Our Heart (41 page)

I didn’t try to turn around. Grandpa Jake spoke carefully and with a whispery voice. “Jason, I couldn’t be more proud of the man that you have become. Your grandma and I will always be here to support and help you in any way we can. Life isn’t always going to be easy, but you always have family here who loves you and wants the best for you. Don’t ever be afraid to come home to your roots. Sometimes, you have to go back to where you began in order to work through where you’re at. Only then can you find yourself again and move forward with your life. I know the future for you isn’t going to be here…at least not at first, and wherever you go, I hope you take a little of this place and the people here with you. I know I’m talking down the road and you need to work through the here and now. I believe in my old heart you and Allison are meant to be, and I’ve nothing but prayers and wishes that your lives be filled with all the happiness I’ve found with your grandma.”

With his last sentence said so tenderly and emotionally, he let his hand fall from my shoulder, and then he turned and walked out of the kitchen. I stood there in my own thoughts for a moment longer, not quite sure of all the meaning behind his words. Some of what he said was for today and much of it I wasn’t sure of. This was nothing new. Grandpa had a way of telling me things, which would someday find a way of working their way out of the storage bin of my mind and come to the forefront at the right time and place.

It only took a moment, and then the thoughts of the tree began to invade my inner core. I even felt more resolve, and the excitement within me began to grow. Making my way out of the kitchen, through the back door, I headed to the garage to pick up my pack and the tools I would need to begin work on the great, old oak tree. I took three cans of pop out of the old refrigerator in the garage and wrapped each one in newspaper to help keep them cold for as long as possible. My hands were going to be full, and I didn’t want to try to drag a small cooler with ice in it too. There might be a time over the next week when I might wish I had; the weather was calling for a warmer than usual forecast.

As I walked the beaten down path to Harden creek, my thoughts returned to the things my grandpa had said to me over breakfast. Two things seemed to be clear; he thought of me as an adult, ready to take life by the horns, and he was worried that I might have some problems down the road. He thought I might lose sense of the important things; at least that’s what I was getting out of his message. I crossed the creek without even thinking, my mind still on the morning’s event. Once on the other side of the creek, as I began the trek through the timber, I let my inner thoughts turn to the tree and quickly felt an excited happiness envelope me. My pace picked up and I couldn’t wait to begin work on the heart.

As I exited the forest at the bottom of Murphy’s meadow and stepped into the grassy field, my jeans became instantly soaked with the dew from the previous night. It wasn’t the wet jeans that had my attention, though; it was the sparkles and shimmers of the field itself. There was a slight breeze, and the sun was glistening off the dew-sprinkled grass, causing it to glow like millions of diamonds tossed freely about. The colors that reflected off the droplets were
as
dramatic
as they were
beautiful. As the sun warmed the grass, miniature rainbows would appear in the mist, only to fade away as the dew evaporated into the morning air. Looking up the hill at the tree, through the spectacle of colors and diamond-like sparkles, it seemed to have a magical look about it. The branches gently swayed with the breeze, and the magnificent old tree seemed to be a conductor lost in the music of a grand symphony and extraordinary light show. I stood silently, mesmerized by the scene in front of me. I listened to the sounds of the meadow and let its music encircle me. For one brief moment, I felt absolute serenity. The feeling took me and I smiled. I headed up the hill, the grin stretched across my face, and my clothes gathering up the last of the morning’s diamond droplets.

The music of the meadow continued rising toward a crescendo, as I drew closer to the oak tree. The rustling of the leaves and the sound of the breeze, making its way over and around the branches, added a blissful harmony to the concerto with their creaks and groans. I stepped under the largest branch of the tree to the backside where the hearts of Grandpa and Dad were displayed. I set the toolbox down and released the backpack, letting it come to rest on the ground. I shrugged my shoulders a few times and tried to stretch out my neck, to work out the kinks from the pull of the straps of the backpack and the weight of the toolbox I had carried in my hands, all the way from the house.

