Acer rubrum part VI
Part VI: Myths & Folklore
How the Red Maple Got its Color
As related to this researcher by a small, gnomish gentleman of an earthy character and curious facial hair during a walk through the maine woods
Long ago, when the world was first being made, all of the trees gathered together for a council, to divide up the lands of the east between them. After many long debates and arguments, in which many boughs were shaken in anger and many leafy whispers were passed conspiratorially between allies, an agreement of sorts was reached. To the mighty oaks and pines, vast dominions were given; to the strange, dark spruces and firs passed control over the vast snowy reaches of the north; to the lindens and sycamores were the cool, moist bottomland coves given; the friendly ashes were given claims of fellowship on all trees, that they might grow wheresoever they please; and to the proud sugar maples, hemlocks and yellow birches were given the deepest, ancientest plots of soil that the council of trees had control of.
But this agreement did not satisfy the Red Maple, for he had been pushed aside to waste areas, to swamps and fens were the soil was sour and unnourishing, and to droughty, rocky hilltops where his roots grew parched and dry. He complained to his dear sister, Silver Maple, saying "Sister! This council of trees is cruel and unfair! They have banished me to these sickly wastelands, though I have done nothing to deserve it!"
His sister replied "Ah, Brother Red Maple, it is indeed an unfair thing that they have done to you. But do not blame them for their cruelty, for it was only greed and selfishness which inspired those of them that could to take the best lands for their own." And she drooped her lithe limbs over the running Ohio as she spook, weeping in sorrow for her brother.
The Red Maple shook his sharp-angled branches in an angry denial. "Sister, sister, what you say may be so; but it matters not! I do not care why they have committed this injustice against me, only that it be corrected! Will you stand with me, sister, and support me as I go to the council and insist that they redress my injuries?"
"I should love to, brother, but I am afraid my words carry as little weight in the council as yours do. Even standing together, they will likely dismiss us. But perhaps you could go to Brother Sugar Maple; surely he will be sympathetic, too, and he is a respected and wealthy tree who can convince the others of your rightness." And so young Red Maple uprooted himself and trod earthenly off to meet his older brother, the Sugar Maple. Once he had reached his brother's home in the rich hills of the northeast, he told him the same story that he had told his sister.
"Ah, Brother Red Maple, wet your roots here at this spring and listen to me, " replied the proud old tree. "I know that the council's decision seems unfair to you, but it is not so. Your sister is right, perhaps, in claiming that selfishness has guided the actions of many council members. But wisdom, too, has been involved. Each of us trees, " Sugar Maple declaimed, "has his or her own special capabilities and qualities. You may think that I have it easy here on the rich and fertile uplands, but there are dangers here as well. Great herds of deer and elk roam these woods, eager to eat up my children, to tear their leaves from their tender shoots. Though you be hardy of root, my brother, you would not stand up well to the predations of these wild beasts."
"You cannot know that, Brother! I have not been given a chance to test myself against them! But I am sure that I could fend off all the deer of the forest if it came to it. I am not afraid."
"O ho! Not afraid!" laughed the Sugar Maple, who was in truth becoming somewhat annoyed with his younger sibling's arrogance. He leaned his great, tall crown over the Red Maple, and deep furrows appeared in the bark about his brows. "Then that shows simply how little understanding you have of these matters. Go back to your swamp, my brother, and be glad that wiser trunks than yours prevailed in the council. We each have our rightful place in this world, and hard as our lot my seem, to leave that place, to abandon our appointed lot, is folly, dreadful folly, inviting only disaster." Pleased with this speech, Brother Sugar Maple bent back his crown to take in the full sunlight, and stretched out his roots to chew up the rich, black loess. He made it clear to his brother that the discussion was quite closed.
Red Maple stormed off, and returned to his swampy home in anger. He dug his roots as deep into the wet, peaty soil as they would go, and tossed his limbs furiously with the wind. He pored over what his brother had said, pored over his vast damp kingdom. Finally, he came to a conclusion: if the other trees would not give him his deserts, then he would have to take them for himself.
