 As a ten year old if I were not playing on the hill with my dog, playing sports or fishing, I was climbing trees. I never found a tree that I didn't want to climb. Climbing trees let me get high and see things from a different perspective and it simply made me feel good.I would climb my dads plum and pear trees and my neighbors cherry and apple trees. You probably have noticed by now that each tree had something to do with fruit. I did indeed love fresh fruit. However there were a few in the area that I climbed for the small wild green cherries. We would cut branches from the wild Elderberry bush, make a blow gun and use the cherries as ammunition. It was my experience with the little green cherries that brings me to tell this story "Tarzan of the Tree". It was an early Saturday morning in midsummer. Getting up early was necessary in order to get a large breakfast of fresh Mulberries from my neighbors twin trees. As long as I got up before Mr. Drummond, I could cloak myself inside the drooping limbs and eat all that I wanted. The only competition that I had were the black birds who feasted on these small berries from the time they came on until the very last berry was eaten. I was constantly at odds with these birds and was determined to end their dominance of my neighbors Mulberry trees. So I set out to make myself a so called blow gun. I had to do this undercover because my mother was constantly warning me that I was surely going to shoot my eye out. A large supply of the Elderberry chutes grew unabated just at the top of my dads garden. There I could be very selective and get the perfect shooter. Selecting the proper Elderberry chute took the special expertise of this nine year old. I had cut hundreds of these chutes and had gained a great deal of knowledge on the exact technology to make the perfect bore. Too long a chute would produce too much resistance and reduce the speed of the load, too short would limit the distance of the shot. A good old fashion wire coat hanger was the perfect instrument for gouging out the soft pulp. A chute approximately nine inches long was perfect for propelling a small green cherry approximately forty feet into my neighbors trees. Having made my Cherry shooter, it was time to get a good supply of the little green cherries. Across the street from my dads house existed a large Wild Black Cherry Tree. It was the Mother of all cherry trees. It's trunk was approximately four feet thick and had reached a height of over one hundred feet high. I remember when they cut this tree down for building Mr. Berry's new house I counted seven hundred and forty rings and the center was rotten and could not be counted. A sister to this tree grew at the other corner of this lot and when I had finished counting its rings, I had counted over three hundred and fifty. The only other tree that could be possibly climbed was located near our chicken house just across the street from Ralph West house. This tree was one of my favorites. It had been cut down many years ago and when it sprouted back it two separate trees joined only at the base. These sprouts grew relative close together and then parted near the top. This tree was a good lookout tree and stood approximately forty feet high. I could see over my dads house, garden and see Larney Tennants barn. I could look right down into Larney's chicken lot and talk to my neighbor who could see me out her window. Looking up into the tree, I could see the limbs near the top were bending over with loads of little green cherries. So up the tree I went, one limb at a time until I neared the top of the tree. At this height the tree was swaying back and forth in the slight breeze that blew. This gave me the Idea to rock back and forth producing a wiping action to the top of the tree. This I thought was a lot of fun and continued to do so until a bright Idea flashed into my head. I thought if I swayed the tree even more, I could whip myself through the air like Tarzan and jump to the sister tree. This all seemed logical, so back and forth I swung the top of the tree. The sound of the wind in my ears and the wind on my face encouraged me to go faster and faster. It was then that my neighbor, Ralph West who was reading the morning paper on his porch saw me. He yelled "be careful Joey, you had better take it easy". I knew I had better make my move or soon my dad would be told about my venture and I would have to climb down. The moment had arrived, as the tree bent over towards the other, I let go with out reached arms to grab the stationary tree. What I had not figured on were the forces at work. When I let go of the swaying tree it threw me like a slingshot. Before I could say, Hiss Cat, I hit the other tree with a tremendous force. It hit me right between the eyes. That's right it cold-cocked me like I was hit with a hammer, (George of the Jungle). I never had the consciousness to grab other tree. I fell straight backwards down through the tree limbs, going faster and faster until all at once something grabbed my back and legs. Gradually I came to a stop. Lying there I could smell crushed wild cherry limbs and leaves. Opening my eyes I saw a white angel hovering over me. I was so shocked by the fall and the angel hovering over me that I was afraid to move. I just knew if I moved I would fall to the ground and break my neck. The next thing I knew, I could hear Ralph yelling at me and yelling for my dad, as he always called him Frank. Are you ok Joey, are you ok he shouted to me. Then I heard my dads voice in the distance, I looked to my left to see my dad coming up the road and Ralph running off the porch towards me. To my surprise, I then realized that my dads grape vines which had grown wildly into the tree had broken my fall and that I was only two feet off the ground. So like nothing had happened, I rolled to my left, stood up and nonchalantly walked down the road to my dad. Other than a large goose egg on my forehead, I was perfectly all right. My dad looked me over and ask me what I had been doing? Either I was still to oozy to remember what I told my dad or else I told him I fell, but I really don't remember. I don't remember any punishment and I don't recall using my cherry shooter that day. One thing is for sure many enjoyable afternoons were spent shooting cherries at the black birds in Mr. Drummond's Mulberry Trees. The George of the Jungle experience definitely slowed me down, however, tree climbing and shooting wild cherries remained two of my favorite past times. I have never told any body about the angel which I saw hovering over me that day in the cherry tree....... |
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