The first thing on my mind was one of the pop cans in the pack. I unwrapped the paper around the can and popped the top. I stood facing the tree and tried to visualize the heart, there, as I saw it in my mind. It began to take form on the tree, and I wondered if this is how the master sculptors saw their work. If they started with a chunk of wood or marble then just chipped away the pieces that didn’t belong. Without even realizing it, I had drunk all of the pop in one continuous swallow. I tossed the can by the pack and opened the toolbox, rummaging through it until I had one of the large chisels and a rubber mallet in my hands. I knew by working on the stump at home, it was entirely likely that some of the bark I wanted to stay on the tree might already be loose and come off during my endeavors. The bark that once separated my father’s heart from Grandpa Jakes had long ago fallen away leaving a weathered spot between the two hearts. This was one of the things I was going to fix and make part of my heart.

I took a red magic marker from out of my rear pocket and drew a crude outline of the heart, this would be the area where my actual heart would be placed, but I intended to take more bark out of the way for what I had planned. I placed the chisel above the red magic marker outline, drew back my mallet… and that’s when I felt the butterflies make their way into my chest and block my inflow of air. Gasping for breath, I fought to maintain the focus on the chisel. Slowly, the panic left me and, before any other doubts could grip me, I swung the mallet true and hit the chisel squarely on the head sending it deep into the bark. A top outer piece of bark flew off and hit me in the chest, falling to the ground to lay at my feet. The chisel stayed mounted in the tree. I squatted and picked up the lone piece of bark and put in caringly into the pack beside the tree. There were two pieces I planned on saving, the first one and the last one. I intended to keep one and give the other one to Allison.

I was more than just careful; I was painstakingly slow at removing the outer layer of bark from the tree; my mistakes in most cases would not be easy to correct. I lost myself in the project and, before I knew it, several hours had passed. My inner mind seemed to dominate my thoughts, and the only image before me was the tree and the heart I was trying to uncover on it. In my mind, I could hear Allison’s voice talking to me, encouraging me to take my time, and she’d be waiting with great anticipation to see the completed masterpiece. Other times, I felt my grandfather guiding my strokes and the placement of the chisel, “not there…a little higher…careful not to hit this spot too hard.” After I had completed the general outline of the heart, I stepped away from the tree to look at the progress I had made. To me, it was nothing short of miraculous, the most beautiful piece of craftsmanship that I had ever seen, but then, in my eye, I was looking at the heart of my dreams, finished, and not the mere beginning of my efforts thus far.

I unwrapped another Pepsi from its newspaper. My mouth was dry and I needed a quick break. It was slightly warm, but I could have cared less. Chugging it down in a couple of long swallows, I tossed the can next to the pack beside the tree. I opened the outside pocket of the pack and grabbed the Snickers bar I had packed there earlier. It too had started to melt and my hands were covered in chocolate by the time I wolfed it down. Grinning to myself, I wiped my hands on the jeans I was wearing. This pair had more stains and holes on them than I could count, each one a testament to a project long completed. Licking the inside of the candy bar wrapper to get every last morsel of chocolate, I must have appeared like a starving bum raiding a garbage dumpster. When I finished, I put the discarded wrapper back in the pouch of the pack from where it had come. Satisfied by pop and sugar, I picked up the mallet and chisel and stood to face my heart once again.

It only took a few seconds for the vision in my mind to reemerge itself on the tree, and I quickly fell into my “heart,” mindset again. Slowly, I began to strip the bark from the inner part of the heart. I was still careful to take it off in smaller pieces so I would not disrupt or damage any of the wood underneath. There was only one piece that posed a problem. As I used the chisel to pry off a piece of bark at the innermost part of the heart, I could tell it was firmly attached to a fairly large section of the under-wood, as well. I stopped and offered the tree a few “well-chosen words,” as Grandma called them. If it broke off with the bark and was deep, I would have more than just trouble trying to repair the gap. I turned the chisel around and began to lift the bark from the bottom instead. I worked cautiously and was rewarded when the top bark finally worked loose from the tree.

Setting the chisel and mallet down, I rummage through the pack, until I found the small bottle of wood glue, buried deep in the pack with all the other necessities, I had brought along. Using the chisel to gently pry the stubborn piece of wood, I used my other hand to squeeze an ample amount of glue behind the raised piece. Once I removed the chisel, the piece of wood snapped back into place and the extra glue filled in the spaces and spread out from the top of the repaired piece. I wiped off the excess glue with a leaf from the tree and reminded myself to bring a couple of rags with me tomorrow.

