Chapter One

…in which we hear tell of Razana, a very Curious Baobab tree who grew into a very Curious Shape.

The old woman started mumbling the creepy song again.

“Um mommy pommy um.”

The words made Sam Wolfe’s hair crawl up the back of his neck. He hadn’t seen his grandmother, Tricia Loftus, in over four years. No one prepared him for what she had become. Did they know?

Sam looked over at his sister. Josephine didn’t hear it this time, but then, the old bag was singing softly, almost under her breath. From her messy salt and pepper hair, held up by chopsticks, to her large gold hoop earrings and colorful jacket, their grandma looked like a gypsy, or worse, a circus freak. She bent over a woodpile, pushing some logs away and tugging at others.

“Too bendy … too dry… um mommy;” those she passed by. One by one, she piled twisty pieces of firewood onto her grandchildren’s waiting arms. Their brother, little Louie, bounced on the great log back by the firepit.

Leaves swirled and crunched as Sam stomped back. Memories of a dusty, moth-eaten bedspread and drapes flashed in his mind. Why were they sent here? Wasn’t there anyplace for them other than this old, moldy house with this old, moldy mumbler?

Tricia sang again as she stirred the old ashes. She piled some twigs on top of crumpled newspapers and sprinkled on bits of candle drippings. One by one, she tipped the logs into the center of the firepit. When she finished, the firewood resembled an upside-down ice cream cone. Then she lit the paper. The melting wax hissed and spread over it all. One long strand of her hair escaped the chopsticks and fell alongside her face, waving in the heat.

“Here we are,” Tricia said. “We’ll have as good a getting-to-know-you fire as ever there was.” She sighed as she sat back down onto the old log with her grandchildren. Within minutes, they drifted into the dream that a great bonfire creates. The children’s dog, Bosco Bear, grunted in his sleep. His legs twitched as he chased comets in his dreams.

When the cone’s center caved in, sparks popped up and danced into the night sky.

“Now,” said Tricia, “where did I put those marshmallows and hangers? Oh! Did you see those sparks? They twirled up and looked like a tree, and that reminds me of a special story, a legend really, that I read many, many years ago. It’s about a brave ocean wave and a tree.”

The brilliant image of the tree still floated in the flames, and that stopped Sam from making fun of a ‘brave wave.’ As their grandmother spoke, the tree slowly tipped over and hung sideways. More flames sprang up and mimicked big ocean waves circling the branches. Josephine inched closer to her big brother and grabbed his sleeve.

“Gramma, how can these flames move around like waves?” Sam asked.

“Huh? Waves? Where?”

“Forget it.” Sam turned and signed to Josephine. “She can’t even see them. I’m not sure coming here by ourselves was a good idea. I couldn’t sleep last night. I must be seeing things.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep either, but I saw them too,” she signed back.

“If you two will stop chatting, I’ll go on. I’m sorry you didn’t sleep well. I know this is a sad time for you. I wish someone could have brought you, but… well, there it is, and that’s that.”

Sam eyes popped wide open. Did she know sign language too? Geez, they couldn’t have any secrets here.

“I think I heard about it on my first trip to Madagascar,” Tricia went on as she stared off into the night. “Perhaps my second trip. It’s a true tale, you know, about wild adventures on the high seas, of great bravery in the face of deadly fear, deep friendship, and doing the right thing. And I think it’s the perfect night to forget ourselves in a story.”

“A story? You mean … a book?”

“Yes, Sam, two covers, lots of pages, pictures … a book. I love books.”

“I love TV,” Sam muttered.

“It’s in the library, I’ll go get it.”

 “No Gramma, I’ll go. Where is it?” Sam jumped up. Josephine gripped tighter onto his sleeve, but he shook her off.  Anything was better than sitting there by that spooky fire.

Poof! The waves disappeared and a plain, old fire crackled and snapped. Josephine blinked and rubbed her eyes. She hoped the fire had finished its show.

 “Go in the front door.” Tricia closed her eyes and scrunched up her face as she traced a pattern in the air. “Turn right and go up the stairs to the second floor. The library’s straight ahead. Reach on the left for the light switch, but then, turn right and walk all the way to the end of the shelves. It’ll be down by your feet. It’s called Surf’n Seeds and has a dark blue cover painted with gold, so look for something that glitters.”

