The Graveyard Tree

“Woman, I cut down a tree, not dug up a body.” Dad continued to pull at the tree. “Can you help?”

“You cut down a tree in the graveyard?” Mom crossed herself and mumbled a prayer.

Dad stood in the doorway, trying to pull an enormous tree through, his face red with exertion. He paused and looked up at Mom. “Well, I found it in the woods behind the graveyard.”

Mom grabbed her coat and squeezed past the tree to the outside. “Ok, I’ll push,” she said. Through the window, I saw her step back from the tree, her hands in the pockets of her coat. “On three,” she yelled, “One, two, three.”

Dad heaved and fell backward. The tree broke through the doorway and landed with a thud beside him.

“Fetch the stand,” he said to me in a cheerful tone as he stood up and brushed the snow off his coat.

I dashed downstairs and found the rust-stained red and green stand on the shelf among the other Christmas decorations. I grabbed it and the oil-stained cardboard box of ornaments.

“You know, this was your great-grandma Mony’s stand,” Dad said. He carefully screwed the legs into place. “Over a hundred years old,” Dad continued.

Mom rolled her eyes. “That stand’s from the 70s,” she said.

Dad laughed and said, “Well, it’s really old.”

“Hey Dad, how do you know there isn’t anything still living in this tree?”

“Well, I shook it,” Dad replied as he hefted the twelve-foot tree into the stand. “I had to get all the snow off of it, didn’t I? Plus, I hauled it half a mile down the street, nothing’s still in there.” He dragged the tree into the living room and positioned it in the nook by the windows.

I eyed the tree suspiciously and Dad seemed right, there appeared to be nothing living in the tree.

“You know, Dad, this is a pretty nice tree,” I said, even though the lopsided, sparse, balding in spots tree tilted precariously to the left.

Dad beamed.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

I sat up in bed.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

It sounded like a branch tapping a window.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

I grabbed my warm fuzzy bathrobe and phone. As I headed down the stairs, I turned on the flashlight and followed the sound of the tapping.

It led me to the front window. I shined my light and two haunting eyes appeared.

“What?!” I jumped back, tripping over the leg of a chair. I landed with a thud as my early Christmas present flew out of my hand and hit the wall with a soul-crushing crack. “NO! Not my new phone!” I crawled over to it and verified, that yes indeed the screen had shattered. “Great, Mom’s gonna kill me.”

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

I jerked, tossing the phone into the air. I fumbled, trying to catch it. I missed. “Crap!” I picked up my broken phone and shined it toward the window. Haunting slate black eyes blinked slowly as the creature cocked its head to the left.

“A barn owl,” I mused. “How very strange.”

The owl tapped four times on the window.

“Shoo,” I said as I lunged toward the owl.

The owl stood up straight, ruffled its feathers, and shook its head from side to side.

“Did you just say no?”

The owl blinked slowly. It turned its head toward the door and then looked back at me. I opened the door and the owl flew in and landed on the tree.

“Da…,” I started to say, but the owl raised its taloned claw to its beak as if to silence me.

I blinked slowly, turned, and went back to bed.

I woke up drowsy, headed straight for the tree, and examined it carefully. Toward the top, I noticed a mottled white and brown spot in the vivid evergreen.

The owl turned its head from under its wing and nodded in my direction. Then promptly returned its head to beneath its wing.

“Well, let’s just see how long it takes for Mom and Dad to notice,” I mused aloud.

Dad came tromping down the stairs, heavy work booted feet making a resounding thump with each step. “Well, Sissy, I do say that tree looks better this morning than it did last night.”

He was right, it somehow looked straighter, greener, and fuller.

“Don’t forget to add some water to the stand basin, we don’t want it drying out,” he said. He gave me a kiss on the cheek and took his big winter coat from the peg by the door. “I’ll be home after work.”

Little rest for a snowplow operator in the middle of December, in the land that snows from October to April. “I love you Dad, drive safe.”

“Will do, Sis, love you too!” And with that, he was off into the blustery 21 below wind chill.

I grabbed two spoons, two bowls, milk, and granola and plopped down at the table facing the tree. I wrapped my big, fluffy bathrobe tightly around me. The morning chill seeped into my soul.

