1962

He stood in the shade of a huge cottonwood tree that had to be over a hundred years old. It was in full leaf now that summer was here. The heat was oppressive, the humidity high. After wiping the pieces of bark off the blade, he slid his worn pocketknife back into his slacks pocket. Had it been this hot before? he asked himself as he fanned his flushed face with his beat-up old Fedora. Probably, he decided. But you don’t remember the heat or the humidity or the chiggers. You remember things. Things like this tree and the wooden swing that used to hang from a lower branch, the barn that was tilting precariously to the left, the dusty lane leading out to the main road, the farmhouse, the orchards of apples and peaches and plums, Yellow Creek, the white gazebo in town, the Santa Fe trains. And, more importantly, you remember people. People, so many people. The visions of their faces so strong, so vivid, your heart still aches for the ones who are gone. Ruth, Roy, Mom, Dad, Herbert, Raymond, Uncle Mike, Uncle Martin, Uncle Ed, Uncle Robert, Aunt Maggie, Grandma Disney, Doc Sherwood, Erastus Taylor.

Looking up through the leaves at the dappled sunlight filtering through, he continued to fan the perspiration across his forehead. It changes. That was his thought at that moment. If he had been pressed for more of an explanation, he probably would have added the word everything. Even this tree had changed in the fifty years since he had first seen it. It was difficult for him to admit to those changes—that they weren’t always for the best. This tree, for example, wasn’t as full and lush. Some of the bigger branches had fallen, victim of old age or lightning. There used to be more trees, more animals, more everything. But, he could still see it as it used to be. His mind was clear and sharp.

He sat under the tree—as he and Ruth had done so many times before—letting the sounds of nature and peace drift over him. Yes, everybody should have a tree like this, he decided; to sit under; to watch the clouds; to simply dream.

Closing his eyes, he stood quietly and listened. There it was—the birdcalls from the thickets and the berry patches. Now that he had quit moving around so much and the coughing fit subsided, the birds came back. Bees buzzed around the little white flowers dotted here and there on the overgrown path. The breeze rustled the tall weeds around him, making a light sh sh sh sound. The leaves overhead flashed light green to dark green to light green again as the breeze turned them this way and that.

He quit fanning now as the breeze picked up. His hat was placed negligently off to the side, next to the shovel and the odd, grey, elongated capsule he had brought in the rented car. A few clouds began drifting by. He knew his Midwest. There would be a few more clouds, blindingly white at first. After a while, the white underside would darken. The formations would get taller, bumping into each other, crowding the blue sky. The breeze would pick up. The sun would come and go and, finally, just disappear. The heat would remain, but the first few drops would feel refreshing. More drops would follow. Within minutes, a gigantic bucket would be overturned from the sky. A brilliant white flash of jagged light would be followed almost immediately by a loud BOOM! There was no need to count after the lightning to see how far away it was. It was there.

With a wistful sigh for the now and for the past, he got stiffly to his feet. He wouldn’t have much time before the storm hit. Enough, though. The rain was good. It would cover what he was about to do very nicely. Just what I would have written into the plot, he chuckled to himself as he marked off the distance and the shovel bit into the soft soil.

2002

By Monday afternoon there was a stack of library books on Adam’s coffee table all about Walt Disney and his life. Lance was speed-reading through his second book. Adam, holding a book in his left hand, was making notes with his right hand. He glanced up, disgusted and jealous, as Lance turned yet another page. As he watched, Lance’s finger trailed back and forth across the rows of print, down one side, back upwards to check a certain word, then down again and over to the next page. Estimated time of arrival at next page: twenty seconds.

Adam shook his head. “How do you get anything out of it when you read like that?” Irritated, he was only on the fourth chapter of his first book. “And you aren’t taking any notes!”

“Just a sec.” Lance’s finger slowed down a split second, then finished the page. “End of chapter. Sorry. What?” His concentration now broken by Adam’s interruption, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. They had been at it for hours.

Frustrated by his own lack of progress at this point, Adam had expected to find the answer to the riddle quickly. True, the notes he was taking would probably come in handy later—whether for this treasure hunt or just for his own edification. But he was taking it seriously. And he expected his partner in this enterprise to be equally serious. Speed reading did not equal serious in his mind. But, he tried to justify, Lance was here and Lance was doing research. He was helping. He had a vested interest in this too.… Not that Lance needed the money….

“What did you ask?” Lance’s words broke into Adam’s distracted thoughts.

“Do you really get anything out of a book when you read like that?” Adam didn’t mean to sound snippy, but it still came out that way.