Sam ran up the path. Bosco Bear, woken by the sudden movement, jumped up and chased him. Tricia patted the log next to her and Josephine moved over. Louie yawned and toddled after his sister.

While they waited, Tricia took three wire hangers and, one by one, pulled them out straight. Josephine picked up the marshmallows and, one by one, pushed them on.

Sorry buddy, I don’t know the rules yet. You’ll have to wait out here.” Bosco Bear whined and pawed at Sam’s leg. Wooly black bangs covered his eyes, but Sam could feel his pleading stare. “Okay, but Gramma’s got lots of stuff that can break. Don’t jump so much.”

With Bosco right behind, Sam ran through the house and up the stairs. He entered the library and felt for the switch. Two grand chandeliers lit up. He gasped. He hadn’t expected such an enormous room. Ceiling to floor bookshelves covered every wall, except the far one. A stone fireplace, decorated with scrolls and shields and large enough to stand in, took up that whole side. Books and knick-knacks packed every single shelf. Dust-sprinkled sheets wrapped the furniture. A clock ticked somewhere in the shadows.

“Boy, she wasn’t kidding about loving books! What did she say? On the right, end of the shelves, next to the floor. How could she remember where it was? If it’s not there, I don’t know how I’ll find it.” Sam wandered past the shelves. Bosco shuffled behind, snuffling every inch.

Other things caught Sam’s eye and he inspected them; sparkling quartz crystals, a statue of two pigs snuggling over a pot of gold, an old pistol in a case (locked!), a magnifying glass with three moveable lenses, a vase that looked like a bunch of standing asparagus, a heavily carved old brass stirrup, a pueblo storyteller singing with six children in her lap.

Squeak, squeak; sneakers ran and stopped on the wooden floor … except Sam wasn’t moving! Bosco Bear heard it too; his furry ears perked up. Holding his breath, Sam waited. He heard nothing else, so he tip-toed the rest of the way.

Finally he spotted the book. Sam picked it up, looked at the illustration on the cover, and opened it. Instantly, sounds of whispers and rustling fabric came from behind him. Sam froze. Bosco growled — a low, grumbly growl — as he glanced all around.

A faint shout and laughter echoed through the room.

That was not his imagination! Snapping the book shut, Sam tucked it under his arm and ran back, forgetting to turn off the lights. Bosco Bear followed him into the night.

“Okay, let’s put on our mittens!” Tricia handed Josephine a pelican oven mitt and put on a whale. “We’ll save the gecko for Sam.”

She and Josephine picked up two marshmallow trimmed hangars and put them near the fire. By the time they heard Sam’s footsteps pounding on the path, the toasting treats had turned a tempting nutty brown. Josephine cooled one off by blowing on it and gave it to her little brother. Panting, Sam handed Tricia the book and plopped down. Josephine looked at him, puzzled, but he shook his head. Who would believe what just happened?

Tricia finished her marshmallow and wiped off her fingers. Smiling, she traced the patterns carved around the cover. After a brief duel—in which both marshmallows fell into the fire — Josephine and Sam sat and toasted new treats. With the bonfire acting normal and a clear night sky overhead, they almost forgot their heavy hearts.

 “The story took place in Madagascar, in the baobabs of the Anjajavy Forest.” As Tricia looked at the children’s faces and spoke, the flames curled up and acted out the tale once more. “Have you ever seen a real, live baobab tree? No? Well, let me tell you, they’re remarkable! No, they’re more than remarkable. They’re marvelous and peculiar at the same time. Marvelous because their smooth, golden-brown trunks shoot straight up sixty feet before their branches grow. And peculiar because their gnarly branches corkscrew out sideways. They look like chubby telephone poles with mop-tops.”

And just in case they could not imagine it, the flames painted her words in the air.

“How can she be missing this?” Sam’s hidden hands signed.

Josephine shrugged. “Perhaps grandmothers perform magic now.”

“And they stand over ninety feet tall.” A column of sparks whooshed up so high they couldn’t see the top. “Next time you see a skyscraper, count up nine stories. That’s how tall these trees grow. Standing at the foot of a baobab tree, it’ll tower over you. And if you want to see all the way to the top, hold a pillow behind you because you’ll probably fall over backwards.”

