The Adventures of Elmwood (The Green Forest)

by T.R. Jensen

The Adventures of Elmwood

  (The Green Forest)

  By T.R. Jensen

  Copyright 2012 T.R. Jensen

  The Adventures of Elmwood

  (The Green Forest)

  By T.R. Jensen

  Chapter I

  Once upon a time in a land far away, there lived in a beautiful forest a tiny old man. He was an odd, rather funny-looking fellow with a big round nose and puffy red cheeks. His hair and beard were long and snowy-white, falling all the way past is knobby knees. His too-short pants and too-large shirt were made of fine wool, and they were the color of the bright forest around him. On his head was a green floppy hat, and no matter how hard the little man struggled to keep it in place, it always seemed ready to slip and fall from its snowy perch. He wore no shoes, enjoying instead the spongy feel of the soft forest floor between his tiny, wiggling toes. He’d lived in the forest for many, many years. The tall swaying trees, the beautiful flowers and bushes—even the small babbling stream which wound lazily about his strange and fascinating house was as comfortable to him as the gentle softness of his own feather bed.

  The little man’s name was Erdle. He had no last name that anyone could remember, yet no one living in the forest cared, for everyone who knew him loved him dearly. He was a small man, yes, but Erdle had the heart of a giant. Kind and generous, with big smiling eyes, Erdle was never so busy that he couldn’t spare the time to pass along a kind word to everyone he met.

  “Hello! Hello! Hello!” the brightly colored sparrow would chirp as it flew in sharp, crisp circles above Erdle’s house.

  “Top of the morning to you!” Erdle would reply, hurriedly clutching his wobbly hat. “You seem to be in fine form today, my little friend!” Then he would smile and wave good-bye as the darting young bird graciously accepted the compliment, dipping its pointed wings in a flashy salute of farewell.

  The deer, the raccoons, the many squirrels and rabbits, even the grumpy old bears and badgers, all of the glorious animals of the forest knew and trusted old Erdle. And Erdle loved and trusted them as well. They were friends. All of them. And there was never a problem so big that it could not bring them all together to solve it.

  Erdle lived in a wondrous, fabulous house. His home was in a hollow at the bottom of an old and majestic tree. The door was very small, barely large enough for him to walk through, but inside were three cozy and comfortable rooms. Each room was set with great care, finely lined with handsome tables and chairs and couches and shelves and dressers and drawers—all beautifully crafted from the best wood of the tree, polished and shiny from Erdle’s constant care. There were also cups and saucers, plates, silverware, pictures, knick-knacks and toys, as well as many other gifts that he had long ago been given by his many forest friends.

  Erdle was proud of his little house in the tree. It was open to all who came, and to all who came it was open. It was a haven, a sanctuary, and a meeting place for all who needed it. It was simply known throughout the forest as Erdle’s Place. And to all who wished entry the door was never closed.

  One day while cleaning house, Erdle walked back and forth across his living room, busily sweeping dust into tiny piles. As he worked, his thoughts turned to Plummer, his best and most trusted friend. Plummer was a bluebird, the brightest and smartest bluebird in all the land, and he and Erdle had met many years before while teaming up to save the life of a baby deer from the heat and smoke of a summer fire. They had become fast friends then, and they were the best of friends now. Each morning they started the day with a warm laugh and a hot cup of Erdle’s homemade tea. And today was to be no different. Happy with anticipation, Erdle began singing his favorite song…

  Hey-Hey, whaddaya say?

  It’s gonna be one more beautiful day

  Oo-whee, look at me

  I’m just as happy as I can be!

  Smiling to himself as he finished his sweeping, Erdle paused to admire his work. “Yes, yes…” he said happily, looking about the room. “It sure looks pretty good to me!” Setting aside the broom, he stopped and stood with his hands on his hips, trying to decide what to do next to pass the time until Plummer arrived for his morning tea. He was just about to reach for a mop when suddenly there came a familiar flutter of wings from just outside the door, and Erdle instantly began clapping his tiny hands with glee. “Plummer!” he exclaimed, rushing to the door and throwing it open. “It’s so nice of you to come!”

