighbours would ask Pedro.

Pedro always listened politely and smiled. Then he did exactly as a lucky tree should and continued to take as much of the water as he could.

As Pedro grew larger and stronger perhaps another neighbour might ask weakly, “Oh Pedro, my friend, could you just wave you big strong branches for me and grow less leaves so I can share in a little of the sunlight?”

Pedro always stood politely and smiled, then continued as he had before and absorbed as much light as he could, for he was a very lucky tree.

The wind blew again and again and snapped more branches from some of his neighbours. They would ask Pedro, “Oh please, Pedro, you are so big and strong now, would you stretch across a little and perhaps you might give us some protection?”

Pedro always intended to help. He listened carefully to their pleas and smiled, but when he thought carefully he realised he couldn’t risk becoming damaged by doing as they asked. He was, after all, the luckiest of the trees and it would not do for him to be injured. If he were injured, well he would be just like them, he would no longer be lucky!

As time passed little Pedro became big Pedro, and then huge Pedro. And he became the tallest and strongest and finest tree of all on the sierra.

One day the woodsman came to visit with his friend. They walked between the trees, stopping here and there to view first this tree, then that one. Eventually they came to stand in front of Pedro, staring up to admire his firm trunk and branches and his enormous canopy of pine needles.

“Well look how tall and strong this tree is,” the woodsman said as Pedro beamed with pride.

“We are so lucky, for this will save us much work,” his friend added.

And with that the two men began swinging their axes, cutting a little further into Pedro’s thick trunk with each blow. Pedro was much surprised by this as he was the lucky tree, and such things did not happen to a lucky tree.

“Oh, excuse me, please wait a moment!” he said, politely of course, as another blow struck his trunk. “I am the lucky tree and surely you must choose one of the others, who are always so unlucky compared to me.”

Sadly Pedro was not much used to speaking, for he usually just listened politely to others without replying. Despite being such a tall, strong fellow, his voice only came out as a high-pitched rustle through the tree tops, easily mistaken for the whistle of the wind passing between the branches.

The woodsman and his friend were used to listening to the trees. They paused in their work and smiled politely as they looked up at Pedro. It seemed as if they did hear his shrill plea, but they said nothing and, after resting for a few seconds, resumed their work. To Pedro’s dismay they continued to cut him with their axes, and after he had fallen they cut him up into smaller pieces and carried him away in a cart.

If he could, he would have heard the woodsman’s final words.

“How lucky we were to find such a big strong tree in the wood, so saving us the trouble of having to cut a second tree as well!”

“Well,” said Pedro’s neighbour to his remaining companions as he enjoyed the feel of the sunlight that usually would have been taken by Pedro, “today we are all lucky trees.”

© James Rammell 2013