Lance was taken aback by the tone of voice. He knew what he was doing, what he was capable of understanding. Slowly closing the book, he held his finger in the pages to mark his place. “Yes,” he answered shortly. He could tell by the look on Adam’s face that he hadn’t meant it that way. “Would you like a quick rundown of what I’ve found?” Without waiting for Adam to answer or recant, he launched into a dissertation in vivid detail of Walt’s early studio beginnings in Kansas City in 1920 up to and including the move to Hollywood in 1923, adding the names of the projects worked on during that time, the key animators, actors, failures, successes, backers, and opponents.

Stunned, Adam just sat there. It was far more than he had in his notes. It was a different time period than he was studying, but it was still good information.

Lance was just showing off. Still, he also knew he was—and would be—contributing to this joint effort. It would be counterproductive to have his methods questioned over and over. “Satisfied?” His question was deceptively calm.

“Uhm, yeah, I…that was impressive.” Stammering, Adam sounded lame. He knew he had been out of line.

Lance let him off the hook. “Well, it got me through Harvard.” His remark was mumbled as he picked up his book to continue.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Adam held up his hand. “You went to Harvard? Then what were you doing at Cal State when I met you?”

The book dropped again. “I was finally enjoying life.” The last question was answered first. “I didn’t care for law school. It wasn’t what I wanted to do.”

More news. “Law school?” Adam’s eyes narrowed at this new piece of Lance Information. “How far did you get?”

“Far enough to know that wasn’t how I wanted to spend my life.” And Father hasn’t forgiven me yet, he thought. And he never will, he reminded himself. Breaking Sacred Tradition did not equal family honor. “Cal State suited.”

Adam didn’t want to let this go that easily. He had known Lance for what? Close to eight years now? And he never had even a hint of his life before California. Adam was intrigued. Oh, he knew Lance had “money.” That was obvious from his, well, everything about him. His townhouse. His car. The way he wore his clothes. The way he carried himself. All this had been pointed out to Adam by an ex-girlfriend of his. He, of course, hadn’t thought much about Lance or where he came from before he suddenly appeared in California in their fraternity house. Guys don’t do that. But his ex had been intrigued by Adam’s tall, dimpled friend. She had pointed out the traits she saw in Lance, and now, after this revelation, they made sense. What she had called him—to his face no less—‘Sir Lancelot’ and ‘Frat Boy’ and ‘Pampered Poodle’ made sense, too, in a twisted sort of way. Man, how those two had loved to verbally spar at each other! When Lance threw a ‘Gold Digger’ or a ‘Grudge’ right back at her, the repartee had reduced both of them into a laughing heap.

Adam’s face had changed as Lance watched and waited for the next onslaught of questions he knew would come. But now Adam seemed to be on a different mental track, not that Lance minded. He didn’t really want to delve into his past and the problems with his father. Lance had made his choice and he was happy and satisfied. His father would have to learn.… Well, he doubted his father would ever learn anything about his wayward son. Time wounds all heels, he smiled to himself.

“Pampered Poodle.” The phrase abruptly came out of Adam’s memory.

“Excuse me?” Lance’s eye narrowed, not sure he heard his friend right. There were limits within friendships.

Oops. Bad reaction. “I just remembered a verbal war you used to have with someone. You used to enjoy it.” Adam felt he had to defend himself yet again.

Lance now realized where Adam’s mind had taken him. Adam wasn’t making a slur about him—even though he was treading on dangerous personal ground for himself. Lance relaxed. “I enjoyed bantering with her, yes. She was allowed. You are not.” Lance thought back to the missing person of their former trio. He really missed the feisty little brunette. Adam was such an idiot sometimes.… “You sure you want to go to Memoryland?” Adam’s break-up had been difficult for a lot of people.

With a frown, Adam shook his head. Too many memories had flooded back at the remembrance of those soft-sided insults she and Lance used to fling at each other so often. No, he didn’t want to go there. It was bad enough every time he went to Disneyland. That was where he felt her the most.… He had to stop. That was the past. He had made it that way and he was stuck with it. Mooning around wouldn’t help. He had a Dreaming Tree to find.

“Sorry.” Adam gave a mumbled apology as he picked up his book again. “One thing just led to another. I take it you didn’t find anything about botany or a tree?”

Mollified that the personal questions seemed to have come to an end, Lance’s good nature took over. “No, not yet. I don’t think I’m studying the right time frame. This might all come in handy later, but I don’t see it leading to where we need to go.”

“What are you thinking? Earlier or later in his life?”

Lance slowly shook his head. “Not sure. It kind of sounds like a cartoon plot, but I couldn’t find a reference anywhere that sounded right. If he wants us to go on a journey, do you think we should start at the very beginning?”

“You are researching the early studio days. I am in the early days of Disneyland, but coming up empty, too.”

“We must be on the wrong track.” Lance was getting disappointed with their lack of progress. “The diary did say we’d have to work for it.”

