The trees here are pretty. They are scattered a bit. Not thick like a forest. Not like OUR backyard. These trees are nice though. One big downfall? They are not climbing trees. They are not my trees or my kids' trees. Just tall, look at me sway trees. Pretty but scary in a storm trees. They are, cross my fingers don't fall on the house because there is no other house, trees.
Two days before the fire, my son wrote a poem about his pine tree. He said I could post it here.
It is there I am there,
I climb it...it sits there.
Pine tree, my safe haven, my
pine tree. cold hard sap
globs. Still climbing, pine tree.
100 years, it waits until
I come. My safe haven.
November 2, 2017
Every time I read his poem, it gets to me. We all love that tree. It's been there for as long or longer than the house. I wonder where he got the year? A guess I suppose. He would always climb that tree. He would climb so high, higher than he should. He could see everything from up there. He'd sit and sometimes startle me when I'd come looking for him. It was always one of those things I questioned. Should I let him climb it? Is it too high? It was one of those "parenting" calls that I decided to let him figure out. You decide what your limit is, but be careful for goodness sake (he wasn't going to the top mind you)!
I'm not sure what the fate of our good ol' pine tree will be. We've left it in the builder's hands and asked him and his crew to say a few words should they need to cut it down. It did go up with the house a bit. I remember seeing the flames as they climbed up the side and being sadder because of it. There's a chance it could bounce back. I guess time and necessity will tell. Whatever the outcome, I'll remember the times I had to wash sap out of Elliot's hair and clothes and yell for him to come in for dinner from the branches.