Dear Mom and Dad,

It’s been awhile since we’ve talked, so I wanted to drop a line to let you know that I am A-okay, though without phone or WiFi for the foreseeable—hence this good old-fashioned letter, written on good old-fashioned paper, made from good old-fashioned trees. Which seems appropriate, considering!

I know we went through a rough spot there with my so-called psychotic break (really, people are way too uptight about nudity, not to mention traffic laws), and I know that you’ve been skeptical regarding the quest imparted to me by the All Father. But I want you to know that after these last few months on the road (which have been wonderful, aside from that near miss in New Zealand—did I tell you about New Zealand?), I’ve succeeded.

That’s right, I found it! Yggdrasil. The World Tree.

At least, I’m fairly certain that’s what it is. It’s a tree as wide at its base as our house in Cleveland Heights, and at its top, who knows? It’s completely obscured by clouds up there—given how tall this tree is, maybe it attracts weather, the way mountains do. Or maybe it’s sucking up the water I saw in the stone wishing-well type thing down there at its base and releasing the excess as mist from its crown, the way cottonwoods do. Considering the fact that this tree, like all trees, inhales one type of gas and exhales another, which we frail citizens of Midgard require, it doesn’t seem all that farfetched that a tree this big might just produce a weather system of its own.

If I tied a bucket to the rope hanging from the wishing well, pulled up a draught, and drank it, the way the All Father did, I’d probably know for sure—the origin of that cloud, the identity of this super humungo tree, and everything else there is to know, including whether this tree does, in fact, hold the world together, reach down through Midgard to Jotunheim, Hel, etc. and so forth. But the All Father paid a high price for that privilege—and eye for an eye, so to speak—and I’m pretty sure there are some things I don’t want to know.

All the same, I’m fairly certain this really is Yggdrasil. Because while there may be any number of big trees in the world—or used to be, at least—with branches as wide as streets and pools in the mossy forks between them, with orange-bellied salamanders and green tree frogs and even silvery fish splashing around—perhaps even other trees so big and mossy with accumulated rot and transported soil that other, smaller trees are growing upon them—this must surely be the only one with a giant-ass eagle sitting on an actual throne up near the cloud that crowns it, along with a giant-ass falcon sitting on the eagle’s head. Moreover, I’m 99.9 percent certain there’s only one tree big enough that deer—like, actual deer—just hang out on its branches munching ferns and such that have taken root in the moss on its bark.

Oh, and there’s a goat! (Did I mention the goat?)

Obviously, I’ve explored this tree at some length—the rope hanging from the well made for an easy up, and I’ve been super careful, so don’t worry, Mom. (Though after the goat offered me some mead from her udders, I’ll admit, things got fuzzy there for a while.) I had to be sure, you know? But as of today, when this sharp-toothed squirrel came to deliver a message from the dragon supposedly curled up in the roots at the base of this tree, and I looked down and saw the big dark eye of the thing staring up at me from the dirt, and then those three old ladies climbed out of the wishing well, bitching at each other about their bunions and such, and started into working on this big quilt-type thing—yeah, I’m pretty sure this is it.

Which is super problematic, because, as the dragon pointed out, this tree has been marked with a big smear of fluorescent spray paint, which indicates that it’s slated to be cut—there’s giant clear cut that’s been rolling through this area. Even from my perch up here by the fish pond (the goat likes to chill here too—did I tell you about the goat?), I can hear the chainsaws screaming, and the thunder of giants as they fall. And for what? To make the cellulose-based products for human beings, such as the one on which I’ve written this letter.

Obviously, human beings need cellulose-based products—I like using toilet paper as much as the next guy, and frankly, I’ve missed it, hanging out up here as long as I have—but surely these products can be produced without cutting down the last of Midgard’s ancient trees, on which so much depends, and this one in particular.

Because, as is probably clear to both of you, despite the fact that you voted for Trump (which was in no way responsible for my so-called psychotic break!), if human beings cut down the World Tree, we’re hosed. That’s why I’ve promised the dragon down there—and the old ladies too, after they shared the fate that would befall me if I returned to Ohio State in the fall—that I’m not coming down until the chainsaws have stopped and the bulldozers have been halted.

Don’t worry about me, though! Though various environmental groups have offered to resupply me up here, just the berries and nuts from the trees growing on this tree are enough to provide for all of my nutritional needs (though I’ll admit, I’ve indulged in a bit of sushi as well). Every time that giant-ass eagle beats its gaint-ass wings, the cloud up there begins to rain, and there are so many pools on this tree where that freshwater gathers—really, the water quality up here is way better than in Cleveland.

As for where I am, I realize that’s something you’ll probably want to know, as per your various voice mails and texts, but all I can say is, it’s complicated. There are places where this astoundingly large tree appears to be an ash, just like in the old stories, like the one I found last summer in Norway. (Did I tell you about Norway?) But there are places too where this tree is obviously some sort of strangler fig, of the sort I saw in India that swallow up temples whole. (Benares is awesome—you should totally check it out.) There are branches that are clearly that of a kapok tree, and branches that are clearly that of a giant sequoia.

The old stories say the tree is located in the center of the world; the new stories say that that the world is a sphere. I suppose what I’m saying here is that on a sphere, any point is the center—and that being the case, this tree may be more than one tree.

It may actually be all of them.

In any case, I know you’ve been worried about me and my continued existence here in Midgard. But there are so many more lives at stake than my own. The dragon was right: I must defend this tree with my life, if necessary, or every other living thing in Midgard really will go straight to Hel.

And if I should fall in battle, the All Father has assured me that the Valkyries will bear me on high to Valhalla, to party with the gods for all of eternity—or at least until Ragnarok.

Love,

Steve