Sam leaned way back on the log as he mimicked looking straight up, but accidentally rolled off. His crispy marshmallow flew off into the bushes. Bosco Bear jumped up in a flash, hot on the trail of a treat. Sam groaned and grabbed another one.

Tricia smiled and said, “In the northwest part of Madagascar, the deserted Anjajavy peninsula sticks out into the Indian Ocean and creates the Bay of Narinda. Have you ever heard such a magical name? Na-rin-da! At the very end of this peninsula, one of those very same baobab trees lived, but she lived all alone, a baobab tree named Razana.”

“What else, Gramma?” Sam asked as he watched the fire. Josephine shook her head and signed not to encourage her, but he grinned and ignored her.

“Well … back on the mainland, past the border of the Ancient Yellow Rocks, grew the Anjajavy Forest, a very old and important forest. And in this old and important forest, baobabs lived side by side with other exotic trees you may not know yet, like the Jajavy and the Tamarind. Razana’s entire family lived there and they all grew up straight and tall. The baobabs packed all tight together and made a shimmery green canopy. Lemurs could travel from one end of the woods to the other without ever touching the ground.

“But Razana grew sideways, all stooped over and crookedy. Her splotchy, moss-covered trunk hung out over the sea. And she lived completely and utterly alone. Only a few scratchy long grasses and scattered weeds lived near her.”

Sam and Josephine watched thin flaming grasses bend in a breeze.

“Back in the old and important forest, Razana’s family could visit any time they wanted. News of great importance — and news of average importance, and even news of very little importance — passed on gentle breezes. Razana lived too far away for gentle anything. She could only get news if the other trees shouted —”

“Gramma!” Josephine forgot about the fire and interrupted Tricia. “Why did Razana grow sideways and live all by herself?”

“Good question. It’s all in here.” Her hand patted the book. “It all started a long, long time ago. Before you were born, even before I was born. Razana was a little, tiny speck of a seed. She planted herself outside the forest, far away from everyone and everything, and in doing so, sparked an astonishing amount of adventures and significant change for all. Roast me another marshmallow while I read you the story.”

Tricia blew the dust off the cover. The motes danced into the flames and fizzed away. But as soon as she opened the book, gusty winds stormed in. For one frightening moment, the gales tugged at their sweaters and twisted the trees over their heads. The children gasped; Bosco Bear whined. Tricia watched them, smiling. The book’s pages glowed from the firelight and reflected onto her face. Josephine glanced at the branches overhead. Could they have moved? The trees leaned in now, closer than before. Inching next to her grandmother, she watched them as Tricia began to read.

Chapter Two

…in which a Tiny Seed reaches for the Stars to Change her World.

Once upon a time, on a late summer morning, Dera, an ancient baobab tree, looked through all her branches. Most of her white flowers had dropped and life stirred inside her plump, green seedpods. One of those round pods hung right by her face and inside it, twenty-nine seeds snuggled next to each other, all silently sleeping.

All except Razana. She hated naps. Something tickled inside her and she couldn’t sit still. Razana chatted with her sisters, or rather, she chatted at them. Only three replied; even so, they hardly answered—actually, they barely grunted—and after that, they closed their eyes and went back to sleep. And that very fact made Razana wiggle all the more.

After a big storm—where the pods knocked against each other like pebbles in a rock tumbler—the hard shell of Razana’s pod cracked open a couple of inches. Now she could peek outside! She gave up visiting with silly sleepyheads.

At first the bright light made Razana squint. Soon she could make out some shapes. A twisty brown something stretched out straight ahead.

“Coiley, curly thing. Mom, what’s that?”

 “It’s called a branch. Every tree grows them.” Dera’s deep chuckle moved through all her children. “They help me reach up, spread my leaves out, and catch the Sun’s rays.”

“Oh, I wonder who lives over in that hole. And what’s that flash of color over there?” Razana rocked a little while she waited for the answers and peeked from side to side, observing everything.

“That’s not our concern.” Dera shook her head instead. “I’m an Elder on the Forest Team and I know the entire Doctrine of Being a Baobab by heart. There’s a lot to learn, so don’t worry about things that don’t affect trees. One day at a time, okay?”

But Razana thought of new ideas almost every five minutes. She tried keeping her mouth shut and forgetting them, she really did, but questions kept popping into her mind. So she wondered out loud about things she noticed, even when no one answered.