Storming around his swamp, he gathered cranberries by the bushel, and squished them beneath his trunk; He went up to his dry hilltops, and gathered as much dry, gritty earth as he could. He went over to brother Butternut, and asked for as many of his nuts as could be spared. Then he went back to his swamp, and dragged up great quantities of mud. He mixed these ingredients together, singing to himself the whistling wind-chants of the trees, and produced war-paints to strike terror into his fellow trees: paints that were red, like the hot blood that pumped through the veins of the deer that nibbled at their leaves, the porcupines that tore at their trunks, the humans who chopped with their axes; paints that were orange and paints that were yellow, like the very hottest parts of the fires that burned whole forests mercilessly. Then, he daubed himself with these paints, covering his leaves, his stems, his buds, and his very flowers with the rich colors of war.
And he set himself out to wage war against the other trees of the east, a war in the slow manner of the trees. He pushed his kingdom outward, expanding with the vigor of his youth and his anger. Wheresoever he would grow, he would batter at his neighbors, his boughs shaking in the wind with such rage as to break off their branches and crush their leaves.* Across the eastern lands, the colors of war spread, as Red Maple and his children claimed what they believed was their birthright, pushing aside all who opposed them.
The other trees were shocked by the violence of Red Maple's attack. Nothing like this had ever happened before, in the whole history of tree-dom! But soon - or at least soon by the glacial standards of trees - the other members of the council began to fight back. All the forests of the East were on the move, great, dark shadows stalking across the land toward war. Fires flared, and trees burned; deadly poisons were leached into the ground by clever trees to kill their enemies; the legions of animals and humans who passed their lives beneath the shade of the trees were pressed into service.
Eventually, of course, Red Maple was pushed back to his fens and forced to surrender. Despite his anger, as hot and red as the paint he wore, he really had no hope of defeating the combined might of the eastern forests. And so he has grown ever since, feral and brooding, in his sour-earthed wetlands and his droughty granite hillocks. Age has brought him wisdom and cunning, but it has not tempered his passions or savagery. No, when the autumn comes over the land and he drifts off into hibernation, Brother Red Maple still dreams of the rich loam he tasted in his conquests during the war; he still dreams of sweet soil, running water, and revenge...
Dreaming of sweet soil, running water, and revenge since 1986,
--mark
*It should be noted that this researcher has read some more modern documents that corroborate this somewhat strange part of the legend; for he has seen it claimed, by veteran foresters and woodsmen, that those trees which grow next to very tall and large red maples tend to have battered and weedy crowns, and that the reason for this is that the red maple aggressively batters the trees that surround it.
How the Red Maple Got its Color
As related to this researcher by a small, gnomish gentleman of an earthy character and curious facial hair during a walk through the maine woods
Long ago, when the world was first being made, all of the trees gathered together for a council, to divide up the lands of the east between them. After many long debates and arguments, in which many boughs were shaken in anger and many leafy whispers were passed conspiratorially between allies, an agreement of sorts was reached. To the mighty oaks and pines, vast dominions were given; to the strange, dark spruces and firs passed control over the vast snowy reaches of the north; to the lindens and sycamores were the cool, moist bottomland coves given; the friendly ashes were given claims of fellowship on all trees, that they might grow wheresoever they please; and to the proud sugar maples, hemlocks and yellow birches were given the deepest, ancientest plots of soil that the council of trees had control of.
But this agreement did not satisfy the Red Maple, for he had been pushed aside to waste areas, to swamps and fens were the soil was sour and unnourishing, and to droughty, rocky hilltops where his roots grew parched and dry. He complained to his dear sister, Silver Maple, saying "Sister! This council of trees is cruel and unfair! They have banished me to these sickly wastelands, though I have done nothing to deserve it!"
His sister replied "Ah, Brother Red Maple, it is indeed an unfair thing that they have done to you. But do not blame them for their cruelty, for it was only greed and selfishness which inspired those of them that could to take the best lands for their own." And she drooped her lithe limbs over the running Ohio as she spook, weeping in sorrow for her brother.
The Red Maple shook his sharp-angled branches in an angry denial. "Sister, sister, what you say may be so; but it matters not! I do not care why they have committed this injustice against me, only that it be corrected! Will you stand with me, sister, and support me as I go to the council and insist that they redress my injuries?"
"I should love to, brother, but I am afraid my words carry as little weight in the council as yours do. Even standing together, they will likely dismiss us. But perhaps you could go to Brother Sugar Maple; surely he will be sympathetic, too, and he is a respected and wealthy tree who can convince the others of your rightness." And so young Red Maple uprooted himself and trod earthenly off to meet his older brother, the Sugar Maple. Once he had reached his brother's home in the rich hills of the northeast, he told him the same story that he had told his sister.