  Chapter II

  The stream that flowed by Erdle’s house was a long and winding ribbon of blue. Cool and clean, it danced its way in and out of the mossy trees, over the shiny rocks and pebbles, pausing here and there to form crystal clear pools from which all the animals could drink. The banks were soft and sandy, sloping gently to the water’s edge, and it was on just such a sandy bank, not far from Erdle’s house, that a young chipmunk named Elmwood had earlier awakened to find himself hungry, lost, scared, and alone.

  “Oh, no! Oh, dear!” cried Elmwood, sitting up and brushing the sand from his clothes. “Wh-Where am I?” he said. “And…and where is my father?”

  Slowly the jumbled pieces of the night before came back to the little chipmunk. He began to remember his father carrying him home through the dark and scary woods. He remembered the frightening sounds of the night creatures as they watched the two of them making their way silently along the path by the stream. And then he remembered falling…and rolling…and yelling for his father to stop, to wait—but his father hadn’t heard him because of the noise of the rushing water. Shaking with fear, Elmwood had listened as his father kept right on going, speeding down the trail and into the black of the night, into a place where Elmwood was too afraid to follow. And now—

  “I’m lost!” he sobbed. “I’ll never get home! I don’t even know which way home is!”

  Elmwood took off his glasses and wiped his misty eyes. But try as he might, he was too upset to come up with a single answer as to how to find his way home. All he knew for sure was that he was lost in the middle of a big and scary forest, and that he missed his family terribly. Quietly, Elmwood put his head on his knees, circled his arms, and cried softly to himself.

  Sometime later, and as the morning grew, Elmwood began feeling a little better. The sun was all the way out now, and he could see that although this wasn’t his forest, it was still a forest, and there were certain things that he found familiar. Strengthened by this new thought, Elmwood stood up and replaced his glasses, knowing that if he was ever going to find his way home he’d better quit feeling sorry for himself, and he’d better do it right now. He was never going to get any closer to his mother and father if all he was going to do was cry.

  It had been dark when his father had carried him through the forest, far too dark to remember the way, but there was something nagging at the back of Elmwood’s mind. It was something his father had told him. But what was it? What was it that his father had said? Let’s see…

  “Of course!” Elmwood cried. Now he remembered!

  The stream!

  Why hadn’t he thought of it before? His father had said, “Elmwood, we’ll be home soon. Once we cross the stream, we’re almost there…”

  “Oh yes! Yes!” Elmwood shouted.

  A rush of excitement instantly raced through the young chipmunk, and without a further thought, he suddenly began dancing and singing, shouting his joy to all in the forest who’d listen. He was going home! He just knew it!

  With one last anxious cry, Elmwood turned and ran as fast as he could to the water’s edge—and stopped.

  His excitement faded. His heart sank.

  And again he wanted to cry.

  For Elmwood saw at
once that he would never be able to cross the stream by himself. Though it was not a very big stream, nor a very wide stream, it was still far too large and dangerous for a young chipmunk to dare to try alone. Saddened again, Elmwood sat once more on the sandy bank. A moment later he angrily picked up a nearby rock, throwing it wildly into the water.

  “HEY!” boomed a loud and furious voice in return. “Hey, I say! Who are you to be throwing rocks at me!”

  Elmwood jumped and scrambled back from the unexpected voice. His fur tingled and he shook so badly that his glasses nearly fell from his face.

  “Well?” came the voice again. It sounded like thunder in Elmwood’s tiny ears. “Are you going to answer me, boy?”

  Elmwood tried desperately to calm himself. His heart raced and his throat became suddenly dry. “I—Who—I mean…where are you?” he finally managed to squeak.

  “I’m over here, you skinny excuse for a squirrel! Use your eyes, half-pint! After all, it looks like you’ve got four of them to choose from!”

  Embarrassed, Elmwood lowered his eyes and straightened his crooked glasses. For a moment he thought of telling the unseen voice that he was a chipmunk, not a squirrel, but the voice was so loud and frightening that Elmwood decided against it.