Her sisters dozed and waited for the day they would drop down and plant themselves. In the middle of the sleepy-heads, Razana did what she did best—swing and spy. If she wiggled enough, her entire pod twisted around. On her right—and it had to blow a big windy day for her to turn that far—she saw honey-colored mountains. Large stacks of stone climbed up and patted the sky.

When Razana waggled around and faced left, she saw Ocean roaring into the Bay of Narinda with lots and lots of enormous, curling waves. Racing whitecaps crossed the bay and threw things high up on the sand before the water sighed, flattened out, and swept back. Bubbles, added by the wind, made the every wave’s crest look white.

Shyer whitecaps quietly slid by as they raced for shore. Bolder ones showed off; they boomed and throomed as they crashed against the shoreline. When they hit the rocks, water drops blasted high in the air and twinkled with sunlight. Hundreds of tiny rainbows glittered as the drops rained down. Razana loved watching them more than anything. It was the only time she was quiet and content.

Oh, what would movement feel like? I could go wherever I wanted. But that’ll never happen. Trees never have any exciting adventures. They’re trapped in one place.  Razana sighed.

One breezy day, Razana counted all the whitecaps’ different shapes. When she had gotten to twenty-four, the wind playfully changed direction and flipped her around so she faced the mountains. Twenty four! Does Ocean ever sleep? The mountain’s dusty peaks stood dull against a bright blue sky.

But what was this? A feathery bit of brilliant blue-white something peeked over the mountain top. The clusters grew larger and tipped towards her as if they would roll down into the valley. Instead, they lifted off and soared through the sky.

“Mom! What do you call those white fluffies above us?” Many questions had piled up and seeing the ‘fluffies’ opened the floodgates. “Where do they go? And why does rain come from up-top and not from underneath? Who are these four-leggeds and why do they run around your branches? How come some of them are fuzzy and others look smooth and slick? And why do big moths crash headfirst into your flowers? Can’t they fly? Mom, please tell me a time when the Ocean didn’t move. And can waves ever go in different directions?”

“We call the white fluffies ‘clouds.’ They hold water.” One by one, Dera tried her best to answer Razana’s questions. She had done this many, many, many times before. “After they fill up, they tip over and spill the rain that feeds us, and gives us a good bath too. Since clouds live up top, rain always drops down.

“The fuzzy ones are covered by fur and they’re called Coquerel’s Sifaka lemurs. One lemur family, the Malinalas, have nested with me for more than twenty-five generations. On Planting Day, they post themselves throughout my branches. As my seeds drop, they jump down and lick off the pulp before they plant them. The Malinalas find good spots with enough space for my seedlings to grow into healthy trees. They have a meal and I have some help planting my children. It works like a circle, this giving and receiving. And it’s called the Web of Life.”

“But what if you could move around and plant us by yourself? You wouldn’t need any help from the lemurs.” Razana squirmed as she spoke.

Dera paused. Razana’s questions often surprised her. In all of her 2,947 years, no other child had ever asked these kinds of questions. “If I could move around? Well … walking around means I’d give up something else, something I might not want to lose.”

“Give up? Like what?”

“I don’t know, I’m just supposing.”

“What? What’s ‘posing’ mean?” Razana wiggled around and looked at her mom.

“Su-ppos-ing…. That means guessing how I might act in a make-believe situation. Why waste my time daydreaming about planting my seeds? I’m a tree! How could the Forest Team exist if all the trees left their places? If I moved, what would happen to the Malinala family?”

Razana pictured the lemurs hanging on while Dera did a somersault and giggled at the thought. “It would be an adventure,” she said. “Okay, what about the slick ones; the black ones with grey and brown splotches and flat, smacky tails. Oh, look! There goes one.” A blur zipped by as Razana turned around. Too late. The creature had vanished. 

“Oh, those are leaf-tail geckos. They eat the bugs who would damage my flowers. Geckos only visit and leave for the winter. They must go on vacation somewhere. And the big moths you asked about earlier call themselves ‘Hawkmoths’ and they can fly perfectly fine. They dive deep inside my flowers and drink the nectar. When they’re there, they get covered by pollen. And as they visit another flower, that pollen rubs off and creates seeds, my children.”

“Oh, another webby round-a-bout. The moths and geckos work for you.”

