DIARY LEAVES
BEING LEAVES FROM THE DIARY OF JOHNNY APPLESEED
Two score years save six and the six but freshly passed having been devoured to the bone by a wife in full possession of my wits, with the leather tanning profession she had flogged me into having leached the nails from my fingers and put a rasp in my throat and salt in my eyes, and yet creditors baying at the sill and worrying the rotted timbers of the home my wife justly titles shack and was destined for better things than the despair in cleaning, and having on the third tossing from the tavern in same number of weeks awoken in woods to a gentle light beneath an apple tree and of no mind to move from this soft bed the providence of hag ridden sots had guided me to, lay watching the sky bluing through the white blossoms. The beacon of the night before and guardian of my slumber being little more than a sapling in her first blush, I weighed her favors against those owed my wife and creditors. On one side of the balance I placed mice in the corn, spiders in the sooty rafters, a woman whose own yelling must have mercifully deafened to permit her to remain in her heart the sweet voice of reason while crows fled the roof as if tongues of flame licked their roosting claws at each expression of her native kindness, the boss at the tannery, who god rest his soul for surely it had been tanned out of him leaving a mummy behind, and next the most rabid of my creditors who had long ago discarded the cloth of persuasion and then the mail of threat to push the matter to the legislators, slapping a writ into my wife's palm, a woman whose collaboration he could trust in my final undoing, she having more than once spoken to me of his good manners and education which brought such shame to her when she fed him naught but weak tea on his welcome visits, nothing short of a crime to thrust this on the gentleman nobly christened Hemlock, and added tavern keeper Samuel Pockets who I had as but counted a friend, his cheeks rosy as baked ham, and hours spent in the pleasantest philosophies, who had of late taken it as his improvement to indulge in exercise and recreation the greatest part of which was tossing me from the inn. I weighed this bleak dungeon where I had been cast and which presently had been judged too large to serve my crimes and debts and was removing me to a small corner to abide with spiders and battle with mice for crumbs, and on the other side the sweet smelling blossoms of this maid with all the blue sky and the starry sky where she spread her slender limbs to twirl, I elected to start that day into the woods carrying with me the seeds of my salvation, as I would insist it was, the plan fully formed and tutored into me while I slept: A patch of shadowy woods, a sun dappled glade, a forest dimly silvered by the moon lit by blossoming apple trees that I had set as lanterns on the paths, the self same tree as cost us Eden given in forgiveness of our debt. To this end I found a half penny Sam Pockets had missed, paid a bright lad to call my wife to the tavern to recover my corpse as it seemed to be laying there near the spittoon, and while the long suffering woman toting the stout broom had never been tarred by labor strode out the door to excavate my bones from the grave with that great spade, I slipped in like a thief in the night, following the directions as set forth in the gospels. Fetching what stuff of mine I would need, a pot, a coat I had thought better of retrieving on my way to the tavern the night before, in my rush upset a jar where to my surprise I found the practical woman had hidden a fair number of coins only providence can explain or the harvest from my stupors in plusher days. Sorely tempted though I was to square accounts with Pockets and begin again, the plan having already been set in motion and my mate but minutes from returning with her eager arm still sadly unlimbered against my felonious back, I took the coins as offering to the preaching of this new gospel I had been trusted with, knowing besides that Hemlock would wring it from the stone if left where he could smell it. Coat, pants, and pot tucked under my arm I set off into the woods to replant the garden I had so long been truant in doing.
Kentuckians are a race of long men who have found the cities overly rife with humankind to lodge their raw elbows and have removed themselves where a full swing of their limbs will occasion no protest of smaller species injured on nose or ear. It is here recorded that of near a score I have encountered, to a man they have averred a two day journey to another soul and no less should separate men. Such journey on its rare occurrence accomplished with league long strides of their three jointed legs. Rumor is here confirmed that legs of such ponderable length finding locomotion without such device a curse and the sheathing of distant foot in daily leather a tantalization without hope, they have been granted another knee placed backwards as that on the stork which allows them to move with supple haste that shines reflection on the divine benefactor who so blessed them. They will not hear the chop of his axe nor smell his wood smoke, and having senses keened in open spaces are known to have leaped apanic to a rooftop at the courteous cough of a neighbor announcing a visit from the polite distance of sunrise the day before. They have builded all things from the wood of the forest. Their homes are of logs, so too their fences and tools, with but small knowledge remaining of metal which for rarity has become as valuable as gold and as beautiful in their eyes, so that they would consider mad the man who profaned it in labor, eating from wooden bowls with wooden spoons a diet of rich gruel made from ground hickory bark cured in pine pitch that is said to remind the southern traveler of pecans. To this I can not testify as I have neither tasted pecans nor had ability to swallow their hospitable offers, claiming infirmity, which they believed chronic in all of urban descent. To these children of God who have so nearly lost the power of speech by dint of diet and ears so tuned to cricket chirps and snow falling on pine needle that the human voice may bring forth blood from those pitchers, I brought the gospel of the apple to sweeten gruel and soften throat that they might sing blessing for their lives and be remembered by our Lord. Speaking from a rock in a churning creek full five mile distant where I was brought to spare them injury, I taught them methods of planting and cultivation, and sure of the good effect of my sermon, deposited a bag of seeds on every porch before leaving that they might put into practice what they had sought so eagerly that they had counseled among themselves for agreement on what rock in Screaming Crone Creek was located in a place audible to all.
