Hello from Maryland. Today is part 2 of our story. Read Part 1 here. There are two additional parts, with the finale next Monday on Earth Day.
It’s set in the Marcellus shale fracking region of Northeastern Pennsylvania. Originally the home of the Lenni-Lenape, the Munsee Lenape and the Susquehannock, whose descendants live there still. I’m interested in how we, trapped and complicit in destructive systems we hate, might find a way forward. Holding wonder, humility, and awe in the same trembling hands as our grief, fear, and anger—with love and compassion.
My plan is to send out five stories over the next five months, assuming the revisions can keep pace. Subscribe, and they’ll come straight to your inbox.
In Part 1, Ace’s young friend Sam struggles beneath the weight of tradition and a brewing conflict. A red line on a map threatens, re-opening the wound still carried by Ace’s elders. Sam's connection is Ace’s greatest hope, but the ways of humans remain a mystery.
Now, on with Part 2.
Part 2: The Stakes
“And it’s not just about Kevin’s group on Social,” Sam says on that final day of sugaring. “Yesterday my parents had a big fight with his parents and now my mom says I’ll be grounded for life if I ever speak to him again but he doesn’t believe me and now I have no one to talk to—"
Slow down. You know you can always talk to me. When that doesn’t help, I say, What happened with Kevin’s family?
“It’s insane, Ace. We’ve been so busy, I literally had no time to tell you.” Sam turns to sit cross-legged facing me. “They’re fighting about some stupid pipeline.”
A pipeline? Now, this I understand. Pipelines are open chains of cells stacked in sapwood. It’s how all trees feed and grow new stems and leaves, flowers and seeds. Sam and her family tap into our pipelines every year. But pipelines are genius.
Sam swats my trunk. “Not that kind of pipeline, Ace, geez. Don’t be dense.”
But I am dense, and proud of it. Pride is not—I know, Mother, I know. I know.
“It’s a gas pipeline,” Sam says. “All this super-loud drilling that’s ruining our roads and water? And making people and animals sick? My parents have been arguing about it every night for over a year.”
So that’s the pipeline that old walnut was going on about last week! He said it’s a fat steel tube carrying sap from the dinosaur time. He’s always been a bit nuts, so I tuned him out. Explode rock deep in the underworld to siphon sap from down there to up here? Why would anyone do such a horrible thing? That stuff’s poison.
“Turns out the Sullivans gave their land to this company, Patriot Pipeline, like, they just said, sure, come on through with your stupid pipeline, whatever, and now they’re pressuring my parents to run it through our woods.”
Run it through? Sounds bad.
“Yeah, the pipeline guys’ll have to cut down a bunch of trees. Our trees. It’s sick and wrong and horrible.” She hauls back and throws a stone with surprising viciousness.
Um . . .. which trees?
She shrugs. “I have no idea. They don’t tell me anything.” She stands, her body restless for motion. “So Kevin started this group on Social called, get this, Hell no, Patriot Pipeline. I told him he shouldn’t swear on the Internet, geez. But he’s got like, over a hundred members already. People from all over: Scranton, Allentown, even up to Binghamton. Their comments are all, like, ‘This is illegal. This is a taking. They can’t do this.’ The people all say they’ll help us fight it.”
That sounds promising. Do the trees know? I mean, besides me?
“I doubt it. Who tells trees anything?”
You could tell them. You have to tell them. I’ve never felt such urgency in my life.
“Why don’t you tell them? Through your networks or whatever.”
Even if I did, what can we do about it? This is more of a people thing. Pheromones and extra sugar aren’t exactly what’s needed here.
“Well, I can’t stop it either.”
But the people on Social. They’re ready to fight, right?
“What can a bunch of strangers from the Internet do? My parents went to court already. Twice. And both times they lost.”
And you didn’t think to mention this to me before? I don’t like how snarky that came out, but forgive me, I’m upset.
“Nobody thought it would come to this. Mom says they wouldn’t dare take our land without consent. She promised.” Sam flops back down, wraps her arms around me. “I’m sorry, Ace. I should’ve told you.” She’s crying now, which is pure alarming.
But I have to ask. And you don’t know how many trees it is? Or which trees?
She shakes her head. “No idea. There’s a map, but I haven’t seen it. Dad rants about jerks in a random office drawing their red line on a map, The ignorant-sons-a-bitches, he says. He even told the pipeline company about old Mr. Anderson, over the big hill?” She swings her arm to the west. “He’s got that quarry and he’s fine with a pipeline on his land, so they could just redraw their map.”
Ah, yes. That sounds best. Good old Mr. Anderson.
