The Treehouse + The Cave

The Treehouse + The Cave: Trees <body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src=""></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: '\x3d9561264\x26blogName\x3dThe+Treehouse+%2B+The+Cave\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dBLACK\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3d\x26blogLocale\x3den_US\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3d\x26vt\x3d-2611371644715887499', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>

Monday, January 24, 2005


I think Terra's on to something, suggesting a shift from birds to trees, one of my other iconic fascinations. A fascination that I know is sure to resonate with Mick as much as the birds have.

I lived in Connecticut for four years when I was in late grade school/junior high, and my memories of the period are marked by one tree in particular. Standing in the middle of West Mountain Road (where it T's with Cherry Brook), was a beautiful oak (maybe an ash?) nearly 4 feet in diameter.

Living nearly at the crest of West Mountain we had to drive past the tree every time we left our house (to the right on the way up, to the left on the way down). It became a gate of sorts, signaling to us each time we returned from a roadtrip or errand, and to guests following handwritten directions, that it was only minutes to our home.

Blogger heather thought:

i started an essay a few months ago (that, as usual, was abandoned in favor of more time in and around bed) about all the trees i have loved. but my first arboreal love--the one i lost my tree vee to--was actually dead.

it was on my grandparents' property, a sort of tree museum in its own right. they were as serious about them as they were birds (which they tagged and counted for the west virginia state bird census). my granddaddy couldn't bring himself to remove this fallen soldier, thinking it disrespectful to the dead. besides, it posed no threat, as a line of other, upright trees held it back from tumbling down the hillside into their house. we played all kinds of games on it, hiding behind it, using it as a balance beam, picking bugs out of it.

even he didn't know what kind of tree it was, i don't think, but not knowing it right now seems a little like having forgotten your third grade bestbest friend's name.

January 24, 2005 at 6:29 PM - Comment Permalink  
Anonymous Anonymous thought:

...twas an Oak, methinks.


January 24, 2005 at 9:05 PM - Comment Permalink  
Blogger heather thought:

stop posting anonymously, daddy! it's weird.

January 24, 2005 at 9:39 PM - Comment Permalink  

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