The Tale Of The Wooden Woodcutter

a cautionary fairytale for those who live to serve others

Once upon a time, in the middle of a great forest, there lived in a happy woodcutter, who themself was made entirely of wood.

The wooden woodcutter was a joyful soul, who thrived living alone in the beautiful and peaceful forest where they had made their wooden home, but because they were a kind and warm-hearted soul, they also loved to serve and help out others.

The vast forest that they lived in was home to a community of many people — some of whom very poor — so during the coldest months the wooden woodcutter made it part of their daily routine to check on their neighbours, and offer help and care to them wherever it was needed. And because they were a woodcutter by trade, and clearly so strong and capable of the work, their neighbours would often ask if they could spare some firewood.

Now the woodcutter was indeed strong and capable, and had learned very well how to work with the forest. A good woodcutter understands the trees and just how to cut wood; how to open the space between trees to allow them to flourish, and how to take just what they need without harming.

The wooden woodcutter had been a woodsman for a very long time and knew just how much firewood could safely be taken, so when his neighbours asked them for some of the precious wood they cut every day, they had to carefully consider the request.

“If I got up a little earlier every day, I believe I could cut a little more wood than I need for myself and to make my living, and still not harm the forest,” they said to themselves.

And so from that day forward they rose each morning an hour earlier, in order to cut the extra wood for those in need of it.

After a few weeks, the woodcutter found they had began to enjoy their new routine. Waking a little earlier meant that they got to see the sunrise — a new and unexpected joy — and when, at the end of the day, they delivered the wood to their neighbours, their gratitude and warmth felt wonderful. Often they would invite the woodcutter inside for something warm to drink, or simply to say a ‘good evening’ to their families, sat around fires and stoves fuelled by the wood that the woodcutter had brought, and this made them very happy.

And even though their days were longer and they went to bed very tired every night, they rose each morning with the feeling that their life now had a wonderful sense of purpose.

After some time had passed, many of the woodcutter’s neighbours expressed a desire to learn the skills of woodcutting themselves, and for the woodcutter this became another particular joy. Outside in the fresh air, they would show them how to select just the right trees to coppice, how to cut and stack wood so it stayed dry and seasoned properly, and how to sharpen, clean and take care of the precious tools that made this work possible.

Every winter more and more of their neighbours learned these skills, and learned how to take care of both the forest and themselves, and so the little community that the woodcutter lived in began to thrive, just as they themselves had. Word traveled far and wide that the forest was a good place to live, that firewood was abundant and that there was a friendly wooden woodcutter who oversaw it all, and slowly more and more people came to live there.

During the summer months the forest’s community thrived. People gathered together outside, children played under the leafy branches and everyone enjoyed the abundance of the forest. But when the cold winter months approached, the many new members of the community again turned to the woodcutter for help. They did not have the skills that their neighbours had learned, and now there were so many of them, living scattered wide throughout the forest, that the woodcutter began to struggle to reach them all.

“If I got up a little earlier every day, I believe I could cut a little more wood than I need for myself and to make my living, and for my old neighbours, and still not harm the forest,” they said to themselves.

And so from that day forward they rose each morning two hours earlier than before, in order to cut the extra wood for those in need of it.

After a few weeks of this new routine, the woodcutter began to notice a change in themselves. The forest was dark and cold when they left the house every morning, so that when the sunrise finally came it barely warmed their chilled-through bones. Their axe felt heavier in their hands, and when they thought about which trees to best select, their head sometimes felt foggy and confused. Sometimes they overslept and didn’t have time to pack a lunch for themselves, and so by the time the evening came they were not only tired, but also weak and dizzy.

As a consequence, the visits to their neighbours took longer and longer, and now when they finally arrived to deliver the firewood the people of the forest were impatient with them, and less and less grateful.

“You said you would help us woodcutter, and now the fire has gone out!”

“You said you would be here by evening woodcutter, and I have no wood to cook!”

“You said you’d bring enough for a week, but this is barely enough for three days!”

One evening as the woodcutter was finishing their rounds, they realised with horror that they had not cut nearly enough wood, and that — as a consequence — someone would have to go without. The thought of seeing the disappointed angry faces of their neighbours felt so very terrible, that the exhausted woodcutter sat down on a nearby tree stump, put their head in their hands and wept.

Hearing the strange sound, a squirrel made its way down from the treetops and scurried over to sit in front of them.

“O why are you crying, friend-woodcutter?” the squirrel said, “Why I have never know you be anything but joyous in your work.”

“O friend-squirrel,” sighed the woodcutter, “I have been working all day long, cutting firewood in the forest for my neighbours, and yet now I see that I do not have enough.”

Jumping up to peep inside the woodcutter’s cart, the squirrel looked surprised.

“But there’s still wood in here woodcutter, surely this is enough for everyone?”

The woodcutter shook their head sadly,

“All that is left here is the wood for my own house. If I give this away I will have no firewood to light my own stove tonight, or warm my own hearth.”

“Ah, I see,” said the squirrel, and put his head on one side as if he was thinking very hard. “Perhaps…” he started to say, and then stopped, shaking his head.

“Perhaps what?” asked the woodcutter, “Please tell me friend-squirrel, what can I do?”

“Well,” said the squirrel, “I cannot help but see that you yourself are made of wood. Could you not, just this one night…burn a little of yourself instead, to make up for the lack?”

The woodcutter’s mouth opened very wide in surprise. Lifting their left arm up slowly in front of their eyes, they stared at it thoughtfully.

“Well,” they said, “I had not thought of that before this moment, but yes, perhaps I could. I do not think that I use this arm very much at all, and I am sure that — just like the trees in the forest — it will grow back in time.”

“I am sure that it will,” said the squirrel, and confident at a job well done, it scampered back up into the treetops to its cosy nest.

So the woodcutter finished delivering the firewood to their neighbours and then, returning home, they used the sharpest axe they had, cut off their left arm and threw it into the stove to burn.

And so it now went with the woodcutter. Some days they would cut enough firewood for everyone, and would return back home exhausted, but whole. But more and more often, they could not gather quite enough and so another small piece of themselves would have to be cut away to fuel their fire and ensure their own survival.

And despite their belief that their limbs would eventually regrow given time, the more often they burned pieces of themself, the thinner and smaller and weaker they grew, and the less firewood they found they could gather, and so less of their neighbours they were able to serve.

For although they longed to rest and regrow the parts they had sacrificed, the thought of what their neighbours’ disappointment would feel like, felt so much worse than the damage of their axe.

One winter’s day as the squirrel was searching the snowy forest floor for nuts, he came across three women wandering through the forest.

“O hello friend-neighbours,” said the squirrel, “Are you lost? Be careful, the forest is vast and there are many trails that lead to nowhere.”

“We are looking for the wooden woodcutter,” said the first woman, “No-one has seen them for days, and we need firewood.”

“The woodcutter works so very hard, perhaps they are resting today,” said the squirrel,“Have you been to their house?”

“I have,” said the second woman, “There is nothing left there but a few broken planks and a hearthstone!”

“It seems that they must have moved away,” sighed the third. “Oh dear. I suppose I shall have to ask my husband to cut firewood, although I never like to bother him…”

“I have an axe he could borrow,” said the second, “And the woodcutter once showed me how to use it.”

“The woodcutter showed me how to make a good woodpile last winter. I can show you both if you like?” said the first, “It’s hard work, but we need to learn these things!”

And together the three women walked away together through the forest, stopping to gather firewood up from the ground as they went.

THE END

………………

Law Turley is a BACP Registered Integrative Therapist, Supervisor and Certified Radical Honesty Trainer living and working in the south west of the UK.