One day, a young boy who heard the tale of Johnny Appleseed and longed to follow in those footsteps and create a forest of his own. Not apples, though. He hated apples. Also, he lived in the city, where there was precious little soil, and precious fewer tree seeds. Naturally, he did what any child would do in such a situation. He built a forest in his imagination. He started with clay, stretching it out, pulling pieces into long strange branches, for he lived in a city and didn't know much what a tree was supposed to look like. His looked like gum or pulled taffy with flecks of torn green construction paper. His older brother pointed this out to him, so he started over. He sought out brown construction paper and twisted it tightly for the trunk, and once more, topped it with flecks of torn green construction paper. His brother tormented him again for his trees, and the boy abandoned his dream of creating a forest.
As an adult, he became a botanist and got a job with the park service. Though he had not thought back to the day his brother teased him in years, it all came flooding back to him as he patrolled the north eastern corner of a national park that employed him. There in a small clearing, he saw them, just as he had made them in his youth. The trees of clay and paper, waiting for him, as real as life.
-Orignally mailed to C. Procenko in Toronto, Ontario in Canada
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