Mom sat beside me a short time later, sporting a pair of earmuffs and a thick woolen scarf wrapped around her neck.

“Hey Mom,” I began, “Can I get a pet owl?”

Mom gave me a seriously confused look.

“You know like Harry Potter’s owl.”

“He kept that owl in a cage.” Mom poured us both granola and milk. “You want to keep a wild animal in a cage?”

“Maybe we can keep it in the tree,” I offered.

“Not a good idea, besides, don’t you know that owls can have rabies?”

“Um, that’s not true.”

“It could scratch your eyes out.” She looked suspiciously toward the tree.

“That’s also not true.”

As if on cue, the tree shook and the owl flew down and landed across the table from us.

“Is that a real owl?” Mom jumped up, grabbed the broom by the door, and held it in front of her in a defensive stance.

“Yup.”

The owl ruffled its feathers, tossed its head to the side, and locked eyes with Mom.

I got up and tried to grab the broom. “You’re gonna scare it.”

She swerved and pointed the brushy part at the owl. “How did it get in here?”

“I let it in the front door.”

“You did what? Why?” Mom lowered the broom.

“It wanted to come in,” I replied. “I thought maybe we could keep it?”

Both Mom and the owl turned toward me. The owl swiveled its head toward Mom and nodded.

Mom looked at me, her eyes wide and glassy. “I guess so,” she said slowly. She replaced the broom and sat beside me. Looking past the owl she said casually, “So what are our plans for the day?”

The owl flew back to the tree and settled deep inside the thick boughs.

“You are not keeping an owl as a pet,” Dad said over dinner that night. He sat with his spoon in hand, staring at the owl in the tree. “What’s it gonna eat?”

“We live in a drafty century-old farmhouse, riddled with mice,” I offered.

“Now that’s a bit harsh,” Mom said. “We have an occasional visitor, but I wouldn’t say riddled.”

Dad placed his spoon on the table, hefted his soup bowl, and slurped down the remainder of the soup. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Delicious as always, love.”

He eyed the owl. “I could get my pellet gun.”

“And shoot at something inside the house?” Mom asked.

“Why don’t you open the window, maybe it will fly out.”

“No!” Mom and I both said.

“It’s below freezing outside,” Mom protested.

“And the house is already close to freezing,” I added.

“Then it can fly out the chimney,” Dad decided. “I just won’t light the fireplace anymore.”

“We’ll freeze,” I said—my brain fuzzy. “But I guess that makes sense.”

“Perfect,” he said as he walked over to the fireplace. He used the poker to flatten the pile of smoldering wood. “Now you can leave any time you want Mr. Owl.”

“Miss,” I said as the thought intruded into my mind. “It’s a female.”

Dad nodded. “Don’t forget to check the water in the tree stand.”

“Will do,” I replied. I bent down and stuck my finger into the tree stand. I expected to feel the water, but the basin was empty. I went to the kitchen and filled a pitcher with lukewarm water.

I got on my hands and knees and leaned into the tree. As I poured the water into the basin, water puddled at my knees. I got up and grabbed a towel from the bathroom and mopped up the water.

“Let’s try this again,” I said. I went even further under the tree and made sure I’d aimed correctly into the stand basin. The water again puddled at my knees. I cleaned it up and scootched on my belly all the way to the middle of the tree.

I could see and feel where the tree trunk had splintered and broken through the weathered floorboards. Parts of Mony’s tree stand embedded into the tree in a swirl of red and green metal.

“Dad!” I hollered, “You’re gonna want to see this.”

Dad got on his belly and joined me under the tree, “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “This tree must be magic.”

“That, or maybe the owl is magic,” I offered.

Dad scooted out from under the tree and sat down. He looked up at the owl in the tree. “The owl doesn’t look like anything magical, it’s just a barn owl. It must be the tree,” Dad said.

The owl turned her head almost completely around.

“That’s neat, but that ain’t magic,” Dad said as he prodded the tree. He leaned forward and wrapped his hands around the trunk and pulled. Nothing happened. The veins in his neck strained as he continued to pull.