  “Well?” repeated the voice. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  Elmwood quickly searched the water, his eyes finally coming to rest on a huge, battered bullfrog sitting squarely on the middle of a bright green lily pad. The frog was so ugly, so threatening that Elmwood instantly cringed at the sight of it. “I—I’m s-sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t see you sitting there, sir.”

  “Hmmf!” said the frog. “Then I suggest that the next time you feel like throwing a rock, you’d better look before you throw it, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, sir…” Elmwood meekly replied.

  The massive frog jumped from one lily pad to another, this one a little closer to where Elmwood was standing. His flabby body made a dull smacking sound as it landed heavily on the green waxy surface. The frog steadily fixed his gaze upon the still-shaking Elmwood. “Who are you, anyway?” he asked. “And what brings you to my stream, throwing rocks in my water?”

  Elmwood hesitated before answering. He was terribly afraid of this loud and angry frog, and he wasn’t sure if he should say anything at all. Stalling for time, he buried his toe into the soft earth beneath him.

  “I’m waiting…” the frog continued.

  Elmwood thought long and hard. And what he decided was that he was more afraid of staying lost and never reaching home than he was of this old and battered frog. So, beginning slowly and gaining courage as he went, Elmwood told the frog the story of how he came to be lost.

  “So, you see, Mr. Frog,” he finished, “I’m afraid I’m in a lot of trouble. I know my home is over there, somewhere across the water, but I’m afraid I’ll never reach it. The stream is far too large for me to cross.” Elmwood shuffled his feet, and then nervously lowered his eyes. “You see, Mr. Frog…I can’t swim.”

  When the frog heard this, his ears perked up and a devilish grin crept slowly onto his broad and bumpy face. He realized at once that standing before him was a scared and innocent little animal just waiting to be taken advantage of—and somehow, the frog knew, there was a way to turn that advantage toward himself. So, with this in mind, and as he thoughtfully planned his next move, the frog let his voice begin to change. He softened his eyes, and the next words he spoke came out sounding quite gentle and kind.

  “Hmmmm…” he said. Did I hear you say, little one, that you are unable to swim? My, my…what a terrible bit of luck that is. A terrible bit of luck, indeed. And you…so young…so far from home.” A crafty look slowly rose into the frog’s large and unblinking eyes.

  “I’ll tell you what—!” the frog said suddenly. “Maybe I can be of some assistance to you. I have a friend, you see, and I’m sure he can find a way to get you home.”

  Elmwood looked up, a small ray of hope lighting his face. “Really?” he asked. “Really, Mr. Frog?”

  “Oh, yes…” the frog said smoothly. “My friend’s name is Slinky, and I’m sure he would be more than happy to help a poor young fellow such as you. Why don’t you follow along, my friend? Slinky lives just down the trail from here. And Slinky is always home.”

  Elmwood paused, but only for a moment. The frog still scared him, yes, but he didn’t seem to be as frightening now. Maybe he’d forgiven him for throwing the rock. And maybe, just maybe he really could help!

  “All right, Mr. Frog,” Elmwood decided. “Yes. If you think your friend can help me, then I’d like to go see him. And, thank you.”

  The frog grinned. Elmwood smiled hopefully. And together they headed quickly down the trail by the stream, moving anxiously in the direction of the creature named Slinky.

  In all of their haste, however, neither of them happened to notice the colorful bluebird that had been sitting silently on a branch behind them, listening to every word they said.

  Chapter III

  The shrill whistle of the teapot drew Erdle’s attention back inside the house. He had been standing in the doorway, watching as his best friend, Plummer, soared among the currents, flying quickly and splendidly through the beautiful, sunlit morning.

  Erdle went to the stove, removed the teapot, and poured two steaming cups of tea. Just as he finished pouring, he heard his good friend’s voice calling out to him from his usual place outside.

  “Hello, Erdle!” Plummer said. “I see you’ve already been busy this morning. And—mmmm—yes! I can smell that delicious tea you’ve brewed, too!”

