NORTH WESTMINSTER — I usually check the amount of postage on an envelope to see if it's someone asking for money and decide that way if it's even worth opening before it goes into straight into the trash, so it's surprising that I even opened the mail that arrived a couple of weeks ago from the Arbor Society.
Maybe it felt thick enough for me to look inside to see if they'd sent me a little gift. It's always nice to find a small surprise inside those envelopes - a map, maybe, or address labels. (I especially like the address labels. Sometimes I even send a few dollars to address label people.)
This particular envelope didn't have address labels. It did have one of those surveys designed to make you believe that someone actually cares what you think and that you don't know until the end of filling it out that all they want is your money.
Before tossing it, I glanced at the first question, which asked me if I'd ever climbed a tree.
Well, that did the trick!
Right away, I started wondering about who would answer that question in the negative. Were there many people who hadn't climbed a tree? And if they hadn't, why not? People in cities, maybe; people born with physical disabilities, perhaps; or people who grew up in deserts? I let the letter rest on my lap as I thought about my own tree-climbing history.
* * *
The tree in Charlemont, Mass. taught me about the power of gravity. I'd been pretty young then - so young that I can't remember exactly how old I was.
I had climbed up into that tree and was on my way back down. I don't remember my time up in the branches, but I do remember some harassment from my friends to hurry up - I was the last one left up there, and they wanted to get to the other side of the hill.
I was on a low branch, probably five or six feet from the ground and making my way slowly.
“Just jump the rest of the way,” they'd urged.
And it didn't look that far to the ground to me. That ground was just right there - not some distant ground like it was in another room or anything, just close down below me, with my friends standing around on it gesturing to me. So I sat on the branch and pushed off.
What a thud I landed with! It made my whole body shudder. It made my feet hurt and my head sink into my shoulders. It made my knees buckle, and then I was on my butt. It was such a heavy impact that I've never forgotten it - I've had a big respect for gravity ever since.
* * *
Those tall evergreens that reached into the sky in Nebraska, where we lived when I was in fifth and sixth grades, were easy to climb - lots of branches that started low enough that there was never even any trouble getting started.
It was almost like climbing a sticky ladder, but a ladder that reached almost as far as heaven itself - it certainly felt like heaven up toward the top, where the breeze caused a wonderful sway. There wasn't much of a view there in the piney forest, but it wasn't the view I'd come for. Rather, it was the exhilaration of being alone at the top of the world.
There was the tree in the Arkells' yard across the road from us in Whelford when I was in junior high. That one was hard to get started into, requiring hanging by my hands on the first branch and swinging until I could get my feet onto it and then my knee crooked around it, finally working my way to a sitting position and up from there.
After that it was easier, although the right branches weren't always on the same side of the tree. Sometimes they had long gaps between them, and other times too many branches blocked the way. Getting up that tree was like solving a jigsaw puzzle. It was a big, leafy tree, so once off the ground I was pretty much invisible.
From high up, I could look outward beyond the leaves. I could see the Arkells' goat in the backyard. I could hear Mr. Wilson's chickens in the field beyond. I could see the river flowing through the arch of the bridge under the roadway.
I could see my mother crossing that roadway to talk to Mrs. Arkell in the backyard, where she sat by the little pool in the river reading her book. Their voices carried into the sky, into the tree, into my own ears.
My mother was wondering if Mrs. Arkell had seen me anywhere around - she didn't know if I'd done my homework yet.
I smiled to my quiet self in my secret leafy retreat.
* * *
I glanced down at the Arbor Society's letter in my lap and filled in the survey they'd sent.
Did I recognize many different trees? Had I ever planted a tree? Would I like them to send me a free lilac to plant? Or maybe they could send me a baby Blue Spruce?
I didn't want either the lilacs or the Blue Spruce - I already have plenty of both.
But I decided to send the Arbor Society a donation anyway - just in appreciation for all the memories.