Yew

Pippin sat on the low stone wall surrounding the family burial ground. He kicked his feet in time to the tune in his head without noticing either the tune or the kicking. He was thinking, having discovered that this spot lent itself to thinking. It stood upon a hilltop away from the bustle of Whitwell Farm.

More than his own family lay buried here. Close neighbors and the families of farmhands were here as well in this quiet shaded ground. The stone wall, armpit height on an adult hobbit, surrounded it, with a double-door dark green wooden gate at its sole opening. Within it oak trees and yew trees stood watch over the clipped lawn . . . and markers.

A twitch of motion caught the lad's eye. He looked over at a spot where yew branches draped themselves over the wall. On top of the wall next to the flat green leaves and the bright red berries of the plant lay what looked like one of the striped and spotted lizards that sometimes made their homes in the spaces between the stones. I must have been a baby as it was smaller than the six inches they usually are. The front of its body was swaying.

Pippin tried to spot the insect it must be stalking, but saw nothing. The lizard continued to sway; losing its balance but catching it again, first to the right then to the left, before deciding to rest on its stomach.

"What's the matter, little lizard?" Pippin bent closer. "You're acting strange."

He slowly reached for the small reptile until he touched its back. Instead of darting off, it just laid there twitching its tail. The lizard didn't look quite right. Its brown was nearly red, there seemed to be extra scales or ridges on its back, while its head seemed a touch too narrow, but Pippin was paying more attention to its behavior than its looks.

"Now that's odd. You should be long gone by now, down the side of the wall and into a crack somewhere."

The lizard stuck out its tongue. There was a tiny dab of green on it.

"You daft lizard! You've eaten some yew leaf, haven't you?" Pippin picked the creature up, holding it so he was addressing its left eye. "That's poisonous, silly lizard. You ought to know better."

The only response the scolding elicited was a slow blink.

"My Ma's a healer, a healer of hobbits not lizards, though she has helped some of the animals on our farm as well. I wonder if she might know what to do with you?" He turned the animal about. "I don't see aught else wrong with you. You look a bit thin in the snout and your coloring is off, but that could be from the poison. Shall I put you in my pocket and take you home?"

A pink tongue poked out, flicked, retreated.

"I'll take that for a yes!" Pippin smiled, gave a short nod of his head, tucked the lizard into his shirt pocket, jumped down off the wall and ran home.

A while later he burst into the kitchen, causing his mother to jump. She set the platter of biscuits she had nearly dropped onto the counter as her son began talking.

"Hello, Ma. Sorry to make you jump. Did you drop any of the biscuits? That would have been tragic as you make the best biscuits. Do you know where my bug cage is? And do you have a moment to look at a lizard? I think he nibbled a yew leaf. May I have a biscuit?"

Lanti brushed a stray strand of hair out from where it had caught in her mouth. "Let's see, Pippin. Your apology is accepted for making me jump. No, I did not drop any biscuits. I don't know where your bug cage is. I don't mind looking at a lizard but I have no idea if I can help it, and yes, you may have a biscuit."

Her son grinned as he took a warm biscuit off the platter. "You didn't miss any of it, Ma!" he teased her before stuffing the whole biscuit into his mouth. He sighed and closed his eyes in ecstasy.

"I rarely do. You've given me plenty of practice. Oh! I just thought. Perhaps you should check my potting shed for the cage. It seems to me I saw it out there last time I was potting flowers."

Pippin dug about in his pocket, pulled out the lizard, was pleased to see it wasn't floppy from dying, and then set it on the kitchen table. "I'll go look for the cage, Ma. You can be looking him over and deciding how to cure him while I'm gone. Wonderful biscuit, by the way!" he added just before the door slapped closed behind him.

His mother looked down at the small animal sitting calmly on her table.

"Well, I don't reckon you're much different from the frogs he's had me "heal" over the years. Usually they've just been stunned and soon as I reach for them they hop off and all's well."

She extended her hand. Closer. Closer. Touching. The little lizard felt a bit dry and warm to her touch. A feverish reptile? He had just come out of Pippin's pocket. Yet it was troublesome nonetheless.

"Maybe you are ill, wee lad. You've not run off."

It stuck out its tongue and Lanti spotted the green speck. Slowly, she moved her forefinger toward the speck. "Hold still. Hold . . . still. I'm most likely being as foolish as my son and if you bite me, I guarantee I'll toss you across the room." With utmost care she managed to snag the fleck with her finger nail. She could have sworn the tiny creature gave a sigh of relief.

For a change, Pippin had good timing. He arrived just as Lanti had taken her finger away from the lizard's mouth.

"I found it!" he called out as though his mother was at the far end of the house. "It was on the work bench, back in the corner almost hidden behind that fancy blue pot you put the orange mums into come autumn."

"I'm right here, Peregrin. No need to holler so."

"Sorry Ma," he replied at a reduced volume while setting the cage on the table. "How is Yew?"

"It should be 'How are you?' dear."

"What? Oh! No, Ma. The lizard." He rested his chin on the table to get a lizard's eye look at the object of his question. "I'm calling him Yew, since that's how he ended up being here; eating some yew leaf and all. How is he? Can you make him better?"

Yew blinked an eye at the lad.

"I don't know, Pippin. I've studied healing people and somewhat the healing of animals we keep on our farms or as pets. I don't know that anyone knows about healing reptiles and such. He is most certainly not well. He let me pick the piece of leaf off of his tongue with my finger."

Pippin lifted his chin so he could nod, the set it back on the table. "That is odd. I was surprised when he let me pick him up and stick him in my pocket."

Pippin gave a start when Yew lifted his head and started walking.

"Look, Ma!"

"I see. Hmm. He still isn't scampering off as I expected."

They watched as Yew ambled over to the cage. He stopped in front of the sliding door, tipping his head to look up at Pippin. Pippin had put a flat rock and some grass in the cage before bringing it inside, so it was all ready for its new occupant except for borrowing one of his sister's toy saucers for Yew's water . Mother and son looked at each other, both with eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Yew appears to want into the cage, Pippin." Lanti whispered.

Pippin nodded, reaching over to lift the cage door. Yew walked in, climbed up onto the rock, turned about once then laid down with his tail curled around his body.

"How unusual."

Pippin nodded again. "I . . . ah, I'm going to go ask Vinca which saucer I can use for Yew's water."

"Yes, good idea Pippin. He will need some water. I think your sister is in the parlor."

Pippin left and Eglantine bent down to look at Yew. "You really are most unusual." She shook her head, straightened up and went back to her baking. There was one last pan of biscuits to put into the oven.

**To Be Continued**

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The lizard I'm using is the Common lizard - Lacerta vivipara, which is found throughout England.

Yew trees, despite their popularity in Old World hedges and gardens, are poisonous. The only part of the plant that isn't poisonous is the red fleshy covering over its small hard seed.

Yews were often planted in burial grounds. "In ancient cosmology, the Tree of Life [which the yew is associated with] includes the process of death. And so it is with the yew in the northern temperate zone. Its links with eternal life, death and rebirth are legion in Celtic and Anglo-Saxon and Nordic traditions. Christian churchyard traditions blended smoothly with these ancient roots, the yew remained a symbol of eternity. The terminology, however, changed from 'rebirth' to 'resurrection'." (Copyright © Fred Hageneder 2005)