Hairy Towes

Hairy Towes lived in a small house with his large family. They were tenant farmers and raised crops, beans to be specific, enough to feed the entire village.

Hairy was the third of eleven brothers. His real name was Three, but everyone called him Hairy. You can probably guess why. He was, well hairy.

He had been born with a mane of wild copper colored hair. His mother could not bring herself to cut it, so it grew, and grew and grew. As a wee lad he learned how to braid. It not only kept the hair out of his face, but he found he could tuck the braid into his shirt and out of his brothers’ reach.  You see, they liked to have a little fun when they were done with chores, and they’d use Hairy’s braid as a make shift jump rope. The neighbor girls, come to fetch the beans, would often play along. The tugging gave him a bit of a headache, but the real indignity occurred when these little misses would tie ribbons to his locks. It was really just too much.

Hairy worked hard with his family on the farm, but he was restless and often roamed the woods. There was something about the tall trees reaching for the clouds, the soft undergrowth, and the downy moss always pointing him in the right direction. He felt like he could breathe better and think more clearly. It’s where he went to dream of his future, where his someday self lived with a lovely wife and several children of their own. They would harvest trees to provide heat to the farmers and villagers, but for every tree they took they would plan two more so that the forest would not suffer.

One afternoon Hairy took his axe and went to the woods to gather some firewood. He whistled as he walked along the path, enjoying the fresh air and the bird songs. The day was warm and he was thirsty so he headed for the spring-fed pond for a sip of clear, cold water. As he neared, he heard frantic splashing. He sprinted the rest of the way and saw a figure struggling to stay above water.

“Help,” the figure sputtered.

Hairy didn’t know how to swim, and wondered what to do. Should he run back for help? There was no time. Should he fell one of the trees circling the pond so that he could walk out on it and grab the poor, floundering soul? No, the tree might land on them and push them under.

Hairy ripped off his shoes and socks and waded into the water up to his knees. He pulled his braid from under his shirt, coil, after coil, after coil, and hurled it into the center of the pond.

“Grab on,” he shouted.

As soon as the endangered individual grabbed his hair rope he turned and ran back up the path, towing his resue-e to the shore.

“I’m safe,” coughed his beneficiary.

Hairy pivoted and headed once more to the water’s edge. There, slumped in a heap, dripping and shivering with relief, sat a beautiful girl about his age.

“You saved me,” she said softly. “I owe you my life.”

In an instant he saw their future and he was content.

“No,” he said. “It is you who have saved my life, and I give it to you.”