Not based on true events

The Manitoba Maple that once had been on Wicker Street never condescended to be under another’s thumb. She was a proud and haughty tree, with roots more ancient than the city in which she dwelt. So, what was the immense despair of Madame Spring when this very same Manitoba Maple refused to obey her gentle bidding and remained as cold and stark in the warm weather as in the chill. I do not know exactly what purpose this tree had in mind when she remained so lifeless when all other trees were joyfully budding  and the flowers were appearing as green shoots. I do know, though, that she made herself quite ridiculous in her stubborn pride, for what a silly sight it was to behold her so willingly death-like amongst so much life. It did not improve the maple’s reputation at all, but by the contrary, degraded it to a speck of sand. A vine began to trail up her rough side in an attempt to wake her, but she but disdainfully shrugged it to the ground. The violets raised their heads imploringly to her face, but she sent a shower of twigs raining upon them. She was not a very congenial tree, that was for sure. Finally, after a dog had barked itself hoarse at the still figure of the tree in an attempt to awaken her, Spring fell into such a pessimistic state of despair concerning this disobedience of her subject that she forgot to hold tight the rain-giving clouds above. All the previous days she had held them shut so that they could produce often the enlivening water which gave her land its freshness, but now she relaxed her hold and her fingers slipped. Like the swinging open of immense doors, the clouds immediately burst asunder and the jolly sun shone forth in gladness to be free. And yet that tenacious tree remained asleep and unheedful, that is, at first. “What power has he over me?” She thought smugly to herself, “ How could the comfort of his rays succeed where multiple discomforts failed?” But then the sun grew more brilliant, and the Manitoba Maple began to feel the warmth seep into her very pith. She, though, repeated and repeated, “I will not awaken. I will not awaken. Not this year. Not this year.” Suddenly, in praise of the light, a chorus of bird song spilled forth into the clean air and pierced her with its heavenly beauty. She began to tremble and shake, but still restrained her leaves, despite the longing which began to well up into her soul. No, no, she would not obey! She would be victorious in this struggle! Let Spring come herself to chastise her, it would be of no avail, it would be of no a- ,mid-thought, the maple halted and hearkened. What was that? What did she hear? Was it the laughter of cherubs or of children? Was it the lilting of a melody played upon a flute outside by a tender mother for the pleasure of her family? Was it the full, joyous laughter of a father at the new spring breeze? Slowly, the maple shook one branch, thinking that just one would not make a difference. But she was wrong. As soon as the springtime was permitted into her veins, it swiftly spread until every twig shuddered with new energy and vigour. And, without another thought, the Manitoba Maple stretched forth with a cry of freedom and her buds and her leaves and blossoms grew. Spring clapped her hands in sheer delight, the sun smiled in noble victory, the children played happily about the roused tree, the mother gasped at her beauty, the father patted the bark in good comradeship, and the Canada Geese flew high above it like a halo. Yes, Spring was finally here, and the Manitoba Maple was finally free.

Manitoba Maple
Acer negundo

Also known as the box-elder, the Manitoba Maple is Saskatchewan’s only maple with compound leaves. It is a very hardy species, withstanding our freezing temperatures, and droughts quite easily, though it might loose a few branches in the meantime. It’s seeds provide food for squirrels, rodents, and birds, especially in winter, and its rotting trunk provides a perfect nest-site for cavity-living creatures. A native species.