WILMINGTON – Surrounded by tall Virginia pines, Augustine’s son gripped his new hatchet in one hand and shielded his eyes from the afternoon sun with the other.
The son had just turned 6 years old and this gift signified that he was beginning his path to manhood.
It did not come without caveats, however.
Before presenting him with the hatchet, Augustine had a lengthy discussion of the responsibilities and precautions that should be considered.
As he spoke, Augustine noted that his son never took his eyes off the hatchet itself, and felt he only half-listened to the warnings and cautions he implored him to take when wielding the tool.
Finished with his safety monologue, Augustine watched as his son snatched the hatchet, and, despite his father’s warning only moments before, took off at full sprint into the yard, holding the hatchet high over his head as he did so.
He barely registered the “Be careful!” shouted from his father, and his mind turned to much more pressing business: what to chop first.
He had always watched as his father chopped wood for the fireplace and was eager to try his hand at the daily chore, but his father’s axe was much too heavy to wield.
His new hatchet was not.
But what wood was to receive the first blow from his recently acquired Excalibur?
It had to be special. This was an important moment in the life of a 6-year-old in the mid-1700’s.
He understood that he would be able (and expected) to contribute to the never-ending list of household chores and duties, and the chopping of wood was just one of many tasks that would be given to him as he grew.
This was a big moment. His first “chop” had to be special.
It couldn’t just be any old tree branch or rotten log.
Then he saw it.
Nestled in an open clearing, spotlighted by sunlight that filtered through the trees, stood a recently planted cherry tree.
Beautiful pink and white flowers were beginning to blossom here and there and (more important to his 6-year-old muscles) the trunk of the tree was not too terribly thick.
With some work, he should be able to slice through it and even bring home a flower or two as a souvenir.
He raised the hatchet high over his head.
The teeth of the blade sank into the trunk of the tree with a satisfying thwack and he had to rock it back and forth a bit to remove it.
He raised it once more and again the hatchet dug deeper into the tree trunk.
He hacked at the tree a third time and shouted “timber!” as the trunk splintered, cracked and (with a good push) toppled over into the grass.
Now that it was done, the fog of excitement over his new tool began to clear.
And he immediately began to regret his decision.
This beautiful tree had been one that his father had gone through much trouble to acquire and plant this tree so that his family could (eventually) have the sweet treat of cherries on occasion.
None of this had crossed his mind until now.
Unable to undo his actions, he left the tree where it lay and began the long, slow, walk back to the family house.
He took no souvenir and both his head and hatchet hung low as he walked.
He was met halfway by Augustine, who had become concerned by how long his son had been gone.
Over his son’s shoulder, Augustine saw the felled tree in the grass and questioned his sullen faced son.
“George!” Augustine exclaimed, “That cherry tree was meant to be enjoyed by our entire family for years to come! Did you do this?”
Young George Washington valiantly said, “I cannot tell a lie…I did cut it with my hatchet.”
Instead of being upset, George’s father embraced him and rejoiced that his son’s honesty was worth more than all the cherry trees in the world.
That morality and honor would serve Washington well as he became the general of the (newly formed) United States army and eventually our first president.
This story from the childhood of George Washington perfectly illustrates his honesty, integrity and respect for the truth above all else.
If the story were true.
The myth of George Washington being “unable to tell a lie” was fabricated by biographer Mason Locke Weems in 1806, 7 years after Washington’s death.
Weems explained that in the wake of Washington’s death, the people of the nation were more curious than ever to learn about their first president. Weems’ plan was to be true to the details of Washington’s public life, but to illustrate that Washington’s greatness was due to his “great virtues” and that he was a perfect role model for all Americans.
Not to mention a quasi-truthful biography of Washington, filled with personal stories and anecdotes (which had never been heard before, as they were made up) would sell very well and be quite profitable for Weems.
The Cherry Tree Myth has now been re-told and repeated enough that it has become part of our cultural heritage, and despite the irony of its untruthfulness, does serve as a guideline of how one should approach situations that test the integrity of oneself in life.
Do not tell a lie (unless you can profit from it).
