I was a tree climber when I was a kid. Not that we ever had
trees worth climbing in my yard when I was of an appropriate tree climbing age.
I had to go to the neighbors’ yards to find the good ones. My friend Kellye had
a nice Chinaberry in her backyard a few houses up the street but my favorite
was a mimosa tree right next door.
Mimosas had more entertainment value per square inch than
any other tree in my neighborhood. The big fan like leaves were perfect for
pretend servants to fan a pretend Cleopatra, and the seed pods were great for
pretending to pick beans for supper or just tearing up and scattering to the
breeze with the soft, tufted blossoms on a windy day. The end result of such
play was that every yard on the block had a few mimosa trees of varying sizes,
some small saplings, some large enough for not-too-big kids to climb easily.
My neighbor’s mimosa tree stood right in the middle of the back
yard but the branches arched almost all the way over to the tall stockade fence
between their backyard and mine. It was fortunate that a couple of little boys
lived there for a few years when I was in my tree climbing prime. I’d bound out
my backdoor, letting the screen slam shut behind me, and head straight for the
fence where I’d scramble up to peak over the top and see if Vernon and Davy had
finished their breakfast so I could come over and climb their tree with them. Once we’d shouted our greetings over the fence
they’d wave me over I’d head straight for the tree.
I was big enough that with a good jump (it sometimes took
two tries) I could reach the lowest branch, then walk my way up the trunk, throw
my leg over it and hoist myself up the rest of the way. Vernon was shorter and
required a boost but he liked to push his pedal driven tractor over by the tree
and climb up on it so he could reach it himself (no safety inspector required).
Little Davy was only three so we didn’t help him climb up, at least not after
his mama caught him up there with us once. Okay, maybe twice.
Once up on that first branch, I saw a larger branch rising
from the trunk at about an 80 degree angle to the left. This is the one that
reached toward my house and I could lean my body against it, holding tight to
smaller branches, and see the full expanse of my yard next door on the other
side of the fence. To my right I saw the dog asleep on the back step of the
house across the alley from mine, a sight I could only see from that perch
because if it saw me in my backyard it started running and barking along the
chain link fence. If I climbed a bit further up that branch I could even see a
little over the fence on the far side of my yard into my friend Tony’s backyard,
too. And I could always see the neighborhood
kids taking a shortcut through my yard from the alley to the street, something
they did often since we were in the middle of the block and our yard had no
fence.
Extending in the opposite direction of that branch was a
larger one sloping gently upward at about a ten or fifteen degree angle. It was
broad enough to seem almost like the floor of a tree house with good strong
limbs branching out from it, giving us several options for swinging down to the
ground. We played Tarzan and Swiss Family Robinson and we could even sit
cross-legged on this big, wide branch and play a game of checkers as though in
a room with gently swaying green walls.
Climbing trees was something I could do better than the big
kids. That was significant for me, the youngest of three children in my family.
Yes, taller kids could sometimes reach those lowest branches more easily than I
could but I could climb higher, up into the thinner branches that could easily
hold my smaller body as they danced in the wind. My grip was sure and I knew
the way to the best footholds on that mimosa. And once I’d found my perfect perch
I could stay until I was good and ready to come down because the big kids couldn’t
follow.
I had lunch with a friend this week. We don’t see each other
that often. Months may go by without exchanging a single word but when that
inevitable phone call or visit finally comes, the words tumble out for hours
and the visit ends much too soon.
My friend and I have each had our share of challenges the
past few years. Our children have grown up, loved ones have aged and passed
from this life, our husbands have coped with professional challenges, and our
families have struggled with the economy.
During our lunch visit we talked about who we are now, who
we used to be and what we’re trying to do with our lives. We have each found it
easy to see the good qualities and talents in someone else yet have difficulty
seeing them in ourselves. So we spent a great deal of our conversation pointing
out these things we’ve always known about each other. I say I’m just a doodler who
likes to take pictures and tell stories. She calls me a talented artist,
photographer, and writer. She says she’s trying to learn new software and
marketing initiatives for their family business and I’m in awe at what she’s
accomplished without ever taking a class.
We take turns heaping huge piles of affirmation on each
other over plates of ribs and catfish, propping each other up until we can
regain our footing, pointing out new possibilities our busy schedules and
personal blind spots have prevented us from seeing before.
As I opened the door of her car after saying goodbye and
bounded up the walk and into my house I thought, “There is something familiar
about this feeling....” I didn’t know
why at first. The same half-finished projects were strewn about my living room,
the same To Do list in my notebook on the table, the same bills waiting to be
paid.
And then I realized….
I felt like just like that little kid, bounding out the back
door into a world of possibilities, secure in the knowledge that my grip was
strong, that I knew the best footholds and that my dreams were carried on the
breeze.
