The tree that lifts me up is the one that was in my back yard when I was a kid. I saw a big apple at the top; it looked good, and I wanted it. All I had to do was climb to the top of that tree, which looked easy enough—and it was.
I started on the big branches at the bottom, jumped up, then looked up for the highest branch I could reach from there. Pulling myself up, I got a foothold on the next highest branch available, then up again to the next reachable branch with my hand, and up again.
What did I see, right in front, just above my head? The biggest apple I had ever seen! Reaching up and out, making sure to keep my balance, I grabbed an apple that was bigger than my hand, pulled it off the branch, and took a big bite. It was good, so juicy.
I found a branch to sit on and took another bite, then another.
Hey look—there’s my yard, sure looks different from up here, wow!
I ate as much as I could of the tasty apple as I could, then looked at it. It wasn’t even half gone. I guessed the apples at the top of the tree got the most sunlight, and that was why this one was so big, too big for this eight-year-old to eat in one meal. I must have thrown it down in the yard, seeing all the other apples still hanging on the tree.
Then it was time to climb down and see what else I could find.
A couple of years later, I discovered a tall evergreen in the woods lining my neighbor’s back yard. The bottom branches were low enough to grab, so I reached up and pulled myself by them, swung my leg up and over the same branch, then pulled myself toward another branch. Holding the branches, I got into a standing position.
Up I went just like I had before, hand-over-hand, foot-over-foot—up and up. I looked out once, and was halfway up, so I kept going. This was fun!
The next thing you know, I found the top of the tree, a skinny little branch sticking straight up, about a ¼” in diameter, brown with green shoots coming off the sides and the top. Nowhere to go now, end of the climb, but what a view.
I could see my yard, the neighbors’ yards on both sides, and across the street where a 1968 white Chevy Impala was parked. The treetops went for a long way, down to the bay, over to Whidbey Island. Quite a sight for this twelve-year-old. No apples up here, so down I went. But, I had a gotten a different idea about the shape of my immediate world.
About ten years later while waiting to start college at WSU, I came across a water tower in a vacant lot along the Snohomish River in my hometown of Everett. This was a tower I had known about for a long time, but now it got my attention. If there had been a warehouse or plant there, it had been torn down, and all that remained was this two-hundred-foot water tower next to the river, standing all by itself. It was tempting me.
The next day was a nice day. I got up early and headed down to Lowell by the river. I had my camera with me as usual. The sun hadn’t come up yet so after taking a picture of the tower from a couple of different distances, I rushed over to it, and sure enough, there was the steel ladder, straight to the top, nothing and none stopping me from reaching up for that bottom rung. So up I went, not too difficult to get started, after that it was as fast as I could go, “hand-over-hand, foot-over-foot,” keeping an even pace, an accurate grasp, and the right placement of my feet every time.
I paused about halfway up to look—out and down—then kept moving. No time to worry, just keep moving to get to the top, focusing on the task at hand. It didn’t take long, and I was there. The opening to the grated walkway around the top was eighteen inches in the railing made of 1½” angle iron riveted together with two big rivets on each end. It was supported with 45-degree struts from bottom to top. The opening seemed a little skinny, so I was reminded to slow down and plan my next careful move. It looked simple, but a little awkward, so I took my time.
Pulling myself up to the top rail, I then had to pivot inside the opening. Taking my time, I inched closer to being inside the rail. I got in, and then realized there was no handle to grab to pull myself up with.
There I was—two hundred feet high, and I was having a difficult time getting the last few inches. I took a deep breath and thought, Oh darn, I might have to work at this. Moving slowly, I pulled myself between the two uprights, and then closer to the tank wall, where there wasn’t much room. A nice place to visit, but not to relax.
As I leaned in, the wall kept blocking my progress, so I turned, twisted my shoulders and scooted on my hips inward. I was in. The walkway was narrow, but I was glad to be there.
After getting a good shot of the sunrise and crawling to the other side and back, I decided this was a nice place to visit, but I didn’t want to stay much longer. I had my pictures—nothing else to accomplish here.
With the same mindset I used when I came up, I went down. Pausing once to make sure I was on track, and then down I went with an even, calm pace to the bottom.
OK, where’s the next high place?
Bio:Marty Gates has lived in Washington all his life and is a gardener and dog trainer re-imagining his life as the author of e-books. Check out Rescuing Eddie, his book about an adorable Jack Russell Terrier who deserved a better life. It’s worth getting just for the photos! http://www.pulist.net/rescuing-eddie.html
SHARING STORIES is a weekly column for and about the 50 plus crowd living in the Puget Sound region. Send your stories and photos to ariele@comcast.net. Tell local or personal stories; discuss concerns around aging and other issues; share solutions, good luck, and reasons to celebrate; poems are fine too. Pieces may be edited or excerpted. We reserve the right to select among pieces. Photos are always a plus and a one-sentence bio is requested (where you live, maybe age or career, retired status, etc.).
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