Fairy Tales, Untold | The Tree Formally Known as Enchanted

The fair maiden, in a flowing, corseted gown far too burdensome to frolic about in, frolicked about in the grassy and flowerful meadow, humming a cheerful, pleasant tune as she made her way to the wood. She stopped at the edge and gasped at what she saw, covering her mouth with one hand in a most polite manner.

“An enchanted forest! How wonderfully delightful!”

The forest ferns brimmed with the twinkling light of fluttering fairy wings, and tiny elves carried about their day beneath the canopies of their mushroom communities. Small, furry animals and beautiful, singing birds greeted the maiden, drawing her into their magical home. She stepped over a gentle stream, the flowing water the color of a rainbow, and toward the centerpiece of the forest. She approached the old tree, gazing in wonder at its massive trunk and great, leafy branches. She circled the trunk, caressing the smooth bark with her fingertips.

“What a wonderful place to sit and rest for a spell.”

The maiden sat, her back against the trunk of the tree, and the branches of the tree began to flutter, lifted, it seemed, on the breath of a gentle breeze. She opened the satchel she carried with her and reached inside, taking one plump, juicy blackberry to savor. The flutter, however, turned to a quiver, and then the branches began to shake as if caught in the winds of a fearsome storm. The maiden rose quickly, spilling the blackberries from her satchel, and turned, her fear turning to joy when the branches stilled and the eyes opened.

“Oh! An enchanted tree, of course.” She curtsied. “How do you do?”

The tree looked down upon her, a rather bored frown on its rather full face.

“I’m old and I’m tired, and you’ve woken me from my nap. That’s how I do.”

“I am sorry, old tree. I did not intend to wake you from your slumber. I didn’t know-”

“Yeah, ok, I get it,” the tree interrupted. “How about you move along now? I’d like to get back to my rest.”

“But I have never met an enchanted tree. What is your magic, old tree? Will you grant me a wish? Interpret my dreams? Read my future?”

“First of all, my name is Ernie, not old tree. Who would even think to address someone like that? How’d you like it if I called you dumbo?” The maiden gasped again, covering her mouth with her hand, again. “Second of all, I’m retired. Now,” the tree continued, waving its lower branches, “go away. Run along.”

The maiden crossed her arms. “An enchanted tree can hardly retire.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You can’t be retired. You’re here,” she said, spreading her arms about herself, “in this whimsical and beautiful wood. As long as you’re here, and as long as this forest exists, you must fulfill your enchanted duties.”

“I’m sorry, but it sounds to me like you’re implying I must work until I die.” Ernie smiled an unpleasant, mocking smile. “That can’t be what you mean, though. This is, after all, an enchanted forest, not a capitalist dictatorship.” He continued before the maiden could interrupt, raising his voice. “Do you mean to tell me a woodworker has the right to retire, a farmer, a shoemaker, a merchant, but I do not? After years of hard work, years of service to the community, years of sacrifice, these men have the right to slow down and enjoy life, but I must work until I die of drought, of a lightning strike, of an ax to my trunk?”

“No, I did not mean to say… I mean, I don’t think…,” the maiden stuttered, flustered. She stood beneath falling leaves, shaken loose from Ernie’s dramatic gesturing. Several of the forest creatures had wandered over and stood, watching and listening.

“I suppose you’ve read all about enchanted forests and magical trees in your fairytale books, haven’t you? I suppose you thought we are here simply for your pleasure and enjoyment.” Ernie scoffed. “I hate to break it to you, sister, but that’s all fantasy. This here,” he continued, spreading his branches about himself, creating a wind that knocked the maiden to her bum, “this is reality. We work hard, and get little to nothing in return. We have to hear your god awful singing, listen to your ridiculous wishes, watch you fawn and fancy over some strange man you’ve only just met, only because he’s a prince with a big sword.”

Tittering erupted from behind the maiden and she turned to see several elves and fairies gathered atop a nearby mushroom, laughing in agreement with the tree’s sentiments.

