This is a beautifully presented little book, and the frequent woodcuts by Michael McCurdy are the most appealing thing about it. Which is not to say that I didn't enjoy the story itself - I did. It was nicely told, about a young man who goes walking in the mountains and finds an elderly, isolated man who is quietly planting trees on abandoned land. Hundreds of trees, thousands of them, and over the decades they become a forest. I note, though, the afterword by Norma Goodrich, in which she recalls the first time she met Giono, and he tells her about the questionnaires he's sent from Paris. One of the questions concerns his favourite real life heroine, to which he says "There are no heroines in real life." To which I can't help but think You only wrote about planting a forest. Wangari Maathai actually did it.

I'd like to think that if he'd known about her before he died, he would have changed his mind.