Gasping, he let go of the tree and stepped back. “It’s late,” Dad said, “Let’s sleep on it.”

I nodded at Dad and the owl and headed to my cold bed, heaped with blankets and comforters.

Early in the morning, I awoke, sweat dripped from my face. I leaned over and cracked open my bedroom window. An icy breeze cooled my sweltering room.

I headed downstairs, leaving my bathrobe hanging on the peg. Warmth emanated throughout the house. I noticed light coming from beneath the door at the bottom of the steps. I tiptoed quietly to the door, cracked it open, and peered into the dining room.

A parliament of owls sat around the table. In unison, they all turned to look at me.

I shuttered as I turned and quickly headed back up the stairs. I climbed into bed and pulled the covers over my head.

I heard sharp talons clicking on the steps. The slow steady clicking continued down the hallway toward my room. My door made the familiar creak as it opened.

“Calm,” echoed in my mind and my body relaxed and I pulled the covers down from my face.

The owl hopped onto my bed. She ruffled and smoothed her feathers.

“While it’s true we do not carry rabies,” the owl’s thought penetrated my mind, “I can claw out your eyes.”

Instinctively I squeezed my eyes shut.

The owl chuckled in a hooty sort of way.

“Sleep, forget,” she commanded as I drifted off into a frightful dream.

I awoke with a pounding headache and reluctantly headed downstairs.

Dad came tromping down a few minutes later, heavy work booted feet making a resounding thump with each step.

“Well, Sissy, I do say that tree looks better this morning than it did yesterday.” He gave me a kiss on the cheek and took his big winter coat from the peg by the door. “I’ll be home after work.”

“I love you Dad, drive safe.”

“Will do, Sis, love you too!” And with that, he was off into the blustery 19 below wind chill.

I grabbed two spoons, two bowls, milk, and granola and plopped down at the table facing the tree. A mid-July warmth seeped into my soul.

Mom sat beside me a short time later, hair in a ponytail, wearing shorts and a t-shirt. She poured us both granola and milk. “What are the plans for today?” she asked. “It’s only twelve days before Christmas.”

The tree shook and the owl flew toward us and landed gracefully on the table. She stuck her talon out toward Mom and offered the rolled-up piece of paper it held.

Mom took it and unrolled it. “It seems we have a list of things to get.”

Our first stop was at the hardware store where we got three blue tarps, duct tape, industrial-strength zip ties, 200 yards of rope, three shovels, a 12 pack of large plastic painter’s drop cloths, and a hacksaw.

We drove to the gas station and filled up three 5-gallon containers with diesel fuel, then headed home.

When we got home, I grabbed the snow shovel off the front porch and shoveled the path to the garden shed behind the house. I carried the diesel containers, shovels, and hacksaw to the shed.

Inside the house, Mom stood on a ladder, straining to tape the plastic drop cloths to the walls in the living room. I grabbed the step stool and helped her hang all of them around the room. The plastic draped over the furniture and covered the floor. The rope, duct tape, and three blue tarps sat in the corner of the room.

“Are we painting the ceiling?” I asked.

Mom turned toward me and blinked slowly. She shook her head quickly and blinked a few more times. “I guess so,” she replied.

“I’ve got something I need to do,” I said as I headed back outside to the shed. The image of what I needed to do burned in my mind.

I took one of the shovels and headed to the graveyard. I found a plot of earth toward the back of the graveyard and thrust my shovel in.

Tink. The shovel said as it hit the frozen earth.

Tink. Tink. Tink. Tink.

I tried again and again, until, with a resounding crack, the head broke off of the shovel. I carried the broken shovel back to the house and found Dad standing in the living room in front of the tree.

“The ground’s frozen,” I said as I placed the broken shovel before the tree.

“We will try again when the ground thaws,” the owl said in my mind.

I looked around the room and noticed all of the plastic drop cloths had been taken down. “Where’s Mom?”

Dad just shrugged and looked down at his hands. “I don’t know, gone I guess.”

He looked at me and then to the corner. I followed his gaze. My eyes stopped on the two blue tarps.