Adam gave a little chuckle. “Maybe the shovel he mentioned was both figurative and literal. Well, we know we have to focus on dates before 1966 when he died. Still, there’s a lot of ground to cover.”

“Probably also both figurative and literal.” Lance gave a brilliant smile. “And two feet down. Maybe we should choose the book two feet down in your huge pile here.”

Adam shrugged. It was as good an idea as any. “Which book would that be?” He eyeballed the pile. Being a General Contractor, he was used to looking at something and knowing how long or how tall or how wide it was. He rarely missed, and then it was only by an inch or two. “Try the red-covered book, under those.” Adam pointed to a stack of books in the middle of the coffee table.

It turned out to be a history of the Disneyland Park, full of glossy pictures of all the rides. “Don’t think that will do it,” as he thumbed through it. “Back to what we were doing before I was so rudely interrupted?”

Adam was glad to see the good-humored smile on Lance’s face. The last thing he needed was to be left alone with this mountain of books to go through. “Sure thing, boss. Hey, are there any fries left in that bag?” He should have known better.

“No, I ate them all. I could heat up this catsup packet for you and make soup.”

“Thanks, no.” Adam got back into his book and forgot about food. He knew Walt wasn’t exactly a scientific person, so a reference to botany was unusual. Still, nature did play a big part in Walt’s work—all the way back to the Silly Symphonies and Flowers and Trees. That was around 1932. It would be the first Silly Symphony to be made in color and would go on to win an Academy Award. He switched his reading to write-ups about that era.

Still no luck, Adam thought as he read paragraph after paragraph about Walt. While he knew a lot of Walt’s history, this in-depth study was far more enlightening to Adam than what he previously read. It was fascinating reading about the change from black and white cartoons to color and the problems Walt had both within and outside his company trying to convince everyone that the change was a good idea. But, it was pure Walt. He went ahead with his idea and just did it. It was well known that when Walt met with resistance to an idea, he honestly believed that those who resisted the idea simply couldn’t see it from his perspective. He left financing to his brother Roy who was not only responsible with money, he communicated the financing situations so that Walt had a reasonable understanding of limitations due to the lack of funds. However, even such understandings often were scoffed at by Walt as minor issues. Roy shouldered such questions as: Should the company go public? Should they accept a loan from the company that invented the color process for fifty percent interest in the studio? An investment banker in New York? It was exciting reading.

When he realized he was reading just to read the story, Adam had to pull back. He knew what he was looking for wasn’t there. Back in time or forward? That seemed to be the question of the day. Lance had started at 1920 and the garage studio in Kansas City, Missouri. That was pretty far back. That was the beginning studio where Walt would practice his cartooning. Farther back than Kansas City? That would bring them to Marceline, Missouri, Walt’s boyhood home he loved so dearly that it colored his perspective of hometown life forever. What years would that be? Adam thumbed back through his book. 1906 to 1911. Can’t get much farther back than that. Walt had been born in 1901.

Might as well begin at the beginning, Adam told himself as he closed the book he had been reading and reached for a different one. With a fresh page of notepaper, Adam settled back and began reading.

Tuesday morning began with problems on a remodel that Adam had to handle in person. As a General Contractor, his business was full of frustrating situations. Just when Adam wanted time to spend on this new, exciting adventure, he got pulled away to deal with a homeowner who had changed her mind—again.

Lance let himself into Adam’s apartment with the key Adam had given him. After a quick raid of the refrigerator, Lance sat back on the familiar sofa and picked up yet another book. As he sat there looking at it, his eyes began to throb from just reading the cover. He felt they were getting closer but just couldn’t bring himself to open the book. Glancing around the living room, his eyes stopped at Adam’s computer. They hadn’t done any research on the computer yet. Might be worth it, he figured.

Not familiar with Adam’s computer, he allowed himself some getting acquainted time to see what programs were loaded and what might be of help. He found Adam’s Organizer. Grinning, he went through Adam’s appointments, resisting the urge to cancel a few for fun. Instead, he added a daily alarm that would go off at 7 p.m. every day: “Feed Lance.” Pulling up the PhoneBook, Lance noticed the shortage of women listed inside. He added a few of his girl friends from memory, wondering if Adam would even notice. Surprised there was no password needed, Lance did a quick run-through of Adam’s business records. He gave a mild grunt of surprise. Adam was doing very well. Again resisting the impulse to rearrange some invoices, Lance closed the books. Being the good friend that he was, Lance left the virus killers in place. And, being the friend that he was, he turned off the spam filter.

