Water and Trees

Growing up in the boonies of central West Virginia meant a lot of life had to do with water and trees. Little river valleys with forested hillsides carpet the landscape and breathe their presence into many of our stories. When I was a boy, I had some tangles with trees and water. They don’t mix.

One summer dad decided to do some timbering on our property above the main road. One of our neighbors was a timber man and promised to work the hillside for a certain percentage of the wood. He was to cut and haul the timber to the mill for half the profit. Problem is we never rode with him to make sure he stayed honest. When he got to the mill, he would point out about a third of the logs (all the worst ones) and say those are for Chapman. Then he would claim the remaining two thirds as his. The man stole thousands of dollars that way.

Jay Clayton, wherever you are, that was dirty.

That part we found out later, all we knew then was that the tops of the big oaks they left on the ground made great climbing places. We spent hours climbing over, under and thru the deadfalls that summer. The best deadfall was on the hill right above the bend in the river where the pixies lived. A truly massive white oak had been felled across the gully, leaving its top almost intact. Basically the tree top filled the little ravine and made a bridge across the small trickle of a stream below. Far below. Top to bottom was nearly 50 ft. Of course we had to be playing tag on it. That’s what boys do.

Imagine a hot August day with not much breeze and a gaggle of boys kicked out of our houses by overwrought moms. Now see all of us scampering about this huge deadfall, soaked in sweat and making ridiculous jumps to avoid being caught. Every branch trembles and shakes with every leap. Each leap bigger and bolder than the last. I don’t know how long we played there with the cicadias buzzing in the background. I remember being aware of the sun having shifted quite a bit and that built in alarm bell chiming to say we’d best be getting home. Of course, that is when it happened. I was inching along a high branch, headed down when I fell.

I remember seeing the deeply shadowed pit of splintered branches at the bottom of the steeply sloped ravine and wondering how we had never noticed such a lethal hazard. I remember thinking there was no way my brothers could pull me up out of the muddy wet hole I was plunging into. I remember a sharp pain in my back as I landed squarely across a branch that spanned the gap and being bent backward like a gymnast then snapping skyward as the branch bounced back. (pinball) I don’t remember the trip home, or how I hid the bloody shirt. I wonder if my brothers or neighbors will remember.

Anyway, after surviving my great fall you might think I would have been a bit more cautious. Well, …no. Just a couple of months later I was climbing a massive sycamore down at the bend in the river. The tree was nearly 100ft tall and leaned out over the shallow river below. Of course I’m by myself. Of course I am too far from the house for anyone to hear a call for help. Of course I fall.

I was way up there when it happened. The main branch was only a little bigger than my arm and was swaying a little in the warm October sun. The view was impressive. Partly cloudy azure sky with the gentle fall sun beating down on me. The whole valley below was a cascade of color. It was the best time of the year. A good day to die.

This is where the details get fuzzy. I don’t remember what made me let go.(pixies) One minute I am holding firmly to the center beam and reaching for the last branch to pull myself up to within a few feet of the top, then I am in freefall. Then the detail snaps crisply to mind. That deep blue sky overhead, the smell of leaves, the rustle of wind, the texture of the bark still in my now open hands and the taste of copper in my mouth. The only thing missing is the connection with the tree. The river below is far too shallow to be any help, and I was falling from near the top of a 100ft tall tree.

Then suddenly, I wasn’t. Suddenly I had a pair of branches slam into my arm pits, and for just a second I am in cruciform pose before I snap my arms around those perfectly placed limbs and cling for dear life. Now I had that connection with the tree again, and I could no longer move. Not sure how long I held that terrified position or how long it took to get down. I do remember the decision to move again was one of the greatest achievements of my life. The shear amount of will that first step took could have lifted the space shuttle.

You would think that would have given me enough warning for a lifetime. But I’m a bit dense. Remind me to tell you about Hickory some day. Someday when it’s nice outside and you don’t have to sleep for awhile. Goodnite.