When we were children, my sisters and I used to climb the old oak tree in the back garden behind the swing.
Up the old wooden ladder that wobbled at the fourth step and onto the first branch. With our mis-matched clothes and holey corduroys with pockets full of apples, we scampered up effortlessly to occupy our spaces. Me on the first branch with a slightly higher branch forming a back rest; sisters on the higher branches, one semi-circular to perfectly house the butt, and one higher up (only experienced climbers were allowed) which branched into a Y-shape and made a very comfortable day bed. Baby sister had to sit at the top of the ladder and hang on to the tree for balance, waiting patiently to be deemed old enough to traverse higher into the branches of our game. The person on the ladder was responsible for the basket and the pulley – she had to refill the basket with Oros and apples for four.
From our occupancies we planned and schemed and dreamed and played. We held each other in complete confidence for the conversations which occurred in the dappled sun of the tree’s shade. As the bark roughly rubbed our smooth skin it was a sharp reminder of the years that went before us and the tree that had stood and watched it all. What secrets it must have heard! From high up we watched the life below us. The hustle of people and animals coming and going, walking along the pathway leading to the kitchen door. Grandpa coming for tea and mom emptying her flower vase onto the lawn. The cats all running to the flower water to see if it is their food. It is not.
Haha, they don’t know we’re here.
“Hey Grampa! Did you know we were here?” sister shouts. He pretends to get a fright and gives us the chuckle we were waiting for. He shoos the cats off his boots and goes into the house. “Hello, love” we hear him say to mom as he takes off his hat.
We settle into our tree beds as the bustle below stills to a halt.
We get bored and decide to collect acorns.
It is nearing dusk, Grandpa left a few hours ago, we have a mountain of acorns and the mosquitoes are eating my ankles. I want to go inside, I need to wee and I’m hungry.
“Let’s store the acorns and tomorrow we’ll sell them” sister says. Excellent plan, we all agree. We lower the basket with the empty Oros bottles and the acorns. Baby sister jumps from her spot, I jump from mine. Sisters climb to the ladder and land with a thud to the ground. Someone starts an argument and all hell breaks loose.
The alluring peace of the tree all but forgotten.