Brown Ben

A Tale for Little One's

   While Jamie and Ian were on an adventure, one path they visited was the Oregon Trail. It was called a trail for its a popular path and that path was in Oregon, a State in America.
   So I take you now, to a winding trail, over stones and logs, beside creeks and rivers, between and beneath the trees. This path winds its way beside a mountain that reaches to the sky like the first morning stretch. They call it Mount Hood, for why we don't know. We do seem to think it smiles down at us far below.
   While we walk up hills and along the trail we notice something strange with the trees we're between. While some stand tall and branch out in places, others do not and hang weak with no leaves. These trees look ill, like something was wrong, but we had not the knowledge to answer you why. Their branches no leaves, their trunks all dark, but up on the bark something stood out. There seemed to be, high up in those trees, a green type of moss clinging to each. When we looked around, we could easily see, the strong trees were clean of this strange type of thing.
   We continue to walk, along our dirt path, listening to the wind and the smell of the grass. It remained a puzzle, as we did not know why, what these trees had that was making them die.
   As our trail journeyed on, the hours they passed, slowly and surely, we made it at last. A meadow we'd reached, a surprise and a treat. These vast rolling hills were called Elk Meadow, sadly to us, no elk could be seen, but a beautiful sight that we sat and took in. With Mount Hood looking over, we walked through the meadow, admiring the flowers and fields of tall grass.
   Towards the far side, against the tree line, we could hear a distinct noise that sounded like us. As we ventured near, it began to be clear, we'd found other people who'd settled in it appeared. They'd made a small camp with a creek nearby, it was two adults and three children who sat comfortable at home. They waved their hands and asked us over, we said our "Hello's" and sat down to join them. They'd been there awhile, enjoying the summer, they loved being in the wild, there was so much to do. They'd come each year to this special spot and the children enjoyed how each year it changed a lot. This made us wonder so we asked if they knew, "What was killing those trees we could see on the trail?"
   The youngest child spoke and said quite clearly, "Don't you know the story of ancient Brown Ben?"
We said to her, "No." And so she began, the story for why the trees had all died.

   "This story was told to us by a wise woman one day, we haven't seen Brown Ben but we know he's around. We thought the same thing when we first came here, we wondered why the trees were so sickly thin. We spent a few years, coming back each time and then one day a wise woman dropped by. We asked her the same, as you have asked us and she said to each of us what I will say to you now.
   'There is an ancient bear that walks in this mountain, he's the size of the trees and as old as the hills. All things had been right as old stories go, until the human's came on the Oregon Trail. It was fine at first, they lived in harmony, but as the years went on more humans arrived. Brown Ben knew how to hide and would keep to himself, but over time he saw what the humans left behind. Each time that they camped, or had a picnic, they would leave rubbish behind and not take it with them. It began with a bag, then a bottle, then a can. Gradually it built up, on the paths, the streams, the grass and the trees.
   At first Brown Ben wasn't sure what it was, but wherever he walked there the rubbish would be. As Brown Ben was an ancient creature who was part of the forest, as he was the forest, so too was it him. The plastic and rubbish stuck to his hair, just as humans would leave it behind with no care. Over time this built up, more plastic on Brown Ben, until one stage he had more green than brown. With so much plastic on Ben, he tried as he could, to scratch it all off wherever he went.
   So these trees that you see, have slowly been killed, by ancient Brown Ben, rubbing plastic on them. That green moss on the bark, in fact it is plastic from all the human discards. It's not Ben's fault, or the trees that you see, it is the human's wasting and leaving it here. So this I tell you, whatever you do, be aware of the waste you create in this world. Plastic doesn't disappear, it remains on this Earth, be mindful of rubbish and where it ends up. If we do this together, and help each other out, slowly you will see Brown Ben re-appear. The trees will come back, the creeks crystal clear, the Earth will thank you, the air will be clean.'
   That is the story the wise woman told to us, so we say it to you, so you pass it on."

   The little girl finished, with plenty of gusto, enough for us to be thankful for the story she told. We knew what she meant, the wise woman also, we'd seen the plastic in places it should not have been. Along creeks and paths, at peaceful picnic spots, rubbish laying on the ground and forgotten about. It frustrated us, to think of the few, that leave litter behind, a disgusting human.
   So we thanked the family, for inviting us here, particularly the young girl for her story telling. We bid them farewell and walked back to our path, slowly we made it back to our car. We said to each other with Mount Hood looking over, we will always take our rubbish and recycle at right places. More importantly say no to plastic where we can and try as it may to limit our waste. The message we think Brown Ben would say is please think of the environment where ever you stay. It may be at home, on a street or a forest, the Earth needs us, just as we need it.

This is the story we learned on our path, we tell it to you so we hope it may last.