About the time I was well out of reach of my mother I started climbing trees, funny that I remember climbing one at my grandmother's home just to get up and out of sight of my mother. There was a place I could get to when not watched and be alone and me, and every tree was an adventure, you can't always get that first low hanging branch on the upside of the trunk, not every tree had step holds (holes, knots, broken stumps of branches, thoughtfully nailed short pieces of 2x4) but once on the first low limb the ones above called and you would hug, stretch, reach or ever (!) jump to another branch just out of reach.
Oh, there were women that cared about me, and would tell me not to climb; that I would fall and break something, that I would bring them to an early death scaring them so. There were the adult male figures that would watch and say calmly that if I got stuck or scared to move that they weren't coming up after me, I would have to stay until I got old enough to climb down on my own. I did like that logic, I could wait until I grew enough to get down. That must have been the place where I started taking a peanut butter sandwich along to eat while I waited. Luckily I don't mind smashed peanut butter sandwiches, I did hug those trees tight while climbing - the sandwich would come out of the pocket about as flat as an envelope - still tasted just fine.
I guess about twelve or thirteen I quit climbing, Dad helped me build a tree platform and I could go up there and read and eat the sandwiches if I remembered to bring one, I was more into other forms of foolish male dares and dangers and drama. But I do love the trees with the big branches and wild heights. One of the best old black cherry trees on an abandoned farm was the best to climb into and gorge on the ripe fruit - I must have been fifteen for that climb and it was for the fruit, but the climb was excellent. Leopards, panthers, tree cats and domestics all climb, not as well as squirrels, but even the lions find it cooler in the tree under a little shade.
Here in Hawaii there are lots of great climbing trees, big branchy and beautiful, just calling to that young fool that resides inside me. Of course, there are all the best reasons not to climb, I could get hurt (heard that one before), no one is going to climb up and save me if I get stuck (not unless Fox News can cover it as a breaking story). So I will just take the pictures of the trees, before some Green Movement fellow tells me that it is harmful and un-natural for men to climb trees - the same man that says 98% of my DNA matches a chimpanzee's. I happen to know that I am not attracted to chimpanzee females so the DNA of a slug is probably 99% a match for mine and I only feel like a slug, don't think I am related. I believe my love of long legs, and my gentle jogging has to do with evolving as a predator on the Savannahs of Africa, but I have been wrong before - just rolls off my back.
I did my best jog of an hour and fifteen minutes this morning, almost falling into good form, for such an old man. I did catch the death of the sixty-one year old pilot - have to hope he died doing what he loved, can't ask for a better departure than that, and everyone else landed safely and will be wonderful in the future.
Nice thing about Hawaii, the trees will be waiting for my return, or the young boys out of sight of their mothers that will climb them. Someone has to, there aren't enough loose primates of the jungle kind here.
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