The maiden stood and faced the tree defiantly. “I think you’re not even enchanted. I think that’s why you are so horrible. You’re just a miserable old tree. You have no magic!”

Ernie sighed. “I hate to have to do this but this is my former livelihood, and reputation, we’re talking about. What did you wish for, fair maiden? To be turned into a billy goat?”

“A billy goat?” The maiden walked backward slowly, her pace quickly quickening. “No, I wished no such thing!”

“As you wish, fair maiden.”

The maiden tripped and fell backward into the rainbow stream and then disappeared among a cloud of green smoke. The forest was quiet, then, all the trees and flowers still, the animals and birds silent, all looking on in anticipation.

The smoke cleared and there sat the maiden in the stream. She looked about herself, then down to the white fur spotted black and brown and the hooves. She opened her mouth, then, and cried out.

At the sound of the bleat, her bleat, she jumped up and out of the water and ran, stumbling over four legs rather than the familiar two. She ran, running out of the forest and disappearing into the tall grass of the meadow. An owl flew up to land on one of Ernie’s branches.

“That was a little harsh, don't you think?”

“I'm a slave to the whims of man. They want magic, I'll give them magic.” Ernie shuddered his branches. “Get off me, Don. I've told you I don't like when you sit on me. I'm a tree, not an armchair.”

His attention turned, then, to the family of raccoons down below. They'd made quick work of scavenging the blackberries the maiden had spilled. They stood, now, clutching the berries in uncomfortably humanesque little hands, watching.

“Get out of here! Go on, this isn't dinner and a show. Shoo!”

The raccoons scattered and Ernie sighed a big, heaving sigh. “Can't an old tree get a little peace and quiet, for Christ's sake? Is that too much to ask?”

Ernie continued muttering to himself as he settled his roots deep into the dirt and closed his eyes. He fell quickly, and mercifully, back into hibernation, a long sleep uninterrupted by dreams. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep when he was awoken yet again. It could have been moments, or days, perhaps even years. Time was irrelevant to a centuries old tree, in particular one that simply wanted to sleep away its twilight years.

Ernie felt hands and feet on his trunk as a creature climbed its way up. “What in the…” He blinked his eyes open, the last few remnants of the wonderful oblivion of sleep falling away. “How many times have I told you all not to climb on me? Get off! I’m a tree, not a god damn jungle gym.” Ernie shook his branches and look down, expecting to see the beady eyes of a raccoon, or the twitching tail of a squirrel, finding, instead, a boy. The boy’s arms and legs were wrapped around the trunk, and he’d nearly made his way to Ernie’s jowls.

“What are you doing? What do you think you’re doing?” Ernie shivered his trunk and limbs but the boy remained. It was easy to shake loose someone or something from his branches, doing so from the trunk was a far more difficult task. “Get down, little boy. Get down, now.” The boy was just below his chin now and Ernie worked his jaw up and down, contorted his face from grimace to smile and back again, but still the boy clung tight.

“I wish to spend my days in your shade, great tree. I wish you climb your branches and savor your fruit. I wish to carve my name into your trunk and grow old with you. You will love me, and I will love you, and I will call you the Giving-"

The tree laughed a great, bellowing laugh. "Oh no, I don't think so," he snorted. "I know how that book ends." With one big shudder, from his roots to the tips of his branches, Ernie shook the boy from his trunk and he tumbled to the grass below. "Now get out of here before I turn you into a sad old stump."

He watched the boy run off through the forest and, once he was gone from sight, Ernie sighed. He closed his eyes and conjured the magic that still coursed through the veins of his leaves and the rings of his trunk. He was no longer in the business of making magic but he decided, then, to come out of retirement to grant one, last wish.

"I wish," Ernie mused, his thunderous voice echoing through the land, "everyone would shut up and leave me the hell alone."

The world around him was quiet, then, the forest undisturbed save for the stream that trickled past and lulled him to sleep. Finally, the tree formally known as Enchanted, now known simply as Ernie, found rest that would last forever.