The Maple In The Lane

When I was a child of 4 or 5 years of age, in the early 1940s, my brothers and myself often played in a maple tree.  It was located in the lane that the cattle used to get from the barn to the pasture, making the round trip twice a day, every day from early May to September.  The maple was on a slight rise of land, hardly able to be called a hill, some 500 feet from our home.

There were days when it served as a fort we managed to save from marauding enemies endlessly.  On other occasions it reverted to a pirate ship sailing in uncharted waters without ever leaving its rooted position.  Whenever it was used, as well as for its primary purpose of the day, it also served as a climbing experience, a sibling gathering area, a picnic table when we could argue ma into letting us eat there, and an island of safety from all of the evils of life.

That old tree was always there as a reminder of permanence in a changing world.  When someone bullied you in school during the day comfort could be found among its branches.  When it was hot the leaves provided a certain amount of cooling shade.  When it rained, for at least a short period, it sheltered one from the drops.

Today I am some 70 years older than I was in those mostly carefree days, but that tree is yet right where it was, having grown another generation after my own.  Like myself, the branches are a bit barer these days.  Those that remain are fewer, but they do remain.  I think if you look carefully you can locate a smile among the tattered growth as it stands awaiting still another generation to provide solace.