If I close my eyes, I can see lawns and leaves, trees and trunks, bird houses and bark.
The lawns of my childhood run through my photographic memory.
There was a tree my neighbor had – a huge oak tree. My friends and I figured it was probably hundreds of years old.
It was third base in baseball games. A perfect tree to sit under with a blanket and Barbies. The greatest place to open up Caboodles and display treasures. Come Halloween, my neighbor would “hang” a man from the tree to freak out Trick or Treaters. The tree shaded my yard. It kept us cool in the summer and provided plenty of leaves to jump in when raking.
But that tree is no longer in that yard. A strong storm ripped through my neighborhood when I was in my early teens and that tree came crashing down. My old neighbor’s daughter wished it had fallen on her car. But it didn’t. It just fell. Hard. A tree who’s absense I grieved.
There was also the tree in my friend’s backyard – the far corner of her yard nesteled next to her neighbor’s fence. And in that tree was a simple tree fort. A place where we traded secrets, drank lemonade, and shouted at the neighbor kids in their yards. That tree was one we climbed and chatted in. One with a bird’s eye view of everything we loved at the time. A tree that we have outgrown but not forgotten.
These are just a couple of trees I rememebr and loved. A couple of trees that were inviting and intriguing. A couple of trees that shaped my summers.
There are more trees. In more lawns. And some are so inviting, I sometimes wish I could sit under them, climb them, and lean against them, don’t you?
Have a shady places French Fry Friday kind of day.