Now refreshed, Lance settled back in Adam’s leather computer chair to get to work. He brought up his favorite search engine and typed in belly botany. The first listing was from Arkansas and described belly botany as “the study of belly flowers that are plants with a full height of one to four inches. To fully appreciate these tiny wonders, one must get down to their level by lying on your stomach.” Charming, Lance muttered to himself. Other links were full of flowers photographed from a low level. Next were encyclopedia listings, prayer meetings for botanists, and universities that offered degrees in botany. Travel sites proclaimed to be the best in belly botany adventures. There was an exhibition two years earlier there in California and a photo competition upcoming in Colorado. Lance groaned and wondered if this computer searching was such a good idea after all.

It wasn’t until page eight of those search pages that he spotted a reference to Walt. He almost missed it as it scrolled by mixed in with all the other listings. With a sense of excitement, he pulled up the article. It had been written by someone who had made a pilgrimage to Walt’s hometown of Marceline, Missouri. She had been thrilled to find that Walt’s Dreaming Tree was still standing and described in flowery prose how Walt and his little sister Ruth had spent hours and hours of their childhood sitting and dreaming under this particular cottonwood tree. As an adult, Walt himself had used the term belly botany to describe their pleasant musings under that tree; how they would watch the insects and animals around them and later he would use this as inspirations in his animated films.

Alert now, Lance wanted to make sure this article defined the tree and the cipher Walt was referring to. It sure sounded right, but Lance wasn’t one to rest on one laurel. He now typed Dreaming Tree and added Disney to the search. He came up with the same link plus many more describing the same events and, most importantly, the same place in Walt’s early life. He even found a picture of the huge cottonwood tree. It was taken from a great distance away barely showing two people standing nearby. The text said this was a picture of both Walt and Roy when they had visited their hometown in the early 1960’s for the dedication of the town’s swimming pool.

Bingo. Without waiting for Adam, Lance brought up his favorite travel site and booked a flight for two to Marceline the next day. Adam would have to work out his construction problem today. He was flying out tomorrow and would be back late Friday afternoon. That should give them plenty of time.

A note was taped to Adam’s refrigerator: “You are out of beer. Be ready 6 a.m. tomorrow. We fly to MO. Will be home Fri. Love, Lance.”

Lance ignored his ringing phone all afternoon and evening. Around midnight Adam gave up trying to reach him so he could get some kind of explanation for the note. At 5:45 a.m. Wednesday, Adam threw open his apartment door just to stop the constant ringing of his doorbell.

“You packed?” Compared to Adam’s disheveled appearance, Lance looked particularly well-rested and ready to go.

“Packed for what? You wouldn’t answer your stupid phone! Unlike some of the idle rich, I have work to do!”

Lance walked into Adam’s bedroom, ignoring the outburst and sarcasm. “We really need to be on the road in five minutes. The freeways can be brutal filled with you working-class slobs.” Inside Adam’s closet, his voice was muffled. He found a buried gym bag and tossed it to the boxer short-wearing Adam. “You might want to put something on that’s a little warmer.” Lance’s suggestion was accompanied by a wide grin. “Though, that look would probably get you through security a lot faster.”

Adam caught the gym bag and threw it on his rumpled bed. “What are you talking about?” Adam ran a hand through his mussed blonde hair. He had only gotten about four hours of sleep and was in no mood for Lance’s games.

“Our flight to Missouri leaves at 8:45. Didn’t you get my note?”

“Didn’t you hear your phone ringing?” Adam shot back.

“I thought you would understand.” Before Adam could explode, Lance held up a restraining hand. “I found the answer to the clue. We are going to Marceline, Missouri by way of LAX, Denver, and Kansas City. There is a rental car waiting for us this afternoon. We will drive approximately 125 miles from Kansas City to Marceline. Now, you really need to get going.” Lance leaned against the bedroom wall and let his news sink in. Knowing Adam wouldn’t let this opportunity pass by, he just waited.

Grumbling, Adam literally threw random clothes and a toothbrush into the gym bag. “You could have told me all this yesterday.” Running a hand over his stubbly face, he knew he didn’t have time to shave.

Lance herded him into his Mercedes and tossed Adam’s gym bag on top of his own carefully packed carry-on in the trunk. “Yes, I could have given you more of a heads-up,” Lance admitted as he sped away from Adam’s apartment and headed for the 405 Freeway, “but this is a lot more fun.”

