Authors: Brian MacLearn
Through the pinging of the rain, I could hear Grandma downstairs humming to herself. Many mornings I would lie in bed and just listen to her voice as it carried throughout the house. It made me miss Mom, but at the same time, those memories always brought their share of comfort too. I couldn’t quite catch the tune, something upbeat, which meant she was doing her dusting. Smiling, I dragged my sore body out of bed and headed to the bathroom. My Gibson guitar was resting against my dresser and, as I passed by it, the memory of the yesterday’s music, up at the tree, filled my mind. I would be spending some time playing it today as long as it was raining.
The rain didn’t just continue throughout the day; there were moments when it came down so violently I couldn’t see outside. I spent most of the afternoon worrying about what the moisture was going to do to the unprotected part of the tree, where I had exposed the inner wood, under the bark. Grandpa must have sensed my duress, because more than once he offered me a favored statement. “Ain’t no rain going to ruin the feathers on a chicken,” and “I’d worry more about crossing the creek than trying to stop the rain from fillin’ it.” Neither statement made me feel any better or even made any sense to me. Grandma just made me a fresh peach pie to lift my spirits. After two pieces, heaped with vanilla ice cream, I did manage to feel better about the day.
The rain finally quit around dusk, and a warm, southerly breeze cleared the skies. The stars seemed to be the ones that benefited the most from the rain, as they had a cleaned, polished sheen to them. The three of us sat out on the porch, enjoying the freshness of the evening and the earthy smells brought out by the rain. Grandma made a comment about how the weatherman on the news said that we should expect a dry spell the next few days. I managed to let some of the day’s tension drift away and enjoyed just sitting with my grandparents. After awhile, I excused myself and headed up to my room. I’d ignored the calling of my guitar all day long, but now it was really nagging at the back of my mind.
I picked it up and sat with my back resting against the headboard of my bed. I warmed up by playing a few songs that helped to stretch out my fingers. They also put me in the right frame of mind. Somewhere in the middle of a song, my hands took over and I started playing chords reminding me of the music of the meadow. As I hummed the now familiar melody, the harmony of the underlying chords blended to create a striking composition. I kept playing the first passage over and over, each time tweaking a note here and there until it felt right. I never even noticed the door opening and my grandfather standing there. I had my head down, my concentration solely on the guitar and my finger placements. When I finally stopped, I noticed Grandpa’s stocking feet first. I lifted my head until I took all of him in. I was perplexed by the look on his face.
Grandpa stood perfectly still, his eyes determinedly focused on the guitar and an expression on his face denying explanation. He still hadn’t moved. I asked him if he was okay. It took me calling him by name a few times before he responded. He caught my eyes and only said, “Beautiful, just as I always imagined it.” Now I was the one perplexed.
He smiled
coyly at me and said, “You have a great talent,” then he closed the door and left me to once again wonder what he meant. I shrugged my shoulders, shook my head, and let my hands take over, as I lost myself in the haunting melody of the meadow. When I finally called it quits, it was nearly ten o’clock, and my fingers were sore once again. Laying the guitar aside, I readied myself for bed and, within minutes of crawling under the covers, was out like a light.
The next few days became more of a blur, as I moved back and forth from home to the meadow. The rain made the slope up to the tree a mess, but the heart itself was safe from harm. I didn’t do any work on it the first day, as the inner bark felt moist to the touch. I didn’t want to hurry and take the chance of doing irreplaceable damage to the heart. At the end of the following day, I had pretty much finished carving the most intricate parts. My head was full and the music carried me through my work. Many times I would jolt myself back to reality and realize that I had finished a section on the heart without much comprehension of doing it.
At night, I found myself equally drawn to my guitar and the music, which called for expression from within me. Who was I to quibble? I would play long into the night, until I would reach a point where I would lay the guitar aside, turn off the lights, and instantly fall into a dream-filled sleep. If there were such things as hauntings, then I think I was in the middle of one. How else could I describe the need to play a song that seemed to draw me to the old oak tree and back again? Maybe it was just the inner call from my heart and soul, which seemed to take over and guide me.
