Living Under A Live Oak Tree (written in 2005)

As a child there were few things I loved more than a tree. In fact, from the age of eight until…well until people started looking at me weirdly for being in a tree, I spent a good deal of time up there.

The first tree I climbed was in my grandparents’ backyard. I saw my cat scurry up it one early spring morning and thought that it looked exceptionally fun. This thought accompanied by the recent play I had seen, “South Pacific” (where islanders climbed coconut trees to get fresh fruit) enlivened me. The first tree was a special tree because it had a special smell, much like opening a can of green olives. Some of the tree’s slimmer branches were fuzzy, the fruits of the tree were hung in heavy bundles of four furry green bobbles and the leaves were waxy on one side in the shade of a deep royal green while the other side was a light fuzzy green-brown. The aroma of pungent olives permeated my nose as I sat in the tree. In midsummer… another surprise awaited me amongst the leaves, like all fruit trees, the insects loved this tree. About June ladybugs began to fill the tree. Eventually, many of the bugs got to me and I abandoned the black walnut tree for more challenging trees.

In the same lot of my grandparents’ home another tree grew. Just possibly as strange as the first tree. A grand tree for its species-a Russian Olive tree. The Russian Olive is a tree almost white in color with bark that is red-grey. It is a primarily small tree and smells like freshness after the rain. Its seeds are packaged in a small crushable pouch that flakes apart like white bread crumbs. The seed is not an olive but perhaps looks like an olive. The leaves are like two-inch-long sickles that are dusty light green. The tree harbors something that causes a very precarious and cautious climb. As the bark gives way to younger smoother branches thorns begin to appear. If the spikes had rhyme or reason to their placement it would not be such a challenge to climb but they don’t and so a cautious eye must keep wandering up the branch while tentative fingers and palms find their grasp. The farther one ascends this tree the more caution one must take as the thorns get more abundant and sharper. I climbed this tree many times but there was something the experience lacked due to the fear of impalement that took away from the joy. I was never punctured by the tree but my legs, arms and face drew many drops of blood to satisfy the tree’s toll.

As my excitement over this new found haven grew I was soon searching my home neighborhood for trees to climb. A few had low easy branches to get a leg up in. There were few that had the branching out appearance and that were climbable. All of the trees were oak trees and had a perfect intersection of trunk to ground. Because of this I would peel off my socks and shoes and try the coconut tree method. Slowly at first shimmying up the trees I thought it pretty neat you could climb a tree that way but overall, once up in the tree there was not much to do or see there. I had calloused feet from running around barefoot all summer but this method did cause a bit of splinters and was abandoned after a few ascents. A lot of other kids couldn’t climb trees like this and whether jealousy or playfulness they nicknamed me “Monkey” I didn’t mind though because I did kind of think of being a monkey when I climbed a tree. That same year I started climbing other things too–house roofs and such but my favorite was the carport. The fun thing about the carport was if you lied down on it after dark and let your eyes adjust to the sky you could see so many constellations. You could lay out there in the quiet silence as the air turned crisp and look out into the velvety night trying to decipher the ancient Roman characters and gods. I did this a lot as my bedroom window gave a direct access point to the carport.

The next year we moved and there were no trees anywhere to climb. In the summer though, I started hanging out with my cousins at my great grandmother’s house. She had several trees and this is where I found the ultimately perfect tree to climb. It was a beautiful oak tree as old as the house if not older. The roots were creeping towards the foundation of the house and the tree stood at least 40 feet tall. There were so many good things about climbing that tree. First, it was easy to get in and out of it; you would clasp two branches and swing your legs over the branches as they made a V at the trunk then using the trunk you could get to your feet and start climbing up the tree like it was a staircase. About fifteen feet up there were two parallel branches that were somewhat askew to make the perfect chair where you could hang out and relax in. My cousin and I also brought a blanket up there that we could drape across those two branches and put all kinds of things in. There was also a place above our heads that we called the cubby-hole because four branches came together to form a tight four sided hole. We would put things we wanted no one else to find in there (diaries, keepsakes, cookies, etc). The other great thing about the tree was the “look out”. The look out was high above, almost to the top. You would place your foot in the middle of this joint in the tree and the other foot on the largest branch and then hold two branches as handles and you could see the whole street and you could even see downtown above the tree tops and roofs from there. It swayed a lot on the “look out” and I’m sure we tempted our fate going up that high on those little limbs but it was so exhilarating to be up so high in a tree. Also, in the ‘look out’ no one could see you because of the leaf coverage. We pretended our tree was so many things: a shelter, a ship, a tree house and whatever fit into our imaginary games. Finally, the best part of the tree was getting down. Two other branches perpendicular to the ones for getting up in the tree we used for getting down. The way you did it was by grabbing the two branches backwards so when you flipped it didn’t break your wrists. Then you would let yourself fall sideways out of the tree and be swinging by your arms, which sometimes it was good to just stay there a minute and just swing away.

That old oak tree was like a best friend. It got worn like an old bike you ride everywhere. The climbing branches got worn smooth from us rubbing on the bark all the time. I spent almost an entire summer up there. My cousin and I shared many childhood secrets in that tree and it was a place we both knew we could be safe from the world. I felt that I would defend that tree as long as I lived but now my great grandmother has gone, I live in a different state and the house is up for sale. I hope the tree remains but most likely it won’t.

There of course were other trees I halfheartedly climbed, but my age was growing and the freedom of childhood was slipping away. I pushed the limit of childish actions to the edge because the last tree I climbed was in college. There was a park nearby my apartment and it had several old cottonwood trees in it. One night when all was quiet in the neighborhood I went to the park to do some thinking but didn’t want to have to worry about someone sneaking up on me, so up the tree I went. I only got to think for about ten minutes when a patrol car came up the street and stopped in from of the park and two officers got out. Looking as mean and menacing as ever, the tall officer came over and said, “maam, the neighbors called about someone in a tree, you need to go on home”. Angry and embarrassed I jumped out of the tree and went on my way…that was the last tree to climb. The beauty of being cradled by those silent giants I would never experience again but the memories make me remember how wonderful all those trees of my childhood were.

Now, a grown woman, I live in Louisiana where giant live oaks also reside. These trees are a different kind of tree than the oak trees I grew up with. These trees don’t necessarily grow as tall as they grow wide. Like the great Banyon tree, these trees have branches that spread wide like the flowing tendrils of a horse’s mane. The branches also carry an ambiance of oldness. The Spanish moss drapes down like fingers on the limbs of the trees. They scream mighty in many ways. In my backyard there is a mighty giant that spans primarily the entire block; this is not just a tree but an entire ecosystem. From the ground up it carries the life of many forms and these creatures alternate with the seasons. In spring, the tree comes alive with kittens being born to feral cats under the cover of its leaves and hide there while they grow. Spring also brings the “eaters” what I have deemed the black prickly caterpillars that come down from the tree in battalions of munching machines devouring all of one’s plants in a matter of days. As soon as the azaleas stop blooming the “eaters” are gone without a trace of what they become. The creepy monsters are next on the scene with clicking little legs and hard crunchy shells- the roaches or as some people like to call them palmetto bugs scurry everywhere wasting no time in finding the insides of our houses. Then the birds and squirrels and sometimes grown men, scoping out a good burglary or being mischievous. Live oaks are amazing.