October 19, 2009

• Swamp Spirits

  
  Across the road from my grandmother’s house, before the early 1980s (when condominiums called “The Meadows” were built), there were woods. Beyond the trees, there was a small clearing with just one tree: a very old oak. After the little clearing with the oak is the swamp.

  The swamp takes up a fairly large piece of “my” end of town. It nearly reaches the beach at the end of the road, and going in the other direction (east to west), it nearly reaches the Post Road (Route 1). Going north, the rectangle of swampland reaches the town center, the Old Post Road, the oldest part of Fairfield.

  I believe it was in 1637, during the Pequot Wars, that the swamp, along with most of the town (then known as Uncoway, or Unquowa, “The Fair Fields”) was burned. I am no historian, but I believe the Pequots were on the run from Mystic (also known as Missituck), where the British and their allied tribes (I believe the Narragansetts and Mohegans) set their village on fire, not sparing women and children. The Pequots ran all the way from Mystic (Mystic is about a 2-hour drive from Fairfield). The Sasqua helped them. About 300 Indians altogether tried to hide in the swamp, but eventually, the British and their allies found them. Sasquas, women and children were allowed to leave, but the Pequot warriors stayed and fought. Sassacus (their sachem, or leader) and a few escaped (only to be brutally brought down by the Mohawks, in New York, later on), but most were killed in the battle with the British, who burned the swamp.

  The oak tree survived.

  In July 1779, the British landed on McKenzie Point (which is MY beach, now called South Pine Creek Beach). British General Tryon met some resistance. The rebels fired on them from Fort Black Rock and later destroyed the Ash Creek Bridge, thwarting the General’s plans to go into Bridgeport. Tryon was so pissed off that he burned Fairfield down.

  The oak tree survived.

  It is a big old tree with thick, twisted limbs. It is black in places. When it starts to get dark, or just before it gets light, or when there is fog, it is the scariest-looking tree in the world. Real Halloween material.

  Some say that the Pequots who were there burned in 1637 haunt it. Others say that the women, children and old men who hid there and were burned in 1779 haunt it.

  When I was a little girl, “The Scary Tree” marked as far as Grandma and I could go. I was certainly never allowed to go out that far unsupervised. My brothers and other boys from the area went into the swamp and built forts… boys’ business. Cutting and hammering.

  Apparently, The Boogey-Man, Monsters and Ghosts (also known as “Evil Swamp Spirits” or “Indian Ghosts”) only eat Curious Little Girls. Oh, and Nosy Little Girls, Smart-Alek Girls and Little Girls Who Should Mind Their Own Business. You know… girls’ business. Dolls and dresses.

  For a while there, I was scared. Then, my grandmother and I met The Boogey-Man, who was really just a grumpy old man who preferred to live outside of society. I do not remember what his real name was; Grandma and I called him Mister Man. We brought him food sometimes and he was not scary at all, but thankful.

  Mister Man told us stories about the tree and the spirits that lived inside of it. I think the tales were supposed to spook us. They did not. As a matter of fact, those stories about the fires and the ghost sightings afterward made me (and my grandmother) more enamoured of the old oak.

  We brought food to the tree: Usually, just a piece of bread and an apple or something else from Grandma’s garden, and salt. My grandmother said that the salt was, “for flavour, and for life.”

  Grandma said that when spirits/ghosts were hungry, of course they were grouchy, just like regular people get when they do not have enough to eat. “A spirit only needs a little bit of food, so a piece of bread and fruit can feed a lot of them,” she told me. “A little food makes them happier.”

  Grandma really did like to feed everyone.

  Years later, the summer before I turned thirteen, my mother, my younger brother, Tadpole and I moved into my grandmother’s house. The Meadows (condos) were just being built. The woods across the road had been thinned out considerably.

  One morning, I woke up early – it was still dark out – and put an apple, a piece of bread and the saltshaker into a small paper bag. I walked across the road and through the trees, expecting the clearing and the oak tree to be gone, with all of the “development” going on.

  The oak tree survived, and it had big green leaves (I had never seen it with leaves before). It still had little flecks of black here and there, but in general, it looked healthy. Happy.

  I laid out the bread and the apple by its trunk, and sprinkled both items with a little salt. I could no longer remember the prayer my grandmother used to say over the food – it had been years, and my Hungarian was rusty – so I just gave it The Lord’s Prayer (in English).

  When I told my grandmother that I had seen “The Scary Tree,” and it had big green leaves on it now, she smiled. She was ill then (dementia) and didn’t smile as often as she used to, so it really made my day.

  Every so often, I would go and give the tree and its inhabitants a little something to eat.

  When I brought my friend Cochise there, years later, I thought he would laugh at my little ritual: bread, a piece of fruit or a vegetable, some salt and The Lord’s Prayer. He didn’t laugh at all. When I told him the tree’s history, he said that it was right to offer food and a prayer to those folks who died so horribly.

  Last year, I went to visit “The Scary Tree” in between services being held for my mother. I went alone, and parked in a visitor’s space at The Meadows. I brought a piece of bread, a plum and a packet of salt.

  My first thought when I saw the beautiful oak, with its big green leaves fanning the breeze in a sort of lazy way, was, “You are the least scary tree I have ever seen.”

  I placed the food near the trunk and emptied the packet of salt onto both items. I whispered The Lord’s Prayer. I stood up and took a few steps back, still looking at the old tree in wonder.

  “Well, look at you,” I said. “Look at us. Survivors.”

  • 9:47 am
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