There is this tree in my front parkway . . . I don't know what kind of tree it is . . . my husband and my brother have told me at least 100 times, but I forget 30 seconds later every single time they tell me (that's how my brain works these days). Anyway, this tree was just a new little tree when we moved into our house 8 1/2 years ago. We've watched this tree bloom higher each spring. I can look out my office window right now and gaze right on this tree.
A couple of years ago, my son was able to reach the lower limb and attempt to climb this tree. Last year he was able to climb a bit higher, but fear brought him quickly to the lower branch. This summer is a different story . . . he's a year older, a bit more mature and a lot bit braver. This tree is getting a lot of time with my son. He loves to show me that he can climb all the way to the top. This is a right of passage for boy I think . . . to climb trees. However, this summer my daughter is able to reach the lower limb and has decided that she too will climb this tree, to the very tip top. Because girls are just as wonderful as boys you know or so she tells me.
My son, in this tree, in my parkway, dripping wet, from the sprinkler, on a hot, steamy summer day.
This tree, which is way over his head.