Silver Dove’s Walking Stick

Silver Doves’s Walking Stick

“What shall I gift you with Silver Dove Wolf?” said Frogita. ” Diamonds that blind? Sapphires whose colors mimic the ocean’s ebb and flow? Rubies that pulse like the blood in your veins?” “How would you like mansions and vast acreage? Or bars of gold stacked to ceiling, with silver coins laid out in a pathway for your feet?” “You may have anything you like and I will gift you with it, so tell me, Silver Dove Wolf, what turns your heart to poetic putty and makes your knees tremble with joy?”

“Why Frogita,” answered Silver Dove Wolf, “I only wish for one thing from you”

“Name it” squealed Frogita, “and it is yours.” “I love to give, especially to my friends!” “Tell me , Tell me!” Frogita exclaimed.

“Well, if you really want to know what would make me happy I will tell you.” said Silver Dove Wolf. “I want a stick.”

“A stick?” questioned Frogita, “A stick?” “Why a stick, when you could have the treasures of the earth and sea?”

“Well, ” replied Silver Dove Wolf, “I know you to be a crafter of walking sticks and I am in need of one for this journey we call life!” ” That is all I need, Frogita… a walking stick fashioned from your words and wood, and presented to me for my journey” “Will you make one, and gift me with it?”

Frogita was astonished at her friends request, but being one that loved to please and being full of words she said, “I will.”

The friends parted way, and Frogita began to contemplate the task at hand. How to craft a stick of worthiness, and where would she find the piece that would help Silver Dove Wolf withstand the storms of life and give her support in times of need? But Frogita did not want the stick to serve Silver Dove for only troubled times, she knew it had to be more. And so she began her trek to find the perfect stick.

Frogita’s journeys took her far from home, and many days and nights passed as she hopped hither and yon looking for the perfect stick for Silver Dove Wolf. She gathered piece after piece of sacred wood from forests all over the world and took them back to her workshop. She plopped her gathering sack on the table in her quaint little house, and laid the pieces out so she could see them as a whole and she was quite pleased with herself.

And so, the stick for Silver Dove Wolf began to emerge, and the sticky little bulbs that Frogita had for fingers began to work. She carved, and whittled, created intricate inlays and marquetry, and then she began the assembly. She took the rare and expensive length of purpleheart wood from Africa and carefully split it in two lengthwise. The inside was more beautiful than the outside, and it pleased Frogita that the crux of the stick mirrored Silver Dove Wolf herself, gorgeous to behold from afar, but immensely more fascinating when examined closely and from within. When the pieces were laid out side by side, Frogita began her meticulous and careful work of whittling small little holes up and down the length of the pieces. Hours passed, and Frogita diligently whittled perfectly symmetrical “windows” that went from the outer bark through to the inner rings. Over and over she counted forty-nine rings, one for each year of the tree’s life.

When she completed the tedious and painstaking task of boring the holes, she pulled from her gathering bag the rare and extinct chestnut wood she had found deep in the Appalachian forest. She cut a thin translucent piece, and sandwiched it into the middle of the two purpleheart wood pieces, with a quick motion she bent down and kissed the wood from top to bottom and her froggy little kisses magically “glued” the three pieces together.

The walking stick was coming together quickly now, and she pulled from her assortment of gatherings, the embellishments. She had been so happy to find the little saplings of fruit trees from around the world, and one by one she began to tuck the tiny little root tendrils inside the holes she had carved. Apple, cherry, apricot, mango, passion fruit, plumcot, fig, pomegranate, banana, date, orange and lemon. All found their new homes inside the tiny little purpleheart-chestnut “houses” she had carved. When she was finished she thought to herself that the stick resembled a bird house with all sorts of winged beauties peering out at the world.

The project was almost complete except for its crown, and for the top Frogita had saved liquid molten silver that she had gathered from river moonbeams, and she carefully began to pour the shiny, silken silver into the hollowed cup she had left where the purpleheart root ball had been. It twisted, and turned, and magically caught the light and swirled from side to side , but never spilled over the edge. It was rapturous beauty, captured in pureness, and it would roll and twist and turn with every step that Silver Dove Wolf would take on her journey.

That evening Frogita hopped over to find her friend and tapped on her window. “Silver Dove, oh Silver Dove, it’s me Frogita, and I have something for you” Silver Dove had been resting, but recognized her friends voice and ran to the window.

“Here it is Silver Dove, your walking stick.” ” I have finished what you asked me to do and I hope it serves you well” said Frogita. “See?” she exclaimed , “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Silver Dove wiped the sleep from her eyes and she gasped as she took in the dimensions and colors of her new stick. Frogita stood back proudly and said ” This, my friend, is for you.” “It is crafted from woods from around the world and it will serve you well on your journey.” ” See these little saplings?” They are fruit trees of every kind, and they will grow, and you may even eat from them when you are hungry!” Silver Dove was so taken with the beauty of the walking stick she began to cry. Some of her tears fell into the lake of molten silver and others landed on the saplings themselves, and then the two friends witnessed a miracle! The tiny saplings began to issue forth little shoots and buds and then, one by one, they watched as tiny perfect little fruits began to emerge.

“Why, Silver Dove, your tears have brought fruit, perfect fruit.” ” Who could have possibly imagined that the saplings needed the watering of your tears?” “Perfect, just perfect!” exclaimed Frogita. “Well, my friend, there you go, enjoy your walking stick.” ” I am going home to rest now, for I have a feeling that after all our friends at Rio Abajo Rio see your lovely stick I will have a blossoming business!” ” I think I shall call it Froggy Finds For Furry Friends.”

And with that, Frogita turned her tail toward home, and Silver Dove Wolf went back to bed. As she closed her eyes, she reached out and patted the Purpleheart Stick that Frogita had crafted for her. It was good to have friends that love you, even if they are little and green and have sticky little pod fingers. So Silver Dove closed her eyes, and a tiny tear spilled from the corner of her right eye and the bed covers shifted ever so slightly as the tiny passion fruit sapling gave a gift that would be found in the morning.

by Frogita (Debbie)