(Featured Artist Alisaa Alexandra Johnson)
Old Hickory sat in the middle of a barren field. “Tan’t no body gonna bother me here,” said the tree.
Once, a long time ago, Hickory stood tall and proud. Surrounded by a meadow filled with sunflowers and daisies.
“They done skedaddle them fair weather friends,” the tree would mutter. It would say this when the days were hot or when the nights were cold.
Nobody knew what had happened. Some thought it was because Hickory was a bit too pompous.
“Why, I am the best-looking tree for miles around,” Hickory will tell you. The fact was, he was the only tree for miles.
Whatever the cause, one summer the rains did not arrive. The meadow dried up, leaving only Hickory and a handful of cranky crows.
“Let’em all go. Now I can have the whole place to myself,” muttered Hickory.
As the years went by, even the crows left to find better lodgings. Now Hickory stands bent and broken in a dried-up field.
“Wonder what those crows are up to?” asked Hickory.
Truth was, he was lonely and longed to chat with even the noisy crows.
“Guess it’s time to pack it in,” said the tree one autumn day.
Hickory’s branches droop, and leaves fell to the ground. Then he closed his eyes and never opened them again.
The following spring, the rains returned. A family of squirrels took up house in the hollow core of Old Hickory.
“What a wonderful home this tree provides. It must have been a grand tree when it was alive,” said the father squirrel.
“Yes, it does seem to have a loving heart, doesn’t it?” replied Mrs. Squirrel.
There was no one left to tell them the real story of Old Hickory, except the wind.
Folksburywoods 
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