  Erdle came to the door, two cups in hand, and passed one to his friend. “Hi, Plum!” he greeted. “And no, I’m not so busy. Just a little spring cleaning is all. But let’s not talk about me. Let’s talk about you. How are you today, my friend?”

  “Oh, I’m fine,” Plummer replied. He slowly sipped his tea, then smiled. “Delicious as always, Erdle.”

  Erdle smiled back. “Thank you, Plum.”

  There had been between these two an event that happened many years before that was to forever change the course of their lives. It occurred at the height of a ferociously hot summer, and it all began with a single word: FIRE!

  A bolt of lightning had struck an old tree near the center of the forest. Within minutes the tiny blaze had doubled, then tripled in size, cutting off animals in all directions from shelter, from water, and from each other. The thick smoke stung their worried eyes, blinding them to any trails they might have otherwise used to escape. There were many, many lives lost in the frantic attempts to flee the flames.

  Plummer had been a young bird then, barely old enough to fly. But he knew what a fire was—his instincts were strong—and he knew enough to know that he could be of great help to the earth-bound animals by using his gift of flight to help lead them to safety.

  Hour after hour the courageous little bluebird flew on his dangerous mission. Time and again he would lead from the flames a wounded rabbit or porcupine, sometimes a fox or a beaver, only to return again, his feathers charred and smoking, to help yet another frightened animal in a daring attempt at escape.

  And it was on one of these such flights that Plummer, flying high amid the swirling smoke, happened to look down and see a tiny old man dressed in green, his white hair and beard nearly burned from his head, trying desperately to lead a newborn fawn from the dangerous smoke and fire. Instantly, Plummer’s heart went out to the man. And for that one unselfish act that could have cost the old man his life, Plummer had vowed to remain his friend forever.

  “What are you thinking about, Plum?” Erdle asked.

  His thoughts broken, Plummer looked at the old man and smiled. “Oh, I was just thinking back to the time of the fire, back to the time that we met.” Finishing his tea, he softly set down the cup. “You were very brave that day, Erdle.”

  “Oh, Plum…” Erdle said. “It was you that was brave, my friend. If it hadn�
�t been for you flying down to show us the way…why, me and that poor little fella might not have made it.”

  “I don’t know…maybe.” Plummer said. “Still, you’re the bravest man I know.”

  Erdle laughed. “Plummer, I’m the only man you know!”

  The morning sun was bright and warm. For several moments neither friend had any desire to speak, choosing instead to simply relax and enjoy the presence of each other’s company. The comforting spell was only broken when Plummer began thinking of the conversation he’d heard earlier between the young chipmunk and that bully of a frog that lived along the stream. Breaking the silence, he turned to Erdle and shared with him the conversation, asking what he thought.

  “Well,” Erdle said. “I know that old frog, Plum, and he’s not a creature I’d care to tangle with. Nosiree! Especially if I was a young chipmunk lost in the forest.”

  “Do you think the boy might be in trouble, Erdle?”

  “Possibly, possibly…” answered the old man. He looked in the direction of the stream. “Sometimes the forest can be a dangerous place, my friend. Would you like us to check on him, see if he’s okay?”

  Plummer thought for a moment. His mind told him that it was probably nothing—but his heart hammered out a different answer.

  Erdle, knowing his good friend all too well, lifted a hand, allowing Plummer to quickly land on his arm. He smiled. “My feelings exactly, Plum. Let’s go take us a look, shall we?”

  Chapter IV

  As the stream traveled further into the darkness of the forest, it began to narrow, it’s banks becoming steeper and more dangerous, with the once smoothly flowing water now picking up speed. It cascaded here and there in sudden bursts of current too mighty for even such a strong swimmer as the frog to contend with.

  Elmwood glance about him as he followed the hopping frog. For the past several minutes they had followed a winding path that led from spots of patchy sunlight into a deeper, more growing darkness, and Elmwood could sense an uneasy feeling of coldness creeping inside him.