CLIMBING TO THE TOP OF TREES

I remember being a teenager wanting to hide in the branches of a maple tree. There were many to chose from in the place I grew up, but there was one in particular that was far enough away from the house that still held a commanding view of anybody going in or out—anybody who might be looking for me.

The tree was near the wall which ran alongside the road, so it also had an interesting view in that sense—letting me see from its vantage point the coming and goings of the neighbors. (We had very interesting neighbors but I’ll get to that some other time.)

What I’ve been thinking about is the kind of power I felt being up near the top of the tree. I even surprised myself how far up it was possible to climb in a maple tree. There were branches that were less than an inch in diameter, fresh, strong green branches growing vertical, at the top of the tree which easily held my weight—although my weight was not great, probably about a hundred pounds. I was a fairly skinny child.

Climbing to the top would happen in stages. I’d wait to become comfortable at a certain height, and then after awhile, want to go farther up until there was nowhere left to go.

The most exhilarating part of the experience was simple to be up there, as high as the physics of the tree would allow. What I still remember clearly, was the feeling of the wind swaying the branches to which I clung. It could get fairly exciting up at the top when the wind was strong—the branches bending extra much with my added weight. But I don’t ever remember the tree letting me down, even when I managed to climb the point where my head was almost above the leaf line.

This whole scenario is, in the scheme of my life, not a huge thing but for some reason it is something I think of often. I’m not sure what it was about being up there at the top of the maple tree in the wind that made me feel so good. But the fact is, that it did—especially when the wind was bright and strong.