New Heights in Historic Places

~ by Colette & JoAnn

Like a painting etched in my mind, summers of my childhood were long, hot, and enchanting.  As I had done so many mornings before, I finished my breakfast and immediately skipped outside the door from our short breezeway. As my bare feet pressed onto the warm sidewalk I thought about all my city cousins.  Their sidewalks were a shaded endless playground full of neighborhood friends.  Ours was only about eight feet long, facing east from the side door, ending abruptly opening up into our vast but silent farmstead. This silence was not something I noted as peculiar; all was my playground to enjoy as I pleased. 

This golden summer morning pointed me north in the direction of our old Maple Tree.  It stood lonely and tall in the center of our front yard seemingly ready to tell its story. I stopped pensively studying its features. Though I had seen it a million times, today somehow seemed like the first.   As if inquiring of its history I approached the trunk looking at the deep hollow in its west side.  From the ground up this cut in the stout trunk stood about fifteen feet tall. The hollow at the base was substantial enough for us to hide in during a game of kick-the-can or hide & seek.  With such a deep crevasse, why had the tree not completely rotted out and died?

"This is a question that I must ask about tonight at supper." I thought.

My eyes peered upward toward the first ‘v’ in its branches. I reached toward the heavy knot just above the largest part of the hollow.  With a little bit of a jump, it was just within my grasp.  I used that knot to pull myself up to the first perch.  The gentle wind hit my face and blew my hair while I found the perfect spot on its long broad branch to hide.  From it, I could see into the kitchen window, and had a perfect view of the drive, the large garden my parents had planted, that stoic barn, and tall green cornstalks stretching clear back to the woods. 

Just when I thought I had that grand tree all to myself, my brother found his way up as well. He, however, wasn’t there to ponder and reflect.  He was there to conquer, and seemingly was not going to waste a second on my branch.  Before I knew it I was following his every move. Right hand reaching; left foot firmly in place.  Thrusting our bodies to the next highest branch, we stopped only to catch our breath and survey our progress.  The tree was stronger than steel.  What seemed from the ground view to be as tall as the bottom of the sky, now had an end; a summit of sorts.  Higher and higher we climbed.   Only once did I look straight down.  My mind quickly flooded with thoughts of tumbling to the ground; I chose instead to look upward toward our goal; the top of the tree.   Once to its peak we enjoyed the breathtaking view and the reality of our feat, only then considering our decent.  Fear ran through my spine as we slowly lowered ourselves back to ground level. I tried hard not to let constant thoughts of losing my footing and tumbling to the hard dirt overwhelm me.  How long it took to climb back down, I am not sure. 

*****

“Dad, why is there such a big hole in our old Maple tree?”  I asked at dinner. 

“From the fire.” He said as though I should have already known.   He had likely told my older siblings a hundred times before.  After supper he silently pulled out that old black suitcase and set it on the table.  It would take many such a-journey down memory lane before my mind would grasp the history buried in that old case.  One by one he pulled out photo after photo of aunts and uncles, grandpas and greats, the loggers, the old dude ranch, and that one photo which had always confused me.   It was a photo that had all the out-buildings I recognized, but must have been somewhere else because MY house wasn’t in it. 

“Where is this photo taken, Dad?”  I dared to ask at the risk of proving my stupidity. 

“From the southeast field, just beyond the barn.”  he retorted. 

  “But that isn’t OUR house!  How can that be our farm?” I answered indignantly. 

It was then that I realized these photos were a history book; telling clearly the story of his heritage and the significance of our nearly 100 year old homestead.  It was then he realized his daughter needed more than these snapshots.  He calmly explained that the house I called home was not the original house.  Showing me again the strange photo, he explained that my Great-Grandpa built that home in the photo in 1903 on nearly the same foundation as my house.   It was the home my dad and his two sisters were raised in.  It was the home he came back to in early January of 1950 after serving his time as a draftee in the army.  It was the home that less than one month later his father hollered to awaken him , exclaiming “the house is on fire!” 

At first Grandpa thought the fire was contained in the wood box between the kitchen and the shed.  Grandpa hastily sent my dad to go fetch the milk pail from the milk house.  From that distance my dad could see that the whole roof on the south and west side was on fire.  As he returned with the pail, Grandpa was coming out.  The smoke was filling the house; descending from the ceiling and was already below waist level.  My Dad was unable to retrieve anything else from inside.  With no phone service they could only hope a passer-by would alert the local firemen before it was too late.   Grandpa & Dad knew there would be no saving the house by themselves.  The Maple Tree was so close to the house that its bark began to burn.  All they could do was hose it down in attempts to put out the flames.  They would later learn that it was an electrical fire that had ignited the flames just off the kitchen in the back shed.  The house and all its belongs were lost, yet the tree was saved.

****

With 10 year old eyes in the early ‘70’s I saw that the heart of this living thing was not about to give up living because of its hardship. It is as though that old maple has become a centurion elder, living to tell its stories to my brother’s children who also grew up in its branches. Like the stories it told, this solid Maple tree truly stands stronger than steel and as tall as the bottom of the sky.