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The little boy’s father asked me first if I was a ranger. He spoke with a sharp West Indian accent, and there was a delay in my understanding him. I asked, “I’m sorry, what’s that?” By the end of his question the second time, my brain had adjusted to the rhythm of his language and I could understand what he was asking. “Are you a Ranger?”
“No.”
His son said, “See I told you!”
“He is smart.” the man said about his son. His son asked me his question again, “So it’s true? If you kill a tree you have to plant two more?”
“Yes. Well you ought to, but it’s not any kind of law or anything.”
His father jumped in, “You are never supposed to kill a tree!” Then the boy skated away leaving his father alone with me. We had a long conversation which is here only briefly detailed. As we parted company, he said to me, “You go back and tell them that Mohegan Avenue needs fruit trees and needs good dirt.”
