Carvings

Glasses clinking against one another and deer lingering out of the tree line. These are sounds and sights I think of when I remember North Park village Center. I would pass it every day on my way to high school going down Pulaski. Cemeteries are on both side; Bohemian, one of the oldest in the city on the right, St. Luke’s, where my grandparents rest and Montrose, overlapping on the lap. In the winter, with the trees bare and bled, empty milk jugs left stapled to maples. Pulling into North Park Village, the recycling center is to the left, with its dumpsters in neat rows. They contained green, brown, clear bottles falling over themselves, looking like bubbled collages: Rolling Rock, mineral water and wine bottles mixing; Budweiser bottles covering ear drop medicines; pickle jars and El Jarritos mingling.

“Suzanne, don’t run so fast” said young Jacob, a pale 11 year old, in ill fitting overalls.

“Come on you turtle” responded Suzanne, 12 years old, with blond pigtails and scraped kneecaps.

The two children ran around the open prairie. Canvas tents with coupled cots were to their right and a row of buildings to their left; the dining hall, the school house, the outhouses in between. Suzanne led Jacob to the forest past the last outhouse. It was fall, and leave had started to drop and crisp leaves popped under their shoes.

“What do you want to show me Suzanne?”

“I found this while walking a few days ago.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll see.”

Before Pulaski turns into Crawford, where the city ends, there is forest. During the first years of Chicago, I imagine the area being the dark, mysterious woods people stayed away from. Almost a century later, when tuberculosis ravaged the country, the area was turned into the Municipal Tuberculosis Sanitarium. Before that, it had been privately owned, and the land had been used to cultivate some of the trees that were displayed in the World Fair. The Sanitarium closed in the mid 70s, but many of the buildings still remain today. A large smoke stack looms over the whole facility, and there are underground tunnels beneath the cleat depleted soccer fields there today. I didn’t find this out until I was in high school. As a kid, I had gone there with my father for the free telescopes to use on Astronomy nights. In high school, I would toss all my recyclables into the dumpsters and then volunteer in the nature preserve. We spent hours picking garlic mustard plants and other invasive species. During those long, smelly hours, I got to explore the forests, and noticed the trees had more on them then empty milk jugs.

Suzanne led Jacob to a branch covered knoll. It looked as if the all the trees had shed their branches and the wind had swept to where the knoll dipped.

            “Step carefully, Jacob and be really quiet.”

“Why?”

“Look, see where that big branch is with the empty bird nest? Look to the left and down.”

Through the branches Jacob could see a little clearing under the branches. It looked as if someone, or something had been laying there.

            “What am I looking at?” asked Jacob.

            “Yesterday morning, I saw three baby fawns sleeping there.”

            “Well, where are they now?”

            “They must be somewhere eating.”

            “How did you find this?”

            “It was by accident.”

            “We have to remember this place.”

            “How are we going to remember where this is? Once the snow comes, the trail is going to flood and we won’t find our way back.”

            “What if we leave markers?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “What if we leave markings on the trees, so we know which way to go?”

When I was yanking garlic mustards plants out the ground, sometimes the stench was so strong that I had to take a walk and let my nostrils recover. Once when I was doing this I noticed a little marking on a tree. It was engraved into the bark and it was faded, but from what I could tell it was a curved arrow. It seemed wobbly and outlined over and over against and if it were engraved into with a stone, instead of some sharp metal. At first I thought it was just senseless graffiti, but I happened to be walking later, in the direction of the curved arrow, and found another arrow. It too was wobbly and possibly engraved by stone as well. I followed the second arrow and found another and then another. I finally wound up at the edge of a grassy knoll. The forest dipped slightly. I didn’t know what I was looking at. There was about 5 feet of barren space before the tree line began again. I looked for more trees with arrows engraved upon them, but couldn’t find any.   

“Carve them into the biggest trees, Jacob”

“Okay, okay. How many do we have to do?”

“We’re only half way back to the cabin. Hurry up, it’s almost supper time.”

“All right, already. I’m coming.”

As Jacob stood with a stone in his hand, with Suzanne watching over him, the city’s warning sirens cut the air.

            “Jacob, what’s going on?”

            “I don’t know, Suzanne. Run”