I finished the heart the day before Allison and her parents got back from Ohio. In my heart I had delicately carved, “If you are lost I will
f
ind
y
ou.” This phrase was not only meaningful by the moment in which Allison and I had shared, as it played in the background at the town fair, but by the underlying significance of the message itself. As I read and reread the words, they generated a strong emotional connection for me. I would never give up on Allison and, no matter what problems might arise, I would love her and only her from the depths of my heart and soul
, forever
. After much thought and internal debate on how to bring the three hearts together, I was rewarded with an answer. It was the only one that made any sense. I had my grandfather to thank, because he was the one who had unknowingly planted the seed in my brain. It had taken a few days for it to grow, but I knew it for what it was, as it battled against the other thoughts running around in my mind.
In the center of the three hearts, I carved an old style key. I made the handle three connected hearts and the picks were three as well. I wrapped the key in a vine, but made it appear as if it grew from the key itself. As the vine unwrapped from the key, it split in to three separate lines, flowing gently until each branch found its way to one of the three hearts carved in the tree. It was really quite beautiful and was perfect in bringing the three hearts together. “The Heart is Key,” was what my grandfather had said to me, and I just followed his lead.
I had every intention of letting Allison be the first to see the heart, but like the music of the meadow, I felt compelled to bring my grandparents up there first. I guess I needed their blessing on the alterations I had added to the tree, touching their own personal heart. I didn’t think for a moment either of them would be hurt by the change; in fact, it would be just the opposite, they would be touched. It just felt right to let them see it first, a way of acknowledging all they had done for me. It was shortly after noon as I made my way out of Murphy’s field and through the timber, back to my grandparents’ house. My footsteps felt lighter and my spirits were high; strangely, the song was now merely a notion at the back of my mind. It had carried me through the task at hand and now that it was completed submerged itself, just out of sight. I felt should I ever need it again, it would be there waiting for me. All I had to do was search it out.
I don’t remember ever seeing my grandpa move as fast as he did the day he made the trek up the hill to see the heart I had carved. Grandma walked more deliberately than he. She was aware of the slipperiness of the ground and took care not to fall. Also, I think she was building the anticipation for Grandpa too. He was flighty and kept egging us on to hurry up, telling us the sun would be setting by time we got there. In truth it was only two o’clock in the afternoon, and we had plenty of daylight left. They had both been sitting in the kitchen, finishing up their lunch, when I opened the back door. They both sat quietly, waiting for me to speak first. I could see the look on their faces; they knew I was done, why else would I be home so early? I could also tell that I must have been their lunchtime conversation. Grandma Sarah made a motion to get up and I waved her down.
I looked at the two of them and then smiled as I shrugged my shoulders, “Yep, I’m done. Would the two of you like to take an afternoon hike to see it?” I thought my grandpa was going to burst as he smiled ear from ear.
“Let’s get going,” he announced and practically flew out of his chair.
Grandma, the practical one, put a damper on his enthusiasm by calmly stating she needed to clean up the lunch dishes and, guessing rightly that I was famished and should eat something before undertaking another long trip back up the hill to the tree.
Grandpa couldn’t hide his displeasure as he let out a “Dang woman.” Grandma and I smiled at each other and even Grandpa relented a little and joined in with a grin of his own. I was hungry and even managed to eat two pieces of Grandma’s newly baked cherry pie.
Now, here we were, heading to a place that was full of memories and uniquely one of those special places that exist throughout the world. The meadow was a place where the Karma or aura seemed to bequeath a momentary rift in the natural order of the world. Not everyone could feel the pull of the old tree in the meadow, but many had. It was a place of solitude and inspiration, joining and belonging. It was in all things a place that is.