While Lance was casually weaving in and out of traffic on the freeway, Adam called his foreman, Scott, at 6:30 a.m. and gave him instructions for the next two days, telling him to call his cell phone if something important came up. By 7:30, they had parked at the Los Angeles International Airport and were sprinting for the entrance to the terminal. Coming to a screeching halt, they were stuck in the newly-formed Security check line as the minutes until their flight left ticked by. At 8:40, they ran into an almost empty terminal. Their plane had been loaded and the terminal door was about to shut. It took a wink and Lance’s special persuasion for the flight attendant to let them onto the plane. The door of the plane was sealed shut behind them. At 8:50, the seatbelt lights came on. At 12:05 p.m., they were in Denver, racing for the terminal at the opposite end of the building. At 12:45, they were in the air again heading towards Missouri. At 4:30, Lance was driving northeast out of Kansas City towards Marceline with Adam wearily slumped in the passenger seat. Around 6:45 that evening, they spotted the tall silver water tower proclaiming Marceline and headed down Kansas Avenue—a street many would recognize as Main Street USA if they were walking into Disneyland. It was Disneyland’s Main Street that preserved the essence of Walt’s small-town experience and allowed him to share it with the millions who would visit his Park.

There were plenty of references to Walt and his family ties there on Main Street—from antique stores to metal plaques at the local movie theatre. The small town aura was obvious in this well-kept town of 2500 residents. In Walt’s time here, the railroad had been a big focus. But, in time, the town became an agricultural and industrial center and home to a large publishing industry. The railroad was still active in town and part of the new Disney museum under construction would be dedicated to the Santa Fe Railroad. Many of the business façades in town were either the old Western-influence wood or painted-over original brickwork. As in a lot of small towns, stores can cater to more than one type of customer. Here, the local appliance center boasted a soda fountain complete with padded chrome stools. Over on California Street was the Walt Disney Elementary School. Arriving by train, Walt himself had come back in October of 1960 for the christening of the new school. At the northern end of Main Street was Ripley Park that was named after E. P. Ripley, a past president of the Santa Fe Railroad. Sitting in the park was a huge train engine, coal car and caboose. The beautiful white gazebo in Ripley Park had been built in 1898 and Walt and his family had attended Sunday band concerts there. Sometimes his father, Elias, would join in with his fiddle. So deep were the memories of this time and place that Walt named one of his first steam locomotives at Disneyland the E. P. Ripley.

Lance pulled in front of the Uptown Theatre and got out, stretching to relieve his travel-induced aches and stiffness. Adam sat in the car for a minute, still somewhat stunned at this turn of events, yet excited to be in a place he had read about and had wanted to visit. And now, he was here.

As Lance pulled the luggage out of the trunk, Adam came out of his stupor and got out into the warm sunshine. “We’re going to see a movie?” Confused, he looked up at the three-story theater’s old-fashioned brick façade and ticket booth.

“There’s a bed-and-breakfast upstairs. I booked the Walt Disney Suite for us. I was going to get the Winnie the Pooh Room for you, but it was already taken.”

Adam just shook his head, looking around. “This is amazing. I can’t believe I’m in Walt’s hometown!”

They checked in and were taken to the two-bedroom suite that had a sitting room, small kitchenette and dining room. Lance claimed the bedroom with the king-sized bed for his superior height. Adam, not caring, tossed his almost-empty gym bag into the other bedroom on his queen-sized bed. He wandered through the quaint suite with its clean white walls and maple furniture. In the dining room, dishes and glasses were encased in a glass-fronted chest set into a wall. Discreet pictures of Walt dotted the walls here and there. A directory on the small table next to the phone gave them a historical run-down of the Uptown Theatre and apartments that had been opened in 1930. Walt and Roy had been there in 1956 to host the premiere of the Disney movie The Great Locomotive Chase. Walt had told the children in the audience that “they were lucky to live here” in Marceline. There were ads from other businesses in town and even a preview of the new Walt Disney Hometown Museum that would soon open in May 2002. They were also directed to the Zurcher Building and its original Coke mural that inspired Coke Corner, the outdoor restaurant with red and white awnings found at the end of Main Street in Disneyland.

They found a diner and had a home-cooked meatloaf dinner complete with flaky biscuits, mashed potatoes, fresh-cut green beans, and a blueberry cobbler for dessert. After dinner, while walking down the sidewalk, they found the hardware store. It was difficult to buy a shovel discreetly. Adam picked out one that actually folded, which made it easier to hide, while Lance chatted with the clerk. Adam just hoped she wouldn’t remember too much about the other guy who bought a shovel. Usually the women just remembered Lance—which could work out to their advantage this time.

Travel fatigue on top of a wonderful meal caught up with Adam. After managing to get his teeth brushed, he mumbled something that could have been “good night” to Lance and shut his room’s door. He noticed fresh-smelling floral sheets right before falling asleep in the silent room.

“You can’t miss it.” This was the standard reply they got from nearly everyone they asked about Walt’s special tree.

“Go north.” A senior gentleman walking an equally senior Springer spaniel pointed up the street. “Then go left on Broadway. You’ll see a bank on the left. The tree is across from it.”

That should have been simple enough. The bank was easy enough to find. They knew what the tree looked like from that old picture. How difficult would it be to spot a one hundred-year old huge cottonwood?