There were no more trouble spots, and I finished peeling off the outer layer of bark in no time at all. I stepped back and looked at the contrast in colors on the tree. The cleared area where I was going to engrave my heart was a beige color, surrounded on nearly two-thirds by the dark outer bark. The rest of my newly created space was bordered by my father and grandfather’s heart outlines. Over the years, theirs had begun to darken as they aged. I looked closely, and I could see a small difference in the color of my father’s compared to grandpa’s. I wondered how long it would take for my design to blend in with theirs…my guess was at least ten years.

Using the chisel, I quickly eradicated any remnants of bark and cleaned up a few of the rough edges. I rummaged in the pack and withdrew a packet of sandpaper. I ripped open the top of the package and pulled out the coarsest sheet inside. I folded it around a small chunk of two-by-four and began to sand around the outline first. I made sure that I was extremely careful not to rip off any other pieces of bark. Satisfied the border was secure, I began taking out the ridges throughout the inner area of the heart.

The wind gently blew through the upper branches of the tree, and my mind wrapped around the sounds it produced. It seemed to be creating a symphony of nature in my head. I began to hear unique instruments merging into a harmonious blend of sound. Soon, I found myself shaping the sounds into a rhythmic score and, without even knowing it, I hummed along. I soon added my voice on top as the main melody. I lost myself in the music and the tree. By the time I had gone through three pieces of sandpaper, the song of the tree had expanded from a chorus to a nearly completed song. I had no words to sing, but I somehow felt that, when the time was right, they would come to me. I had a deep awareness that the song, composed under the guidance of the tree, would always remain part of my spirit and connection to this place.

My shoulders were stiff and I could feel a cringe beginning settle in the back of my neck. Looking down at my watch, I saw it was nearly five o’clock. I had sanded, re-sanded and sanded some more for the better part of the afternoon. My fingers were roughened by the sandpaper, and I had more than a few lacerations. Somehow, none of that mattered; what did matter was the perfectly smooth wood canvas that I now had to work with. My mind and spirit wanted to continue, but my body was telling me to take a break. I stood back from my work and grinned like a demented fool, the anticipation of completion taking charge of my facial muscles.

I let out a complete body sigh and started picking up the remnants of sandpaper scattered around the base of the tree, packing them away into my pack. I still had one pop left and I opened it, now more than just warm. I took a swig, but I couldn’t get past the warm taste and poured the rest out on the ground. I was either going to bring a small cooler or a jug of frozen water tomorrow. As I slung the pack on my shoulders I began to feel some anxiety at leaving the tree to go home. What if someone came along and maliciously vandalized all my hard work? I wondered if I shouldn’t set up a tent and stand guard. I took a deep breath and started down the path toward home. It was nothing I could prevent, but would always have reason to worry about.

Chapter 21

I woke up the next morning to the sound of rain beating against the windowpane. Before I even tried to sit up, I could feel the muscle tightness in my neck and the stiffness in my fingers. Part of me was glad it was raining; the majority of me, though, felt empty. I wanted to get back to the tree and continue working on the heart. Both Grandma and Grandpa the night before had steered away from asking me any questions to do with my work up at the tree. I could tell they were both excited just by the way they flittered around the house. I didn’t offer either, wanting to keep it all to myself until it was properly finished.

Grandma had made one of her casseroles, which meant it was a new recipe snipped from either a magazine or the daily newspaper. Not that they were bad, but occasionally Grandpa and I would have benefited by eating anywhere other than at home. Too many times, he and I would smile through clenched teeth as we forced bite after bite into an un-wanting stomach. To be fair, Grandma had tried a few on us that became favorites for both of us. Grandma would never sample it beforehand and would always wait to see what our expression was going to be before she ate a bite. Last night’s concoction was another in a long line of Italian expressions, pasta with hamburger in a tomato sauce, a quick fix for a lasagna craving. It was fair, and I’m sure it would be added to Grandma’s recipe file, box fifty-eight.