“Yes, Razana, another example of the Web of Life, but they don’t work for me, like a worker bee works for the queen bee. They’re my ‘partners; we’re equals and we help each other. After a few more years, you’ll know how this Web of Life works. Do you understand?”

 “Yeah, Mom … right, right.” Razana heard Dera’s lessons floating through her pod every day, lessons about baobab trees … oldest trees on earth … live for 4,000 years … blah, blah, blah. Razana could listen only so long, and she had passed the so long point a while ago. Dera’s words bubbled down into background noise.

Razana wanted to learn more than what she called Tree Talk. So, since she loved the waves, she asked, “Mom, why don’t baobabs live by the Ocean? Look at all that space. Maybe we could become Webby Partners.”

“Oh, no! Absolutely not!” Dera cried out. “Baobabs never live on the beaches. We cannot pass those huge, dangerous rocks over there. See them? They’re called the Ancient Yellow Rocks. They’re cold and scary and way too big for our seeds to cross. That’s our border and you must plant yourself inside the forest. Never, ever pass that edge. Those are our rules.”

“Who made up these rules?” said Razana. “What if we run out of space?”

“I’m not sure who made them. My mother told me where to plant, and her mother told her where to plant. Always here inside the forest. Don’t roll your eyes. No baobab seed has ever gone over those terrifying rocks. Ever. It just isn’t done. ‘Forest Team’ means we work together. Trees cannot survive alone.”

Dera looked at the empty Anjajavy Peninsula and when she spoke again, her voice shook a little. “Empty lands must have hidden dangers we cannot see. Only a fool would go across an established border. We won’t run out of space, so don’t ever think about planting there.”

 “Okay, can you tell me more about Ocean? Does he ever sleep?”

“Sorry, Razana. That I do not know.”

 “Then answer this for me; why can’t trees walk? Or even move?”

 “I … I never thought about it.” Dera paused again. How could she answer? “Trees don’t ever move around. How would we eat? Our roots dig down into the earth and bring up our food.”

“What do trees eat?”

“Water. We find it underground.”

This fact gave Razana an interesting idea. Since I want to move around, maybe I can bring the water with me. Razana remembered watching some two-leggeds on the nearby beach. Her mother called them ‘peoples.’ One carried a shiny thing called a ‘bucket.’ If I can fill a bucket, I can drink when I’m thirsty. And Ocean’s always full. “You know Mom, there’s lots of water in the sea.”

“No! Horrors! Sea water would kill us.” Dera shook so hard, a few twigs broke off and fell. “There’s prickly salt in sea-water and it would sizzle and frizzle our roots until they shrank to nothing and we’d starve to death. We need fresh water from the rivers. Or rain.”

Razana shivered at the thought of a tree’s roots dissolving into little stubs. Forget that! Fresh water only. Okay, fill the buckets at the river. How would I get around?

“Are trees’ roots as strong as their branches?” Razana asked. Maybe my roots could work like legs, so instead of a four-legged, I could be a many-legged root scooter.

“No, they’re tender and spongy, for soaking up the water. Why do you ask?” Dera was shocked by Razana’s new questions and looked at her daughter more closely. 

 “Oh, nothing.” So I can’t walk around. Maybe I can slide. “If we lived in the river, with water all around us, wouldn’t we grow quicker?”

“No, we’d drown. We need oxygen and minerals from the soil, too.”

“Oh … Bark Barf!”

“Razana! What did you say?” Dera thundered.

“You mean Bark Barf?” Razana asked.

“Don’t say it again!”

“But you asked what I said.”

“Where did you hear that?” Dera struggled to calm herself.

“Oh, a four legged, a lemur, said it one night. They say it all the time,” said Razana. She acted as if she felt calm (which she wasn’t by the way).

“All the time?” Dera lifted her branch and pulled the pod closer. She stared directly into Razana’s eyes. “All the time? I’ve never heard them say it.”

“Well, m-maybe once in a wh-while,” Razana stammered, adding, “I think.”

“Anyway, that’s not the way trees speak. I’ll have a talk with Lasel.”

“Who’s Lasel?” Razana asked.

“Queen of the Malinalas. She’ll make sure they don’t talk like that around my seeds.”

“Mom?”

“Now what?”

“What about ‘Pelican Puke’?”

“Razana!”