More difficult than you might expect, they found. They passed it three times. They didn’t account for the growth of the weeds or for the current shape of the tree.

Time and old age had affected the tree as it does humans. Huge branches had fallen and been hauled away. It looked like only half a tree as the men walked around it. The re-creation of Walt’s barn stood in a back pasture. There were little signs posted here and there describing the events that had happened in the history of the tree, the barn, and the site.

Walt’s diary had told them to look around and appreciate wherever they found themselves, so the two men did just that. They took a moment to wander through the barn. The signs had told them this barn had been Walt and Ruth’s favorite place to play. They had performed a barn circus with the animals, including a pig and a goat, dressed in Ruth’s doll clothes. The admission price the children had charged had been refunded by Flora, their mother. The barn had showed up in the movie So Dear My Heart and another re-creation had been built in Walt’s backyard in California in 1950 to become his personal workshop and his own Happy Place. Inside this Missouri version, they found guests were encouraged to leave a personal message. These messages were written on the boards of the barn and came from all over the United States and around the world. Adam and Lance went to different sides of the barn and left their own messages. It seemed like the thing to do.

The land was now privately owned with no parking lot or signs to indicate a roadside attraction. Visitors were welcome at any time to wander the site. Nobody even looked twice at strangers walking through the high weeds or sitting under the fading tree. Everyone who visited there came for their own reasons. They were encouraged, respected, and left alone.

Adam and Lance found themselves alone on that Thursday afternoon. The folding shovel was tucked under Lance’s lightweight jacket. After their time in the barn and reading some of the messages left by others, they wandered back to the tree. As Walt had written, it was time to “begin doing.”

Lance set down the shovel and put his jacket over it. They silently contemplated the tree. “I don’t suppose there’s any big red arrow, is there?” Lance leaned back to see the topmost branches.

“That would be nice.” Adam gave a smile as he walked around the tree. “Nope, don’t see one. Tell me again what you found belly botany to mean.”

Lance recited the close examination of bugs and plants from the on-your-stomach perspective.

“Okay. Now, Walt was about my height, maybe a little shorter, but not much. If he was lying here on his stomach, like this,” as he demonstrated with his own body, “would you go by where my feet are now?”

Lance came and stood at the place where Adam’s feet had been as Adam got up. “Or, since the clue says ‘from where I stand,’ would be it where you are now standing?”

“It isn’t that much of a difference in distance.”

“It is if you are digging,” Lance pointed out. “Think we could find a backhoe and do it all at once?”

That earned a grin from Adam. “Well, I think a two-foot deep trench all around the tree might be noticed. I think we need to find one particular place to dig. Where that is, I’m not sure.”

“Well, mark both distances and we’ll see if we can get any inspiration on where to start.”

They stood at the trunk of the old tree and looked at the view from different positions. Because they didn’t know what had stood in the distance over ninety years ago, they didn’t get any ready answer. Looking up into the tree didn’t help because so much of the tree was gone. They just hoped their reference point hadn’t been burned for firewood years ago.

“What about in relation to the barn?” Lance turned to survey the land. “What do you think? Between the tree and the barn?”

Adam shrugged. “You want to try first? Sounds good to me.”

Not realizing he was going to be on the business end of the shovel, Lance paused for a moment. Adam knew him well enough to know exactly what Lance was thinking and kept quiet. If there was more digging that had to be done after this, he would do the next hole. Lance now realized he was going to get down and dirty. He gave a sigh as the shovel bit into the weedy soil.

Adam kept his smile to himself and sat back under the tree facing the road. He would alert Lance to stop if anyone else came. This was a place to reflect, not dig up. He wasn’t exactly sure what he would say to anyone who questioned them, but he would think of something. He heard some mumbled cursing, but saw no other cars or people.

Within ten minutes Lance had his two-foot-deep hole dug. He had examined the dirt as he threw it out but only saw rocks and more rocks. Unless Walt left them a special rock, he didn’t find anything. Calling Adam around, Lance asked his opinion. Adam looked through the pile of dirt and the hole. He shrugged. “Fill it back in. We’ll try another one. Oh, be sure to leave a patch of weeds to put back on top.”

With Lance muttering about his hands, his back, his favorite shirt, and various places Adam could stick the patch of weeds, Adam wandered around the tree trunk again. It was only about three feet in diameter. He studied the trunk at the height he thought a five- to eight-year old boy would be, allowing for some growth of the tree. Nothing. Then he tried again at his own height, as if Walt was looking at the tree as an adult.

He almost missed it, it was so faint. There was some crude carving in the tree trunk. It might have been passed over as some harmless prank by a kid. But as Adam carefully pulled away a little more of the bark, he saw it was initials. They weren’t very deep, but they were legible.

