I'm visiting my mother, who still lives in the house where we moved when I was 5. The one-acre lot is covered in Post Oaks (Q. stellata). There used to be a few Blackjacks (Q. marilandica), as well, but I think oak wilt came through and got them all. To late to say for sure now why they died. Our previous house had a Mimosa (Albizia julibrissin) that was large for the species; that was the first tree I ever climbed. But these trees were all huge by comparison. One in particular had a series of burls and low branches that made it possible to climb it from the ground. At first, I couldn't make it to the first burl, then I could climb up a couple of steps. It was a year or two before I could get past the first big gap to reach the heights of my older siblings. Eventually I was able to get all the way to the top and poke my head above the canopy. I could glimpse the road in from town and see when my mother was coming home from work, so I would climb up after school and hang out until I saw her coming. I would be on the ground by the time she got home, so she wouldn't know I'd broken the no-climbing-unless-adults-were-home rule. I justified my lawlessness by waiting until a little before she was due. If I happened to fall and break an arm, I wouldn't be alone long. I never really gave much thought to what would happen if I fell and broke my back, or my neck.
My dad showed us the way. Shortly after we moved in, he climbed to the first large lateral to hang a tire swing. I played on it a lot. At my sixth birthday party, we used it as a target to throw a mini-football. My friend Jay won some little toy for being best at it. We also used the tire for batting practice when I was in T-ball. I always swung very tentatively so I wouldn't miss and get mocked by my brother for striking out when the ball was just sitting there, so my parents would mark the tire and have me hit it hard. I would whale on it like I was going to knock it off its rope. It somehow failed to translate to the field. I never did get very good at hitting a ball, off a tee or otherwise, though now I can make decent contact with a pitched softball. Decent, but not great.
Today the tree is still there, but looks puny compared to most that I climb routinely at work--it's about 30 feet tall. I'm a little heavier now, so more wary of getting to the topmost branches. But it's still fun to go out and climb it for old times' sake. I don't usually worry much whether any adults are home or not.
I could climb to where my hand is in this photo soon after meeting this tree at age 5, but no higher. Reaching the branch just above my head was a milestone for me. Now I can reach the top in a few seconds.
