You are your most valuable asset. Don’t forget that. You are the best thing you have.
—from Hatchet, by Gary Paulsen, (May 17, 1939-October 14, 2021)
How many children went down in that plane, Gary?
How many children fell out of the sky alone
and learned they could live
for months in the woods
with only a hatchet for help?
How many kids learned
that tough conditions were a bidding
to bring their best self?
My daughter was nine or ten
when she first drew your book from the shelf
and found herself stranded in the northern woods.
Then she went there on purpose again and again.
Now, three years later, she wanders a forest of loss,
and in so many ways she’s alone.
Gary, you gave her a story to believe in
in which young people survive, find their way home.
Your story’s a sharp tool my daughter can wield
to make sparks in these darkened days.
I thank you for teaching her
how she might rise from a crash,
how in these woods of sorrow,
though I would build her a fire if I could,
she is the best thing she has.
*In case you are unfamiliar with Gary Paulsen, you can read more here. As he says, “Name the book that made the biggest impression on you. I bet you read it before you hit puberty.”
Your poem is a lovely tribute to the great writer whose book captured the imaginations of all who read it. I was fortunate to get to teach the book; students loved it.
I can imagine it was a wonderful book to teach. My son, however, couldn’t read it. He got to where the plane crashed and Brian was alone and he cried for an hour and never could pick it up again. He took these stories so muchly to heart. It’s so interesting what moves us, what opens us, what closes us down.
This something I’m always not remembering: words have power to give life, to extend it, and give it meaning.
My own words, too.
Yes, in fact your words have helped me enormously.
Beautiful tribute to the way we are shaped by the stories we take into ourselves. Thank you for this Rosemerry.
It’s so true–the stories we read become in some ways our story. Or at least become part of our tool box for meeting the world.
Yesterday the topic for my memoir class was Stories That Shaped Us. I asked participants to brainstorm a list of the stories (books, fairy tales, movies, etc) that had an impact on them from their earliest years, through school, and into adulthood. Then I read/screenshared “Thank You, Gary Paulsen” and asked them to write a letter to an author or character about the impact on their lives. Every time I use a poem as a prompt in a memoir class, the response pours out as if summoned by the gods. This poem brought out work that made us gasp.
Oh this makes me so happy–I love that the poem served as a launching point! And I think it’s true, the lines between poem/memoir are often quite blurred, both of them “essays” of sorts–from the French “to try, to attempt.” Oh these attempts. I’d love to know, Laura, which stories, myths, books shaped you. Love, r
Thank you for this reference – I’m old enough that I’ve never heard of this book! Will have to ask my daughter about it – she was 10 in 1986 when Hatchet was published – guessing she’ll know it!) Another parallel with your loss, Rosemerry – my daughter is 3 years younger than her brother we mourn individually and together – the together part stressful at times, but overall a blessing. Neither can relieve the other’s angst, but neither of us feels alone, unheard. TG week we (mother and daughter) will drive up to Minneapolis to spread ashes in places my son loved his last couple of years. I look forward to what will emerge between us on the long drive up, back – even though some of it will bring tears.
Just ordered Hatchet – not too old yet to read it! I’m still growing up.
Looking at Paulsen’s obituary I note that he was from Minneapolis. Interesting coincidence.
Thank you, Jazz, for sharing this story about your daughter and you and the grieving together and separate. May the spreading of ashes help him to grow in your hearts. May it bring you and your daughter closer together, too. Sending you big hugs.
Here’s to the power of determination, and wonder, and necessary – oh, so necessary – hope. Na’ama
Thank you, dear Na’ama–yes, the hope is so vital. And a large part of that Hatchet story, too. Many hugs to you, and gratitude, Rosemerry