TREES
I grew up in Evanston, a suburb of Chicago, and we had trees galore. Though a nerdy little bookworm from an early age, I still climbed trees. Climbing them was a challenge, a proof of manhood, fun, and an adventure.
Stanley Howe
The low willow trees along a nearby canal were easy climbing. A great oak nearby was more challenging; I and my friends climbed it, but not all the way to the top. Also good for climbing were the apple trees in the back yards our neighbors, but they were fenced off, so we could only breathe the sweet smell of their flowers in the spring, and in autumn the cidery aroma of the apples that fell and lay mashed on the ground, soon abuzz with feeding wasps.
Towering above our house was a giant cottonwood, and every June it set adrift on any breeze its tufts of cottony seeds, to which I was fiercely allergic. Out of presumed loyalty to his little brother, but really because his brain reeked mischief, my older brother would set fire to the thin blanket of cottony white seeds covering the ground and watch the flames with delight. Luckily, he didn't set fire to the neighborhood.
On drowsy summer afternoons I would go out on a level bit of rooftop adjoining our sleeping porch and sunbathe. High above me loomed the cottonwood, its green leaves flashing silver when rippled by a breeze. The rustling sound of the rippled leaves, and the sight of the dancing dots of silver, entranced me.
At times it occurred to me that if the giant cottonwood ever fell in our direction, it would crash down on the sleeping porch where my brother and I slept on summer nights. That my beloved tree might take me with it in its dying was exciting. But of course it never happened.
Towering above our house was a giant cottonwood, and every June it set adrift on any breeze its tufts of cottony seeds, to which I was fiercely allergic. Out of presumed loyalty to his little brother, but really because his brain reeked mischief, my older brother would set fire to the thin blanket of cottony white seeds covering the ground and watch the flames with delight. Luckily, he didn't set fire to the neighborhood.
On drowsy summer afternoons I would go out on a level bit of rooftop adjoining our sleeping porch and sunbathe. High above me loomed the cottonwood, its green leaves flashing silver when rippled by a breeze. The rustling sound of the rippled leaves, and the sight of the dancing dots of silver, entranced me.
At times it occurred to me that if the giant cottonwood ever fell in our direction, it would crash down on the sleeping porch where my brother and I slept on summer nights. That my beloved tree might take me with it in its dying was exciting. But of course it never happened.
Years later I learned more about trees: above all, how they communicate with one another, help one another, and don't steal
one another's light. We need trees. They
- anchor the soil
- give shade
- host birds
- block wind
- filter pollutants from the air
When a freak storm devastated one corner of Central Park a few years ago and felled many trees, I mourned. And right now, in California, Oregon, and Washington, trees as well as homes are being destroyed by raging fires.
Given these losses, we need to plant trees. Living in an apartment, I can't plant trees myself, so I donate to the Nebraska-based Arbor Day Foundation, so they can plant trees for me. They do it in the U.S. and all over the world. Which is life-supporting and essential. The more trees we have, the better off we will be. More power to the Arbor Day Foundation and anyone who plants a tree.
Coming soon: Autumn.
© 2020 Clifford Browder
We have Trees Atlanta here. And I climbed many trees in Clifton, NJ, as I moved into womanhood, not a common way to get there..
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