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luckyTopic: "Cilled a Bar?" (3)
"D Boon Cilled a Bar On This Tree 1749."
The sentence above is a part of American History that Frodo fears means just a little bit less today than it did yesterday. Would you, dear reader, admit to the fact that you had absolutely no idea that messages such as this were almost always carved into the bark of beech trees? For it is true that Daniel Boone frequently inscribed his name into the soft bark of a beech tree, much in the same way that teenaged lovers in the Twentieth Century have done to catch the eye of any casual passerby. It has been estimated that no beech tree more than fifty years of age today remains free of a carving, generally not much more than initials inside a roughly-hewn heart. That is, of ourse, for the one known to Frodo and to Mick, the Wonder Dog.
The big beech tree stands alongside the road; minus several limbs sliced away by the local Power Company whenever they perceive a threat to an adjacent power line. Behind its grand base, and the hearts inscribed on its trunk, there stands another beech, hidden amongst the umbrella magnolias and the mountain laurel. Smaller it may be, but it is certainly at least 70 years of age, given its size, and the girth of its trunk. It has not felt the inscription of a knife, of any kind.
Frodo is very jealous of the condition of his noble friend, and he checks on it every time he wanders into the paths entering the deep woods. He feels a certin surreptitious satisfaction every time he notes the clear slate that helps to produce the chewy nut which cleansed the teeth of the Cherokee. His travelling companion, the noble Wonder Dog, also knows the spot, and seems to smile and laugh with Frodo as they stroll, side-by-side, into the woods of Frost, albeit without the flakes of frozen precipitation.
Suddenly, the Wonder Dog freezes into full alert, and Frodo catches a full view of the fluffiest of white tail he has seen in many days. Mick, the Wonder Dog, is tensed as the deer bounds into the gap at full speed. He determines that pursuit would be futile, but he holds his pose. He turns to Frodo, almost as if to say that the two of them should mark the spot. In their own way, the best of friends, do exactly that. They turn and walk away, side-by-side, with the last clean beech tree in all of the wild mountains behind them.
It stands there for you dear reader. To someday be observed, and recalled as the spot where two good friends once noted God's gift, and left it as it was found.
