I stop to see a weeping willow
crying on his pillow,
maybe he's crying for me.
The last time I was in my grandma's backyard I couldn't believe how much smaller the tree was than the one planted in my mind. Regardless of its size, grandma's willow tree will always be the tree of my dreams.
Perhaps the tree my daughter will always remember is the huge, and I hate to say ugly, tree in the corner of our backyard. This is the tree she learned to climb, all the way to the top, much to my fear and amazement. We sent her up with one end of a long piece of twine to measure how high she could go: 27.5 feet! If only I trusted her to climb with my camera (honestly, I'm more worried about her safety than the camera's); I would love to see the view from up there.
Her urge to climb trees must come from George, as I have never mastered vertical exploration. When George was a little boy, his dad heard him calling for help, but couldn't find him anywhere. Eventually, his dad looked up and saw George sitting on the branch of an oak tree hanging out over the road. If only I had a picture. As we drive down his parent's road, I think about the little boy he once was, knowing no boundaries or limitations, getting stuck in the neighbor's tree.
This weekend, we will be creating even more memories of trees as we visit Apple Hill. The colors are just so vibrant this time of year and the apples are perfectly crisp. I plan on soaking it all in and letting my mind wander as I imagine someday having an orchard of my own. A horizontal territory of trees to explore.
How about you? What tree comes to mind as you rake the recesses of your memory? Your comments will be the perfect finale to my week of trees. Perhaps we will plant a little orchard of memories right here in blogville.