Heeding the call that had bade me abandon my warm home and gentle wife and turn my back on the bright temptations of the world, I have come among the savages who God in his wisdom saw fit to spare the flood and commanded them move among the beasts in ignorance of His glory and of the human state and thus do penance until redeemed. Thus He must have spoke when undoing His work of the first day and casting creation back to the waters, and so it was, and but barely covering their shame in the skins of animals climbed the high mountains in the west. Was there they waited the waters to ebb, frozen fast by their long toenails to unmelting ice, but a foot below them the catamount and hunchbacked bear snarling in bitter famine and snapping at their huge feet. From these thankless perches they must have seen the Ark and heard the mooing of cows and the bleating of lambs and wondered upon both man and beast that might gently dwell in kind harmony.
They are ignorant of language and must grunt to each other when the demands of their rude societies force communication upon them, but the coarseness of these sounds causes them headaches and fevers they can only expel with shuffling dances and animal yelps they practice around fires while beating animal skins stretched over logs. They are not without cunning and have taught themselves a language of signs, forgoing all things of human concern that cannot be shown in gestures. It takes the traveler but a week among them to interpret their languages and find that of philosophy and religion they know only of those who have horses and those who do not, and he who owns one makes war on he who does not thinking him weak, and he who does not shall in his turn spare not even the children of the horseman for he knows they are the issue of an unholy coupling of man and mare, though the appalled traveler might scarce understand the anger such union inspires when the injured parties themselves are proud to be the progeny of bear or coyote.
How complete my knowledge would have been had I only my reeling senses to assist me, I am never to know, for among these people I found one brave soul of Christian origin who was about the business of fur trading with the savages in which pursuit he had dwelled among them these last five years. He was of a land called Tennessee related to me to be as unformed as the Kentuckys, which rough land he had left at the tender age of eight to begin his travels, having killed a bear and thereby exhausted the knowledge that might be passed to him by his father and received his blessing as a man. Being fluent in grunts and moans from his rearing in Tennessee he found no difficulty in speaking with the savages and winning their trust. In turn, these poor savages could have asked for no better friend among the civilized for he had a deep sympathy for them as well as an education in European languages and science that of a natural course made him their ambassador to the great white father, bringing their humble offerings of furs that they might be laid at his feet and from him receive the bounty of civilization including elixirs to ease the ailments that descend on savage and beast alike, the Spots and Sores, the Regurators, the Mortal Effluviants, and others named upon the bottles. A man of generosity as well as parts he gave me to try of one recommended for the frail chills which did taste of tar and urine and put all right that it reached, what chills had sought accommodation in my spleen evacuating for more hospitable lodgings as well as the ache in my tooth, which was silenced while the healing fits were upon me.
Was Daniel Crackpan who educated me to the form of the savage mind and belly that will eat its own hand before consuming an apple and must be led to such enlightenment by hard cider, for which he had formula to concoct and the Gospels to support, for was our Lord Himself who having walked upon water and finding none with faith enough to follow, changed this pale brew to wine that not even the most wretched sinner would sink beneath without first floating some feet towards glory. Daniel it was who taught me the names of the beasts in Latin, the language which legislates their place among things that crawl or swim. I was persuaded by his argument that this land no less than Eden is required by the Maker to be Christened unto all its members, and that since he had learned Latin from the Roman Pope who like all pagans embraced Daniel’s kindly mien, who more qualified to baptize the hungry beasts? From him I learned the proper name of beaver, industrious toothis, of the bear, dispositious complaintus, and others, and was assured by him that fortified with the foundations of that august tongue, I should be able to name what creatures I should encounter and yolk them to divine purpose.
Though of quill I shall never lack, the passenger pigeon, plenteous guanos gravis, dispersing this fine instrument in quantity exceeding all words to ever be written, of ink I have had to invent from the dumb elixirs of this country. I have worried the scab on bruised tree to harvest sap to feed my quill, I have from bone marrow of dead squirrel, harridon scoldus, mixed with blue berry juice, stainus infinitis, spun new thread for my page, but of their endurance, I have no knowledge. Shall these words soon fade and he who might re-trace my steps find but nibbled moccasin, one stout bowl, and a book of blank pages?
I have crossed the spear tipped mountains made by our Lord when he wrenched the moon from the world’s fair bosom and have come to where the silence dwells. I found here creatures still young of their creator whose love is yet so recent and strong that He shall not bequeath them to the world beyond the ice locked mountains, but guards them in this garden of first light. Having of pain known nothing, none yet has raised its voice and quietly they placed their wet noses in my palm to ask of berries and oat, not for want of these within their reach, but for having known of nothing but generosity from the form of human hand from habit would of it seek affection and to it offer. The waters sing here in happy laughter, and the breeze has no whispers of regret but speaks fruited limb from the trembling branch. Such creatures I see that tales have described but which extinction consumed across the mountains or were always naught but promises from here the breeze escaped to tell. Unicorn is here and peaceful satyr puts reed to lip and with tune alone is satisfied of lust. The lion shares his grassy bed with lamb, and dove for eagle speaks in kindly coos. Will this message ever reach my countrymen? It is to the seed of the apple I trust my map. Here the orchard grows abundant and fruit and blossom at same time raise the bough, and from this plentiful store a seed a day I send on the white wings of Spring since the day robin, catamount, otter, giraffe and wise elephant led me to the slender sapling that underneath she lay.
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