When we broke through the last of the forest into the meadow I could sense the Old Tree, before I even saw it. Even Grandpa slowed as he first stepped out into the sunshine. The three of us stood silently at the bottom of the hill, jointly looking up towards the old oak tree. Grandma reached out in the same motion as Grandpa and they joined hands. Together, they led the way up the path towards the top of the hill. We stopped beneath the canopy of branches and looked back down over the meadow from the protection of the great tree. Soon, warm summer breezes would blow across the grass and flowers, gently creating a wave-like motion, not unlike the far away ocean in its wake. The animals, plants, and insects would live together in the protective shade of the oak tree. I wondered if they too felt the magic surrounding this special place.
I stood to the side and gestured to Grandma Sarah and Grandpa Jake to duck under the large branch and look at the heart now inscribed on the other side. Together, hands still clenched, they moved to the other side so they could be the first to see what I had carved there in the tree. There are some moments that are highlighted by celebration, full of laughter, music, and noise. This moment, instead, was etched by the total silence surrounding it. I moved off to the side so the tree blocked my personal view of my grandparents. I felt compelled to let them share this moment by themselves. I really didn’t know what to expect. My best guess was to hear one of them say, “wow,” or maybe even Grandpa with “I’ll be danged.” I got neither. There were no comments or sounds of any sort coming from the other side of the tree. I shifted from one foot to the other and back again, not certain if I should peek to see what was going on or continue to leave them alone.
Grandma must have had a sixth sense, and she made her way around the tree to where I was standing. Her eyes were moist, and I could see where the tears had tracked down her face. Her lip quivered as she reached out to hug me. Holding me tight, I could smell that wonderfully familiar perfume she wore, and I was comforted by it. Words would not come from her that day, regarding my heart on the tree, nor would she speak about it for nearly a week. She didn’t have to say anything. I could see the reaction to it on her face, and I felt it in her loving hug. She grabbed my hand and started to lead me down the path away from the tree. I understood in her actions that my grandpa had been more than touched; he had been greatly affected by what he had seen and we should leave. It was now his time to be alone in this place. On the tree, the past and present had been thoroughly entwined, and my grandpa needed to be lost amongst
his own personal
memories.
I walked all the way home, holding on to my grandma’s hand, just as I had when I was younger. Back then, my hand had felt small in hers. Today the feeling was just the opposite, and I somehow still found comfort and safety in holding on tightly. We didn’t speak and, more than once
,
Grandma would take her free hand and wipe away the tears from her cheeks.
Grandpa didn’t show up at the house until nearly dusk. I can’t say for certain if he was up by the tree the whole time or if he came down to join his friends for coffee downtown. When he finally did make an appearance at home, it took him awhile before he found his voice and finally spoke to me. I don’t think he wanted to say anything, but felt I deserved a comment of some kind. He locked eyes with Grandma Sarah and then walked over to me, looking much older than he did when he walked up to see the tree. I couldn’t help it, but I felt worried. Gone was the exuberant excitement, replaced with a quiet and solemn exterior. Looking at him the way he stood in front of me did not prepare me for what he had to say.
“What you have placed on that tree defies my ability to offer a rational response. To say only that it was beautiful or inspiring would be like saying the ocean is full of water; it doesn’t fit and deserves a much more profound statement. I believed that someday you would place your signature heart on the tree, and I think everyone who knows me, you, and your father expected the same thing. What they will see there is not just your statement of love for Allison, but a completion that makes a powerful statement when they see all three hearts together. It’s like coming around full circle or, in other words, the end of a great story. I’m not sure if I’m making sense or not, but when I stood looking at your handiwork, the memories of my life crashed down on me and, all at once, I lived both my past and present at the same time. I used to believe my heart and that of your father’s were special, not to say they aren’t, but the three hearts brought together with your use of the key and the vines completed what had only been a beginning so long ago. What I felt seeing those hearts joined together was a total feeling of finality.”