“That’s what I’m saying, Ace. The pipeline people won’t even listen. Their red line goes straight through six counties, they don’t care what’s in the way.”
Keep trying, Sam. You’ll think of something. I’m confident Sam and Kevin won’t let anything bad happen to us. It’s risky to rely on walking people other than Sam and Bettina. But what choice do we have? Surely, they can run their pipeline along open fields and roads, instead of all that effort to cut through the sugaring woods.
The following week, strangers tromp through the woods. They lug equipment, shout to each other, look through lenses, measure and pound pine stakes into the hard ground. They tie pink plastic ribbons on some stakes and orange and white ribbons on others. They tie a pink ribbon around me without even asking. They leave empty plastic water bottles behind, glinting on last year’s fallen leaves. Clearly not meant as offerings.
The day after the men leave, Sam arrives with the forbidden Kevin. Interesting. Before a word of greeting, she rips the pink ribbon off me with a savage gesture. I’ve never seen her this angry. Then she surprises me. She gives Kevin a length of blue yarn.
“Tie this here.” She rests a hand on my trunk.
He laughs a tentative, nervous rattle. “Why?”
“It’s how we show appreciation and encouragement.”
“To . . . the tree?” Self-consciousness wars with curiosity. But he complies. I’m guessing more for Sam than for me, but I don’t mind.
“Is this supposed to confuse the pipeline guys?”
“Shhh.” She leans her forehead against my trunk. I can’t make out what she’s saying, her heart is a jumble of distraction.
The resident crows call to each other. A cardinal pair shares intel. The breeze tickles my budding branches.
Kevin puffs pursed lips, looks over his shoulder. “We shouldn’t be here, what if they see us?”
“Shhh. I’m listening. You could, too, if you would just be still. The yarn helps me hear better.”
“Hear . . . the tree? That makes no sense.”
“It’s a different kind of sense.” Her heart says to me, “You asked me to help, this is help. Show him how to connect.”
It doesn’t work that way, I’m afraid.
Kevin pulls at her shoulder gently. “I have like a half-hour at most. What did you want to show me?”
Sam, it’s okay if he can’t hear or feel us. He cares, he wants to help, that’s all that matters. I throw out a wild idea, something he could help with right now.
She jumps back, startling Kevin. “The stakes! We’re going to pull up the stakes!”
He looks around. “What? All of them?”
“Yes. Every” She yanks one up and tosses it down with a flourish. “Last.” Yank. Toss. “One.” Yank Toss.
He whoops. “All right!”
They work till the sun streaks light parallel with the ground and turns our trunks golden. Stakes lie like fallen branches until they bundle them in armfuls. They carry them to the top of the hill and throw them into old man Anderson’s quarry.
After the final load, Kevin holds his hand in the beam of sunlight to cast a hand-shadow on my trunk. “Look!”
Sam laughs and stands arms raised, legs apart, to cast a body-shadow on my wide old uncle. Kevin pushes her away to make his own body-shadow.
Next, they try a hugging shadow. Sam makes a handstand shadow. Kevin jumps up and down, waving his arms, shouting. He shadow-boxes a sassy oak, who loves the attention. They dart from tree to tree, chasing each other’s shadows. Kevin makes animal shapes on my trunk—a rabbit, a frog, and something he says is a snake, but Sam insists is a rooster.
Their joy rings through the forest and lights up my heart. Every shadowed tree shivers with delight: sturdy poplar, wise walnut, even stately elm. They feel the sweetness of attention from the walking people.
But the water-bottle strangers return. They repeat all their previous movements like a ritual dance with new stakes and new ribbons in the same locations. They leave more plastic bottles and a Lay’s chip bag.
What did you think?
How was this for you? Did anything surprise you? Do you wonder what’s going to happen next? I sincerely appreciate your reading and value your feedback.
If you enjoyed this story, please restack in Notes to help others find it.
I love the idea that we could talk with trees. I also love how you used the imagery of lines in this — the red line in the map, the pink ribbon for marking and the blue thread for connecting.
There’s a massive oak tree that must be over 200 years old that grows in the strip of earth between the sidewalk and a major road beside my building. It’s in my line of sight where I sit and work every day. Every 10th person that walks by on the sidewalk will acknowledge the tree in some way. Some people actually stop and embrace it. Others, passing in a group may simply reach out and open hand and caress it.
I never talked with a tree, but I can feel the years of life in a tree when I touch them and the density when I hug them. Especially the old ones. I walk in the forests of the Pacific Northwest. Lucky me. But I do have to look at the stumps of butchered trees as I drive to the protective forests. It is heart wrenching. I never get used to it a never will. Thank you for writing this story. It is captivating. ❤️