“Good morning, good afternoon, good evening,” Alice started, delivering a genuine, welcoming smile that Nicky had never seen before. “We are coming to you via live satellite feed from the Tongass rainforest in Southeast Alaska. We are on Shee Island, just outside the town of Jackson Cove, population two thousand, where I happen to be mayor. No matter your time zone, we are glad to have you with us. We have a message for you from the youth of our small town. Meet Veronica Deschumel and Josephine Hall. These courageous middle schoolers have been pressing to save a valley of old-growth trees behind Jackson Cove, and you’ll want to help them. Veronica?”
Veronica stepped into the frame, giving a friendly wave to the camera, then breaking into her winning smile. “Hello, friends. Today, less than a mile from where I stand, gas-powered saws are ready to cut down these trees you see all around me. It is a day of loss and pain, not just for this forest, but for our community, and for Earth. The tree I stand in front of, which was cut this morning, is over a thousand years old.”
Nathan put two thumbs up, mouthing the words “Three thousand viewers and climbing!”
“We have a chance to stop this disaster,” Veronica continued, taking another step forward, and gesturing with her hands to the forest around her. Nicky noticed that she wore the same wool turtleneck sweater as she had on the welcome video she had sent. “The mill that is supposed to cut these trees has the opportunity to convert to a craft guitar shop. Instead of killing these ancient trees, like this thousand-year-old yellow cedar behind me, we can use salvaged Sitka spruce to build instruments. This is Mr. Hall beside me, a guitar maker and my neighbor. He holds in his hands a guitar made from Sitka spruce.”
Their father held up the guitar up by the neck, showing it to the camera. Nicky saw that the number of viewers had climbed to more than five thousand.
“Now I’d like to give you Josephine Hall, to introduce our musician.”
Veronica stepped aside. Nicky looked at Josie, who turned back to her with a frightened expression. “I can’t!” Josie said.
“What?”
“It was your idea. Go,” she said, pushing Nicky. Nathan watched them, motioning for someone to step forward. Nicky’s legs wouldn’t budge.
“Nicky!” Josie said. “Please. I’m scared.”
Nicky was too. Then she leaned over and touched the cap of a chanterelle. Instantly, she felt a buzzing. The trees—they were listening as well. The current filled her with hope, and courage.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the frame.
“Hello. This is Nicky Hall. I’m actually Josie’s twin sister. I’m here for all the people in my community, asking you to help. Donating any amount to this project would allow the mill to retool to make guitars. By giving, you would preserve this living, breathing forest for generations to come.” She paused, staring hard into the lens of Nathan’s camera. Her mind went blank. She knew there was more to say, but nothing came to her. She opened her mouth, and just started talking.
“My twin sister and I grew up in a small farming town in Pennsylvania. In April, our mother, an emergency room doctor, died of Covid-19. Our father brought us to this island just over a week ago.” She found Josie’s eyes. Her sister wasn’t blinking as she watched her. “And even though we are new to this town, we came because we have family here—Aunt Mallory, and my Uncle Cliff, who works at the mill, and my cousin Clete. Today, we ask that you become new Alaskans too. My father, our father, will play you some music that these trees allow him to make. His name is Daniel Hall. He’s an amazing man who has guided us through these tough times, to this extraordinary forest, which now needs your help.”
Nicky leaned over to hug her father, smelling the wet cedar as she did. “Thanks, Nick,” he told her.
He touched the brass slide to the strings, sending a few notes into the air. “Nicky already shared that we’ve had a tough year, just like so many of you around the world. Time heals, but music makes that healing go quicker. I built this guitar out of wood from trees like the ones around me. I know we’re making a big ask—a moonshot, really—to believe we’ll retrain loggers into guitar makers. But here in Alaska, we take the moonshots. If you live in the Lower 48, or anywhere else in the world, you could help us. If you love music, help us. If you love Mother Nature, and care about the future of our children, and this earth, please help.”
Above him, the raven cawed, as if impatient for the music to start.
When you hear me singin’ this old lonesome song,
People, you know these hard times can last us so long.
As he sang, Nicky could feel the earth beneath her vibrate. She touched the mushroom again. This time her knees went wobbly, the ligaments behind them loosening. The notes rising from the guitar and the pulses of energy combing through the earth swept through her. All at once she heard the trees, moving and speaking as one. Nicky…
You know that people are driftin’ from door to door,
Can’t find no heaven, no matter where they go.
Nicky closed her eyes, trying not to let panic break her down. The music surged with the sound of the trees, the two strains resolving toward a unified vibration, producing a single melody. Thank you.
With great effort she lifted her hand from the mushroom, and her boots from the earth, and set a hand on her father’s shoulder, then another on the cedar, which felt warm to her, despite the moist bark. The last of her father’s notes echoed among the tree trunks.
“Please,” Nicky said. “Please help save Sky River Valley.”
“And we’re out,” Nathan said, making his palm into a fist. “Wow. Norway, Morocco, Rio de Janeiro, Toronto. Number kept climbing. Nearly a hundred thousand viewers. I’ve never seen a live feed go that viral. Everyone, it seems, has eyes on Alaska.”
“What about the page?” Josie asked, coming toward him. “GoFundMe. Is anyone donating?”
“That will take longer,” Nathan said, watching his screen. “Though we’re at just over a thousand dollars. I’ll put this on YouTube now. And we’ll see. But I think the internet likes us—like, a lot.”
Uncle Cliff smiled, lifted his mesh cap from his head, and flattened his black hair. “Unbelievable.” His eyes searched for Nicky, and he winked at her. “Can I use your satellite phone, Nathan? I think it’s time I check in with Lars.”