Taproot

Taproot

On a fireroad that leads down a hill, along a stream, Zennen, Finn, and I walked down to feed a dragon. The dragon’s name is toothache and he is hungry for trees and a dessert of mangoes and mint leaves- to freshen up his breath. Two boys of 8 and almost 5 have quickened up their pace since I last remember. My memory has taken a nose dive this past year for little people’s shoe and sock sizes and ability to transcend an urban forest. Sometimes we walk, but sometimes one gets excited, or antsy, and changes a lingering to a full-length stride. I notice something about my older son. He has become completely aware in the forest: noticing flurries from trees, mountain lion tracks, and exposed sedimentary mud shaped like boulders peeling away layers and revealing plant fossils from a thousand years or more.  Perhaps I can take some credit, those long walks with him bouncing up and down between my guts, and later in an olive-colored sling with his fist gripping my thumb. But, more likely, it is because of his weekly visits in a little yellow bus to this park and others nearby with his fellow tracker companions. At one turn, Zennen notices a tall reed, he walks over to it with his found walking stick and begins to strike down around it. He says, we gotta get rid of this. It is invasive. In complete adult fashion, I tire at the diversion, my mind is aiming at the dragon at the end of the trail.  Can we move on? Stamp, stamp, stamp. Stamp, stamp.  I walk over and give the reed a tug. There is no way this kid is pulling out this plant. Zennen, this plant has got one serious taproot. Come on, it is too hard for us. .. He does not hear me. Stamp, stamp,… stamp-several more strikes around the reed’s emergence.  After five minutes of striking, I realize he is not going to leave this plant alone. He is down on the ground exposing one small root he has loosened from the stubborn taproot. Zennen, may I give it another yank? I try. No way. It’s not coming out. Come one Zennen. Can we just go? This is too hard. Stamp, stamp, stamp. Another 10, 20 minutes. ..He keeps striking and tugging, eyes fixated on the hole he is carving around the reed. I get down on the ground and pull a bit on the now revealed few secondary roots around the main taproot. They seem more loose! In disbelief, I stand up and give the taproot a giant tug. No way. Not even, still. He keeps striking and striking. I say, hold on. I grab the taproot, and so does he. We pulled on it and it finally gave up. Sleek and complete, the taproot and its fraying ends were left along the fireroad for a dog to play fetch with. We kept on walking, until we met up with tootheache who was only mildly annoyed at getting a very late breakfast.