These three trees
Continuing with recollections, there were once three trees. I checked, during the summer of ’14, and they’re now gone, but fifty years ago, our back yard had some wonderful woods. Not really OUR back yard; this was railroad property, but the wire fence kept outsiders out, so we’ll go with the possessive tone.
We lived just north of the city. About ten minutes by rail, and that was what counted. My father was the resident telegrapher, and I was the resident tree climber. A large maple, to the left. With a run and a jump, I could grab a low lying branch and make my way up to heights that left me breathless. One of the better trees in my life.
Next in the row, a horse chestnut. This tree was also wonderful, because each autumn we harvested bags of burry nuts. On the inside, hard gems. Fit for boring, and lacing, and turning into what would be clonkers or “a fronde” (just like on TV). The burry outer shell wasn’t much fun on bare feet, but life is filled with sacrifice.
Finally, to the right, a cherry tree. Filled with fruit, and brazen birds. One year, black lumps (some kind of fungal affair, I imagine). Another year, tent caterpillars, which meant that the harvest was difficult. During the good years, though, we had fruit that were juicy, and wonderful pie filling. The pits served as a reminder to chew.
There you have it. Out of a lifetime of trees, these three stand apart. The best of the best.
