Fragments From Floyd

The Climbing Tree

There were children here once. Small children. We found two ancient rubber ducks buried in the brook that runs alongside the house. We know nothing about those children--no names, no faces; but the crude ladder nailed to the big maple out front always reminds me that someone grew up here. This place has been home, will be home to others before us, and after.

The ladder on the maple is not much good for climbing. Even when it was solid 2 x 4s, it was a rough job--probably done by the bigger kids. The branches above the ladder are tight-crotched and not terribly welcoming to a climber save for one sitting branch that hangs out over the gravel road below. The stairway seems to climb up just so far, and then leaves the rest to imagination. The maple appears often in pictures taken from the front of the house and the ladder, I think, adds whimsy and a bit of nostalgia.