W.E.D.

Walter Elias Disney. As Disney aficionados know, those three initials were a cipher for many things Disney. The acronym was used to create WED Enterprises, the design and development organization Walt founded in 1952 to help him create Disneyland. And here they were, most likely carved by Walt himself so many years ago.

Adam traced the letters with his fingers to make sure they really were letters, not random scars left in the tree. Lance was almost done with filling in the hole. Adam turned his back to the carving and narrowed his eyes as he looked out over the land. There was nothing he could see that would inspire that particular spot. He lay down directly under the letters and dug his heels in to mark the spot. Lance came over while he was still prone.

“Having a nice nap?” He tossed the shovel next to Adam, and sat with his back to the tree, his face was lined with sweat. He ran his hand through his tousled hair. Adam didn’t seem to notice he had finished with his manual exertions in record-setting time. His eyes narrowed at Adam who inexplicably turned a smiling face at him. Adam indicated ‘up’ with his chin. Lance was in no mood for guessing games. “What?”

“Look up above my head, if you can drag your weary body up there”

Barely stifling a curse, Lance got to his feet and eyed the trunk.

“About six feet up from here.” Adam tilted his head straight up to lead Lance to the spot.

Now intrigued, Lance ran his fingers over the carved initials. “How’d we miss that?”

Adam stood up and reached for the shovel. “I guess we weren’t looking for it. Didn’t know what to look for.” As the shovel took its first bite, Adam saw Lance was still staring at the initials. “Will you watch for incoming?”

Lance barely nodded as he stared at the tree trunk. “Incredible.”

“Hey, mister, whatcha doing?”

The squeaky voice caught them both by surprise. Adam’s next shovelful of dirt slowly lowered back into the hole as he stopped what he was doing. He was only about ten inches deep. Lance spun around and his eyes dropped lower than he expected. A young boy stood, hands held behind him, watching. He looked about six years old to Lance—who was not a good judge of children’s ages.

The boy was curious. “Whatcha doin’ to Walt’s tree?”

Adam kept his back to the boy and let Lance handle it. Lance quickly got over the surprise and had to come up with something—fast. “I’m Bob and this is my friend Ernie.”

“I’m Timmy. I live over there.” The boy gave a vague wave off to the east somewhere, not taking his eyes off Lance.

Lance knew he had to keep the boy talking as Adam got back to digging. “You come here a lot, Timmy? We’re new.”

“You probably shouldn’t be digging up Walt’s tree.” Timmy sounded somewhat doubtful because he was also curious about what might be down there.

“Oh, we’re not digging up the tree.” Lance tried to be assuring and the voice of reason. “See how far we are away from it? Ernie dropped a contact lens. We’re trying to find it.”

Timmy edged closer to the hole. “It’s going to be really dirty,” he muttered. Adults did the stupidest things.

“Well, we will just have to wash it off really good if we find it. How’re you coming, Ernie?”

‘Ernie’ just felt the tip of his shovel hit something. It could be another rock. There were plenty of those in this soil. He scraped a little dirt to the side and saw something gray and then felt the length of it with the shovel blade. He knew he could scoop it out in one throw. Seeing Timmy eyeing him, he covered it over and made a small trench around the item. “Say, Lance…,”

“Bob.”

“Bob, show Timmy what we found on the tree. It’s really cool.”

Lance saw the outline Adam had made in the dirt. Realizing Adam had found something, he had to distract Timmy. “Oh, that’s right! Look at this! Bet you didn’t see this before.”

As they turned to face the tree, Adam dug in and tossed the big clump of dirt off to the side. He stepped out of the hole, grabbing Lance’s discarded jacket. As Timmy complained he was too short and “can’t see nothin’,” Adam uncovered a gray plastic capsule and threw the jacket over it. Turning back to the hole, he started filling it in as fast as he could.

Lance lifted the boy to see the initials. “Oh, wow, cool, wait until I show my friends! We never seen that before!” Mission accomplished, Lance put him back on the ground. Adam was just about finished and nodded to Lance that it was all right. “I’m going to go get Tony!”

The men watched the boy run off across the foot bridge and down the street. He seemed so excited to show his friends something new that hopefully he would forget about the hole. As Adam tamped the weeds back in place, he hoped they were long gone if Timmy did remember.

They folded the shovel and stashed it and the long, gray plastic tube under Lance’s jacket. Both dirt-stained and sweaty, they hoped they could get up to their suite without too much notice or any questions. Excited with their discovery, Lance still drove sedately through town. “What do we do with the shovel?”

“Take it back for a refund? I think the clerk would do it for you,” he batted his eyes.

As usual, Lance ignored him. “I think we should dump it in case Timmy tells his parents someone was digging up Walt’s tree.”

