Getting High

     Our block had many old cottonwood trees. They were very tall, and the branches were pretty close together.  Some of them had branches low enough that if I reached up really high, I could hold onto them.

     Mrs. Wellcome, who lived on the corner, had the very best tree for climbing. The lowest branch was just perfect for getting a hand hold, then swinging a leg over. Then as soon as I was on that first branch, I could find my way to the top. The tree smelled really good, kind of sour/sweet. The green leaves were big and dark green and a little sticky from sap. The branches were kind of smooth as soon as I got started climbing.

     Some branches were really easy to climb to, but others were pretty hard and I had to figure out how to get up to the next one. The higher I got, the thinner the branches became. I continued climbing till the branches were so thin that they would break if I stepped on them.  I would sit up there, enjoying my successful climb, the solitude of being the only one around, and the pride of being the only one who could climb so high.  On one of the earliest climbs, I used my pocket knife to carve my initials up high into the trunk. Every time I climbed, I would check on that spot to see if it needed some work.

     When I was ready, I started my descent. I had to remember which branches led to the next lower one. This was a good game of memory, physical strength, and planning. Eventually, I reached the lowest branch, lay down on it with my hands clasped together, then swung my legs over the side, and freeing my hands, I dropped to the ground.  I was a good tree climber.