In Search of the Green Man
“The Green Man” by Tyler DeLong.
As spring begins in earnest here in the Inland Northwest, I want to share this short story with you about going in search of the Green Man.
I once went into the woods in New Hampshire in search of the Green Man. Previously known by many names such as Jack in the Green, the Foliate Head, Puck, and even Robin Hood, he gained his new name, the Green Man, from Lady Raglan in 1939. He has made many appearances in church architecture from at least the 5th century onward. He is nearly always depicted as a head surrounded by leaves. Sometimes he appears to be disgorging the leaves. Other times, he is sticking out his tongue, or pulling some other kind of silly face. But I did not want these stone facsimiles. I wanted the Green Man himself, alive, tending to the forest, making love to the rain, bringing forth fruit and nuts. So I went into the woods.
I wandered around on the accepted paths and saw many things. Large stones covered in moss, looking like trolls sleeping, avoiding the sun’s dappled light shining through the trees. It had rained recently and so along with an appreciable amount of mud on my boots, I saw mushrooms looming up out of the ground. Surely, I thought, the gnomes are at their work, shepherding these creatures which connect tree to tree, consume the dead, and can lead to delights unknown when eaten. Soon, I crossed a river by a small bridge, and came out into an unnatural opening. The land had been cleared to make way for powerlines. While I welcomed their ability to bring light into my home, I couldn’t help but lament the light they had taken from the forest. Of course, these woods themselves were still new. Early colonists had cut down nearly 90% of New Hampshire’s trees. Perhaps, I thought to myself, I’m a fool for looking for him here, in a wood so new, when he is so old. But as these were the only woods available to me, I walked on.
The trees were mostly white birch, the state tree in New Hampshire. Their papery, white skin made me think of books. Then, of course, I remembered that the Latin word for book, liber also means the inner bark of a tree, the bark on which many books were transcribed. Here in front of me, then, was not just a forest, but a library. And of course, the Green Man must be the librarian. The wind in the trees is his act of shushing us, telling us to be quiet, to pay attention, to read. I broke from the path and wandered about in the woods themselves, trying to read the trees in front of me. I could not quite make out the words, though they became clearer when I took my lenses off and the trees themselves became blurrier. But as there were granite rocks sticking out every which way, I was obliged to put my glasses back on or end up with a twisted ankle.
It was spring, and I thought that this must be the best time to find him awake and tending to his charges. But try as I might, I could not find him. Flowers were just starting to crop up. Surely this must be a sign of his work! I followed them deeper in amongst the trees, but still could not find him. I came to another opening, this one bereft of any signs of electricity. In the middle was a ring of mushrooms. At last! I thought to myself. I must be getting closer. This fairy ring is likely one of his resting places where he can bathe in the sun and drink the rain. I stepped into the circle.
Suddenly I found myself back on the trail, looking out over the forest and seeing the mountains in the distance. I cannot say for sure what happened that day. Perhaps I found the Green Man. Perhaps we drank together from a holy well. Perhaps we danced and laughed. Perhaps I watched him tend to his books. Perhaps I simply dreamed it all. But as I descended down the trail, I noticed that trees looked slight different. What I caught glimpses of without my glasses on became a little clearer. The trees were covered in little markings, markings that looked like words, words that spoke to something ancient, something edenic in me.
When I returned home, I greeted my family, hugging and kissing them after taking off my muddied boots. The flowers my wife had bought attracted my attention. They gave off a strange scent, something almost elvin. And I thought I just caught the tail end of a song. It seemed almost to say, “let the field exult, and everything in it! Then shall all the trees of the forest sing for joy!” Our ancestors were right to put the Green Man in our churches. He isn’t a leftover from some bygone pagan age. No, the Lord of the Forest is a servant just like the rest of us. He serves the King of the Cosmos and does his bidding. Once we were friends of his, but we have estranged ourselves from the rest of creation. But when the Lord returns, old Jack will come forward with the trees, the fields, the mountains, and welcome the coming King. May we be found at his side on that day.