Adam glanced at the sky. It was late afternoon now. He figured it was dinnertime for Timmy and his friends and they’d be too busy to tell anyone anything. “You might be right. Maybe there’s a dumpster behind these stores.”

Lance drove around the block until they found a city dumpster. Adam tossed in the shovel, trying not to make too much noise. Other than a cat he disturbed, no one seemed to be around. Lance drove back to the Bed and Breakfast. Beating off as much dust as they could, they went inside. The front desk was busy with another guest as they took the stairs to their suite.

Closing the cheery curtains in the front window, they set the capsule on the kitchen table. It was about a foot long and six inches around. They didn’t know for sure exactly how long it had been buried in that field. It had to have been before 1966—assuming Walt himself put it there—so it had to have been in the ground at least thirty-six years. The scratches on the plastic must have been from the dirt going in and coming out. There were no dents, no ravages from time. One end had a cap screwed on. Adam tried the lid and found it wouldn’t budge. He gently tapped it on the edge of the kitchen table, the way he would try to loosen the lid off a pickle jar. Even then, it took all of Adam’s strength to weaken the hold on the cap. They found it had been sealed with double neoprene seals, so everything inside was well protected from the elements.

They found they were both holding their breath as the cap came off. Adam tilted the case and a piece of wood fell out into Lance’s waiting hands. They looked at the size of the case and the small piece of wood, and looked at each other. “Is that it?” Lance was the one to voice their question.

Adam shrugged and tilted the case again and was rewarded with a soft scraping noise inside. Peering in, they found some paper loosely rolled to fit the sides snugly. Reaching in, Adam could feel the texture of parchment paper and lightly eased the edge towards the lip of the capsule. Before he could grasp the edge, Lance suggested he wash the dirt off his hands first. “You never know.”

With the majority of the dirt was left on a dishtowel, he eased the paper out of its resting place. Lance did the honors of unrolling the red-bordered sheets. There were two of them rolled together, eleven inches wide by about seventeen inches long. At the top of the sheets was a highly-detailed picture of a steam train—much like the one sitting in Ripley Park—a coal car and passenger cars. A woman passenger was holding her hat against the onrushing wind of the train. In the background, a mid-1920’s car was seen parked near the wooden terminal. The writing covering the entire page was flowery with the words Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe Railroad Company in bold, shaded letters. They were stock certificates proclaiming ten shares each, numbered, signed and embossed. The paper had that unusual quality Lance had only seen—and felt—in old historical documents.

With Adam peering over his shoulder, Lance looked the papers over since he had more experience in that area than Adam. His eyes were wide when he finished his examination. “Congratulations, buddy. We are now shareholders in the railroad!”

They high-fived each other.

“Thank you, Walt!”

Lance stopped in mid-salute with a sobering thought. “What if someone comes looking for whoever dug up the ground around the tree?”

Suddenly deflated, Adam sunk into the floral chair. “That’s a possibility. That kid could tell his parents. This is a small town. It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to find two strangers who bought a shovel this morning.”

“Think we should get out of here?”

Adam nodded. His elation was turning into paranoia—just like it had done when he found Walt’s diary in Disneyland. Someone could burst in here at any minute and demand to know what they were doing out at the Dreaming Tree. “We’re paid up through the night, though, aren’t we?”

Lance was already in his room gathering up his clothes. “I don’t care. We’ll head back to Kansas City and find a place to stay. It’s only a two hour drive. We’ll have dinner once we get there.”

Thinking ahead to the airline and the gray capsule, Adam asked, “What do we do with this case? Would it be searched at the airport?”

“Probably. Just make sure it is empty and we’ll dump it somewhere in Kansas City. What do you think that wood block is?”

Adam shrugged. “I don’t know. Could it be another clue? Did you look at it?”

They picked up the neglected piece of wood. It looked like it was broken off from something bigger. It had the number 1127 embedded on it.

“Toss it in your bag. It has to be a clue of some kind. Kinda vague.… You packed?”

Lance nodded and looked around the room. He would have loved to stay and explore more of the town tomorrow. He bet he could have talked their way into that new museum that was about a month away from being open. Oh, well, nothing could be done. They both felt it best to put some distance between themselves and those holes they had dug. He glanced down at his messy shirt. “I’d like to take a shower. No, let’s just get on the road. I’ll talk to the front desk.”

They regretfully shut the door and headed to their rental car. On the way back to Kansas City, they decided to put all metal items into Lance’s carry-on for Security at the airport to go through. The paper and wood in Adam’s gym bag would go through the X-ray machine without any problem. There was no need for anyone to even see the stock certificates. They felt they were home clear.

Now all they had to do was find out what in the world—and where in the world—the number 1127 stood for.