The Bowler and the Umbrella

 

Welcome to another adventure from the Thousand Acre Woods deep within Trollheim of the NJ Pine Belt! Tales Chronicled by Jonathan Hulton. That’s me. In our tale, I am bewildered about allegations of my friendly nature Trolls robbing anyone in town. So I go check in on my friends to get to the truth of the matter.

 

I was just coming back from Whitings train station. There, I heard news about a man who was robbed near the Thousand Acre Woods. I was confused. We had not had any robbers since the Revolutionary War in the Pines. The last Pine Robber was John Bacon, back in 1783. William Hurry's men were digging bog iron and were of good sort, as long as they stayed away from the apple jack, but the woods are full of Trolls...

Just passing was John Bowker who was guiding a wagon of ore. "Hello John, heading back to Furnace Pond?" I asked.

"Yes, sir, third load today. Did you see the shooting stars last night?" John said it inquisitively.

"No, I missed them." I never had the luck to see the annual meteor showers—always cloudy.

“I have seen many shooting stars land here from Forge Pond to the train yard,” he said, pointing up. “I believe it’s why the old general built his forge here in the Thousand Acre Woods. Folks say, the old general makes many strange things from their iron. Magical things. This place has a powerful pull! A magical pull! I’m always finding Hancock’s new fangled balloons in the woods. Something pulls them down here.”

"Yes, I find them all the time on the Davenport on the north side of the Tuckerton rail." I agreed.

"I wonder if Gallia would ever hit us—I wouldn't mind traveling the solar system for a year," he said, excitedly referencing Vern's story of a comet that carried a group away when it collided with the Earth. "Or maybe some Lunarians might visit here on one of these meteorites!" You see many strange things here at night, minding the charcoal mounds. There is a Lenape observatory right next to the pond."

"Yes, me and Pops have stared up in wonder there many times. He keeps teaching me the Lenape myths attached to the constellations. I like the ones about the chief who swung two bears by the tails up in the sky."

"Well off, I must go; see you later," he said as he waved and clicked his tongue to start his horse Pickles on.

As he went on I was just crossing the culvert across the Davenport Branch, where a small pond named Duck's Pond resided. It was then that its namesake quacked past me, Charlie Mallard. "Quack, Quack, QUACK, Qua," Charlie said, worried. It was just recently that her brother went off with a gal to start a family and left her alone. She would follow anyone around and tell him about it; that cared to listen.

I was one of those sorts. I asked her if she knew of any robbers in the area; she was not interested and just walked off.

I continued on through the Thousand Acre Woods on Duck Pond Road, crossing through the apple orchard, where I grabbed a Granny Smith from one tree and a Gala from the other before continuing past my house on Two-Cemetary Road. In front of my home, I found Pops walking to the Indian burial ground in the orchard to tend the garden. I tossed the Gala apple that he caught with a smile. "Hè, thank you! Where are you off to today?" he asked.

"I heard there were robbers back in the Pines and I'm off to see if the Nattrolls know anything about them."

"Two plus two makes five if there are any in these woods anymore," Pops said with his chin up and a sly smile, "Why do you worry?" As he finished he put a slice of apple into his mouth.

"Curious I guess," I responded holding my chin, "Its also contrary to what I know. I just like knowing what I believe is correct and knowing when to correct a belief."

"Well, if you see that good for noting cousin of mine, tell him I just twisted a pine into a shape of a squirrel—Ha let him see if he can top that!"

"I will, làpich knewël." which is goodbye in Lenape.

I continued down the road past Swinging Tree Creek, where Nobbi looked up from browsing and starred at me. I sliced up the Granny Smith, his favorite, and threw them to him, thinking to myself, I need to grab more apples next time. "Nobbi, have you heard about any Pine Robbers?" I asked. I'm not sure if he said no or was just trying to shake a piece of velvet out of the corner of his eye. He followed alongside me until we reached the Disappearing Pond, where we met Pop-Pop, another Lenape who cultivated the Fox Hollow burial ground.

Once you cross the pond, we enter a rubbery world where magic and the unreal mix with our hackneyed reality. Within the Thousand Acre Woods, Nattrolls and other critters call this section Trollhiem. I didn't realize that every time I crossed into their world, I changed. I started looking more like one of Tenniel's drawings versus Michelangelo's. It didn't rain for almost a week after I first journeyed there; imagine my surprise when I saw my face in a puddle...

When the Nattrolls leave Trollheim, they become more real-looking. Though they can always shapeshift. Within Trollheim, they are strictly more Daumier looking...

Pop's and Pop-Pop's clans haven't talked to each other since General Lacey paid Pop's clan for the Thousand Acre Woods against Pop-Pop's father's wishes. He was shaping a young pitch pine into a topiary on his knees."Hè, how do you like my newest tree? In five years, it will be beautiful."

I wasn't going to dare mention the tree Pop's just finished. There is no reason to choose sides.

"Have you heard anything about the robbers in the Thousand Acre Woods?"

"Nah, I doubt any stranger would venture into these woods with the myths attached here—Trolls, devils, and serpents; oh my!" laughed Pop—Pops. Then he dropped some corn out of his hand for Nobbi and gave me a wave. I waved back and continued on with him to Bjorn's house, thinking about the robbers.

On the far side of Fox Hollow, I saw Bjorn forking the tops of some tall old pines for Pop-Pops just outside of his house. "Hello, Jonathan, would you mind holding this string so I can stake it?" he asked. Pop-Pops began pulling a line in the other direction.

I grabbed the string, asking if Bjorn knew anything about the robbers. "I can tell you that nobody in the Thousand Acre Woods robbed them," answered Bjorn with a smile and a hand to his heart.

"How can you know that?" I asked.

"Well, what did they rob?" He asked.

"A man's wallet with $50 in it," I told him from the stories spreading at the station.

"Now I'm sure no one here robbed him," he assured me.

"How can you say that?" I asked incredulously.

"If anyone within the Thousand Acres Wood was to rob him, they would have stolen his bowler and umbrella too." Bjorn said confidently.

 

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