The Sideways Tree

There was a day in my life. I remember it well. I was standing in front of the forest behind our home on Liable Road. I remember it well because it was a significant point in my life. I stood between my rich past of memories as a child of the woodland and the bright bold future of my adult life beckoning me forward. I wandered into the forest careful not to disturb the magic it held. I walked under an old tree that once held a three-story treehouse that I had built with my own hands. Now, long abandoned and dilapidated. It had provided some of the first moments of my life with the sense of independence. I still cherish those memories. I stood under a canopy of ancient greenwood trees, various Midwestern varieties. It was summer time and everything was in full bloom. I paused near a singular tree, one of my favorites as a child. I used to call it my Sideways Tree. I would come here when I was young and climb up it to the largest branch that was massive in size and ran horizontal to the forest bed some twenty high. When I was young I could walk on it and now that I was back up here and older, I found that I still could, thirty feet along it to my intimate little sitting spot I went. I sat down on the branch like so many, many times before. I followed my old routine and became completely quiet and let the forest in. Sounds of small animals navigating their day, the rustling of windblown leaves, the smell of a recent fresh rain, and the best of all, complete and utter silence.

I let myself slip from my new adult perspective back in time to the memories of this forest that I held dear to my heart. The images of sight and sound filled my senses. I could distinctly remember a thin slice of time when my younger brother, Charlie, and sister, Karen, set out on an adventure into the forest. We stumbled unto a mound of rising earth shouldering young saplings of a nearby mother tree. They were adolescent but of good height. I climbed one. When I reached the top it bent over tenderly and set me back on the ground in a gentle fashion. Charlie and Karen joined me to the top of three more young trees. Before long we had learned how to swing about them in a Tarzan-like fashion. An entire afternoon was caught up in this excitement with us hooting, hollering, and singing to the forest sky. It was a good memory and I was thankful to relive it on my Sideways Tree.

I found another memory and followed it. It was spring. We were all young. The forest rested near the Little Calumet River and, good or bad, it endured many spring seasons filling with winter melt and spring rains. When you are a young kid looking for an adventure, more times than not, you will find one. We found old discarded oil drums from the city dump rotting with fowl odors in the far northwest corner of the forest, a treasure-trove for the young adventure seeker. With the help of my Uncle Jack, a welder among many other things, we had one side of the drum cut open large enough to hold four of us; so, we could stand inside the drum. Pushing off the edge of the forest onto the river that now ran through it, we could play pirates. With aid of strong thin tree branches, we could push along at a good clip. Soon there were several of these makeshift boats throughout the forest river. Things could get dicey when we confronted each other. Those boats were the best, most of the time anyway. You can read My Painful Parents (Story Three) to learn other ways I suffered for my forest passions.

Back in the present, I swung my feet around on the Sideways Tree and captured a whole new view of the wooded space around me. Off in the near distance stood a mother deer and her doe. I stared without moving. They had spotted me but did not sense danger and slipped quietly into the brush. My mind moved back into my past. I was young again. I recalled with vivid detail how amazing spring and summer were, but this little forest displayed fantastic autumn and winter seasons as well. The multi-color leaves fell to the forest floor with the artistic eye of a compassionate painter. Then before too long, the river would freeze, just in time for the winter snow. I would strap on my ice skates and push off onto a crooked highway of frozen water meandering in and around different parts of the woods. The deep forest led into open prairies with tall grass and then onto a part of the river that was more of a lake. I worked my blades with new found skill and precision. I got good at it. The skates were a half-size too small so, I would have to rest from time to time and remove them for my aching toes, but just long enough before my feet would burn from the cold.

My father had a small green John Deere tractor with a undercarriage full of lawn mowing blades. Refer back to My Painful Parents again, Story One this time, for some gruesome details on that old tractor. Anyway, dad was awesome! He would take the tractor out into the woods, to the lake area and plow a huge skating rink for us. Neighborhood boys would have pick-up hockey matches and the girls would twirl in delicate circles designed by lovely music in their heads.

This all seemed to good to be true and then it was. On one of the last snow plowing efforts, the heavy tractor began to sink. My father put the pedal down and managed to get to safe land. So no more skating rinks. He did however take walks with us out into the middle of the lake somewhere deep in the forest. It was a surprisingly warm winter day, full sun in the middle of a January thaw. It felt warm on my exposed face, whereas everything else on my body was bundled in winter wear. My brother, sister, and I joined my father for this long frozen ice lake stroll. Little holes in the ice were popping open all over and crawdads (shrimp-like) were coming out for the warm sun, fooled by the brief mild weather. We watched them all around us as we continued along.

Then it happened…

A crack, long and jagged, started near our feet and ran zigzag on its rapid path to the shore. Another and then another. SPLASH! My dad was down. He went right through the ice up to his shoulders before his feet touched bottom. It was freezing water with a strong current. He managed to get his elbows out and began lifting but to no avail. More ice would peel away and sink before him. We attempted to help but he called us away. “We don’t need anyone else in here.” I could tell he was cold by the way his lips were turning blue. He began busting ice in front of him in a nearly straight direction toward land. The closer he got the more of his body lifted above the ice level. After ten minutes of intense focus and spent energy he managed to make it to dry land.

The winter stroll was over. It was time to get him home and into some dry, warm clothes. On the walk back I noticed his lips were shuttering and his clothes froze right through so he had to walk somewhat like a stick man. I never seen him more happier to be home then that afternoon.

I had finished my sitting time on the Sideways Tree and decided to climb down and head back to my childhood home on Liable Road. Each step downward on the tree to the earth pulled me further and further away from my youth. I had a real sense of never returning again as I touched down. It brought a little tear to my eye, but then my new adulthood mindset wiped it away. I was standing right in front of the rest of my life and I do love a good adventure.

---