As Seen From a Tree

Followers of my blog know my love of children climbing trees. Inspired by this picture of great grandson Kaison up amongst the limbs of a maple, I must again write a tree-climbing blog.

Kaison and Charli have grown up in the arms of that maple tree. Our grandchildren in Birmingham when here, particularly Mattie, have found lofty book reading perches or practiced their own brand of gymnastics on lower limbs. (The boys are both 6’4″ now, no longer climbers of this tree.) When I watch the children climbing like jubilant monkeys I’m reminded of the sensation of both peace and power one can experience in the swaying branches.

Though it’s been decades since I climbed a tree, I well remember how it feels to be perched almost in the sky amongst the scent of pine or hemlock. I always wanted to go as high as I could. Dogwoods and sourwoods were fun, nice and easy for private or shared spontaneous picnics. But there was a comforting rhythm in a tall tree’s response to wind currents. I could look down on chickens foraging for snacks in the back yard, or a sister throwing out potato peelings. Unless I let out a triumphant yell, I might not be noticed high in a 100 ft. white pine.

Climbing a white pine takes a certain amount of skill. First, you really need long legs. The limbs grow in sets about three feet apart. You have to stretch to reach from one set of limbs to the next, pulling yourself up with a firm hold. The higher you go, the more exhilarating when you look down at the dog who cannot climb or watch birds flying into their nests far below. When you’re high enough to look down on everything around, you can hug the tree and stay awhile before you start back down.

No doubt you will have a souvenir of your trip up a pine tree. Your hands will be smeared with gray sticky pine tar. It smells really good until you have to scrub with kerosene. But the climb is worth the scrubbing. You can lie in bed and go to sleep with the feeling of rocking and swaying in a breeze.

I learned years ago that, though no longer agile enough to climb a tree, I could project myself mentally into the top of a tall pine and feel the breeze swaying me back and forth. For a moment I could be separate from earthly cares, get a grip on priorities and, best of all, get a quick dose of heavenly pleasure. In my mind I would know my feet were still on solid ground but in my soul I’d be tasting an extra bit of God’s grace.

Looking down from a tree is somewhat akin to swinging high like the child in Robert Louis Stephenson’s poem The Swing. “Up in the air and over the wall, Till I can see so wide, Rivers and trees and cattle and all Over the countryside–“