An ash tree in the front yard of my childhood home had one horizontal limb that was the way up. I’d grab with both hands, swing upside down, hook my leg over the branch and wheee circle my body up like a budding gymnast and latch onto the limb above. Off the ground, ascending into another world, where squirrels flitted their bushy tails and robins rested with wriggling worms in their beaks.
I’d hug the furrowed trunk, earthy bark rubbing itself on my palms. Sometimes I scraped my legs maneuvering around a tricky spot. I could continue up or veer off onto a major limb going to the side and climb a whole other section of the tree. Sometimes I did that and just rested on that fat limb. Looking. Looking. There’s my dad bringing out the lawnmower. My mother, carrying a bunch of sticks, cleaning around the bushes at the side of the house. Traffic going by on the busy road.
They never knew I was there, hidden in the branches of the ash tree, wondering what it would be like to scamper like a squirrel or crawl like a beetle.
Why couldn’t I do that? Why? Fly away like a bird—just decide to fly—lift off and float away, high over the limbs of the ash tree in the yard of my childhood home.
4 thoughts on “The Ash Tree of My Childhood”
Recalling childhood memories is a wonderful way to connect with those we encounter throughout this journey called life. As a child when visiting my grandmother in the summer, my cousins and I would sleep outside under the stars, on mattresses placed outside. These nights lead to tales of adventures each of us dreamed of.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks for your comment, Donna. Yes, so many moments from childhood, some quite vivid, giving us a flash of happy. I return to them again and again for comfort.
I have a friend who grew up in Cincinnati. She now lives in Morrow. I wonder if the times I went there to visit her while she still was in Cincinnati, we wandered past this darling home. Thanks for your shares…
LikeLiked by 1 person
No Doubt you drove right by! The world seems smaller and smaller sometimes, and we all get closer and closer, and share the same air and water and thoughts and sky. Thanks for the comment, Martha.