My First Love!

I was a tom boy growing up. Oh not one of those over-all wearing short-boy-hair-cut type of tom boys. My mother would never allow that, but I preferred playing outside in trees and forts and giant holes in the ground to any quiet girly play. I thoroughly enjoyed playing star wars with my best friend, Tracy (she WAS an over-all wearing, short-boy hair cut kind of girl), and I had positively mastered the fine art of tree climbing.
We had the perfect climbing tree in our backyard, a walnut tree. At a slight angle, the trunk was perfect for shimmying up. It was with great pride that I learned to run up the trunk of my tree. I had even learned to walk across branches tight-rope style in order to reach higher branches. What pleasure I had in looking over the roof of my families home to eaves-drop on the happenings of my neighborhood. You can imagine the horror and dismay on my poor Mother's face when she first caught me at such heights. I must admit this only added to the excitement and mystique of the tree in my eyes. For surely if my Mother, who always seemed very girly to me, thought it was scary and dangerous, then it must be VERY exciting and fun indeed!
I loved everything about my tree, and hadn't even realized how much I had missed it until I happened upon a walnut tree in adult-hood. Like primordial instincts racing back, the very smell of the tree brought me back to that other life when I was free as only a small child can be on hot summer days. My skin grew damp, the lights went dim and I began to shake. When I came to, my nose was glued firmly to the trunk of the tree. My desire to climb this tree was so intense that it took every ounce of will power to draw me back to the present. That, and my tiny baby wriggling uncomfortably in my arms. Even looking down at my precious son almost wasn't enough. I had visions of indoctrinating him into this fine art at the impossibly young age of four months. How proud I would be, sitting on the upper-most limbs of this beauty of a tree with him in my arms! But alas, my husband was there, as he always seems to be when I am at the brink of losing all self respecting dignity. He's, of course, an accountant, and the only reason I haven't been locked away yet. In his logical and serious consequences sort of way, he is almost always able to talk me out of my reverees down memory lane.
Surely I should be outgrowing this affair with my beloved tree by now, after all, I'm not a child anymore...heck, I'm not even in my twenties. I can still feel the breeze blowing in my hair as sit in my "nest" at the top of the tree, staring down on the neighborhood, and taunting my baby sister who was too chicken to climb with me to such heights. I can even remember the exhilarating rush of fear when my hand or foot would slip, and I would barely catch a branch in time to avoid falling. What ecstasy it was to be free from the bonds of parental rule if only momentarily.
It's been over twenty years since I was that intrepid little tree climber, and now I have four fearless climbers of my own. Oh none of them has yet been entangled by the enchanting love of a tree, but I have had to talk several down from roof-tops, and off of fences, balcony railings, out of rafters and other such high locals. I now understand the look that adorned my own dear Mother's face when she found me at extreme heights.
I'm feeling a bit nostalgic today. Looking around my yard, I can't help but notice all the empty space just begging to be planted with grass, or flowers, or maybe...a tree. I wonder how late my local nursery is open?