The wisdom of the forest

American Players Theatre shares its sacred space in “If These Trees Could Talk”

by

For theater lovers, one of the biggest heartbreaks of the season was the cancellation of American Players Theatre’s summer and fall offerings. Trips to the Spring Green outdoor theater — with picnics, bug repellent and blankets — were a summer and fall ritual. We held out hope, for a while, that the company’s outdoor shows could continue with limited capacity. But they couldn’t. So here we are, sticking earbuds in an mp3 player and experiencing If These Trees Could Talk, the company’s immersive and innovative response to the COVID-19 crisis. 

The self-guided soundscape tour is a beautiful reminder of the way that art and nature are deeply entwined, and that the award-winning classical theater company has carved out a special place in the wooded hills of the Driftless Area. It’s a chance to slow down and enjoy the grounds and empty theater spaces in a quite different way.

Tickets to If These Trees Could Talk, now open to the public Fri.-Sun. through Oct. 18, are available online only ($25, with daytime, starlight and accessible tours available). The company is following strict safety protocols for COVID-19. Masks are required for staff and patrons, and tours are limited to no more than eight people at a time, leaving every 15 minutes. So, at any given time, no more than 60 people will be strolling the dozens of acres of paths. 

Compared to the usual flurry of theatergoers, It’s disconcerting to show up to the parking lot and encounter just a dozen cars, a solo TV reporter, and a couple of masked box office workers and ushers. But haven’t we figured out by now that we’re not going to get “normal”? It’s all different. 

Here’s what feels normal: the bats and whippoorwills, the prairie grasses and stately oaks, the gravel crunching beneath your feet as you make your way up the paths to the amphitheater on “The Hill.” 

If These Trees Could Talk is not standard fare for APT, which specializes in Shakespeare and classical theater, but it feels appropriate. The piece doesn’t specifically refer to the pandemic, but it reminds us, in a deep way, that we are all in this together and we’ll make it out.

At the box office, my companion and I receive mp3 players, a map and some basic instructions on how to experience the “Starlight Tour,” which consists of two acts. We start by sitting on a wooden bench under a shelter called John’s Place, and hear a welcome from a familiar voice, APT veteran player Sarah Day. There is a necessary acknowledgement that these lands were the ancestral home of the Ho-Chunk. As we stroll, we hear a collage of poetry from a diverse group of poets — from the 13th century Persian poet Rumi to two-time U.S. poet laureate Joy Harjo — read by APT actors. Some local poets include Amy Quan Barry and company members Melisa Pereyra, an Argentine immigrant, and Jim DeVita. 

It takes us a while to get into the rhythm of the self-guided tour — we are a little distracted trying to sync up our audio devices and figuring out where to go when. But once we let ourselves go and let the poetry wash over us, it becomes a walking and sitting meditation. Much of the poetry addresses our connection to the Earth, and the many Native American voices are so crucial here. The poets speak of love, of tyranny, of death and genocide, of place and the idea of home. This all serves to set the context for understanding that the thespians of APT — whose beautiful voices we are hearing in our ears — have made a home in this forest. It is where they have connected with nature, with each other, and with audiences for the past 40 years. If These Trees Could Talk is an offering to the forest, and a gift to us.

Act II of the audio tour takes us “Up the Hill,” the path illuminated by the moon shining through the trees and soft lights. I realize I am often rushing from picnic up the path, rarely taking the time to truly appreciate the beauty, the clean, green smell. The whippoorwills are relentless; I can hear them even through the headphones. 

Reaching the patio outside the amphitheater, I feel overwhelmed. Where lines once snaked around to restrooms, gift shop, and concession booths, there are only shadows. A masked attendant sits behind plexiglass waiting for us to turn in our devices. It is eerie, and also special, to be in this once-crowded place with just a few distanced people.

The content of Act II consists of stories from APT actors and crew. Again, many of them relate to the elements: Bugs, especially the ubiquitous mosquitos, are a major theme. Also the heat and nature’s comic (or tragic) timing when it comes to rain. And you will hear about the theater’s ghost. As I listen to these sweet remembrances, my own come flooding back. 

Sitting in a 1,200 seat theater with just a few other humans, the stage stripped bare, I am overcome with a combination of sadness and gratitude — for all the gifts APT has given us over the decades, and for this particular chance to share this wondrous place in a new way. 

There is no better time than now to honor our connection to these artists, whose livelihoods are threatened in an unprecedented crisis, and this precious and damaged planet that has given us life. 

Thank you, APT. Thank you, trees. I heard you.