"Ah, Brother Red Maple, wet your roots here at this spring and listen to me, " replied the proud old tree. "I know that the council's decision seems unfair to you, but it is not so. Your sister is right, perhaps, in claiming that selfishness has guided the actions of many council members. But wisdom, too, has been involved. Each of us trees, " Sugar Maple declaimed, "has his or her own special capabilities and qualities. You may think that I have it easy here on the rich and fertile uplands, but there are dangers here as well. Great herds of deer and elk roam these woods, eager to eat up my children, to tear their leaves from their tender shoots. Though you be hardy of root, my brother, you would not stand up well to the predations of these wild beasts."
"You cannot know that, Brother! I have not been given a chance to test myself against them! But I am sure that I could fend off all the deer of the forest if it came to it. I am not afraid."
"O ho! Not afraid!" laughed the Sugar Maple, who was in truth becoming somewhat annoyed with his younger sibling's arrogance. He leaned his great, tall crown over the Red Maple, and deep furrows appeared in the bark about his brows. "Then that shows simply how little understanding you have of these matters. Go back to your swamp, my brother, and be glad that wiser trunks than yours prevailed in the council. We each have our rightful place in this world, and hard as our lot my seem, to leave that place, to abandon our appointed lot, is folly, dreadful folly, inviting only disaster." Pleased with this speech, Brother Sugar Maple bent back his crown to take in the full sunlight, and stretched out his roots to chew up the rich, black loess. He made it clear to his brother that the discussion was quite closed.
Red Maple stormed off, and returned to his swampy home in anger. He dug his roots as deep into the wet, peaty soil as they would go, and tossed his limbs furiously with the wind. He pored over what his brother had said, pored over his vast damp kingdom. Finally, he came to a conclusion: if the other trees would not give him his deserts, then he would have to take them for himself.
Storming around his swamp, he gathered cranberries by the bushel, and squished them beneath his trunk; He went up to his dry hilltops, and gathered as much dry, gritty earth as he could. He went over to brother Butternut, and asked for as many of his nuts as could be spared. Then he went back to his swamp, and dragged up great quantities of mud. He mixed these ingredients together, singing to himself the whistling wind-chants of the trees, and produced war-paints to strike terror into his fellow trees: paints that were red, like the hot blood that pumped through the veins of the deer that nibbled at their leaves, the porcupines that tore at their trunks, the humans who chopped with their axes; paints that were orange and paints that were yellow, like the very hottest parts of the fires that burned whole forests mercilessly. Then, he daubed himself with these paints, covering his leaves, his stems, his buds, and his very flowers with the rich colors of war.
And he set himself out to wage war against the other trees of the east, a war in the slow manner of the trees. He pushed his kingdom outward, expanding with the vigor of his youth and his anger. Wheresoever he would grow, he would batter at his neighbors, his boughs shaking in the wind with such rage as to break off their branches and crush their leaves.* Across the eastern lands, the colors of war spread, as Red Maple and his children claimed what they believed was their birthright, pushing aside all who opposed them.
The other trees were shocked by the violence of Red Maple's attack. Nothing like this had ever happened before, in the whole history of tree-dom! But soon - or at least soon by the glacial standards of trees - the other members of the council began to fight back. All the forests of the East were on the move, great, dark shadows stalking across the land toward war. Fires flared, and trees burned; deadly poisons were leached into the ground by clever trees to kill their enemies; the legions of animals and humans who passed their lives beneath the shade of the trees were pressed into service.
Eventually, of course, Red Maple was pushed back to his fens and forced to surrender. Despite his anger, as hot and red as the paint he wore, he really had no hope of defeating the combined might of the eastern forests. And so he has grown ever since, feral and brooding, in his sour-earthed wetlands and his droughty granite hillocks. Age has brought him wisdom and cunning, but it has not tempered his passions or savagery. No, when the autumn comes over the land and he drifts off into hibernation, Brother Red Maple still dreams of the rich loam he tasted in his conquests during the war; he still dreams of sweet soil, running water, and revenge...
Dreaming of sweet soil, running water, and revenge since 1986,
--mark
*It should be noted that this researcher has read some more modern documents that corroborate this somewhat strange part of the legend; for he has seen it claimed, by veteran foresters and woodsmen, that those trees which grow next to very tall and large red maples tend to have battered and weedy crowns, and that the reason for this is that the red maple aggressively batters the trees that surround it.