I can remember a beautiful morning, walking through the park, birds singing, sun shining. On that day a woman approached me from behind. I heard her and turned, then stepped off the path out of her way. She wore sunglasses, with head down, hat pulled over her forehead, some sort of music blaring into her ears through tiny headphones. She was speed-walking or something like that. She did not acknowledge my presence, just sped past me, as though I was not there.
I stood beside that trail, feeling sorry for her, as she hurried out of sight. On this beautiful morning out in nature, her total focus was on something else. Every single thing that I experienced, things that pleased my eyes, pleased my ears, pleased all my senses … she probably didn’t even notice them. I thought to myself, she could have gotten everything she wanted from that walk on an exercise bike in her home, and would not have had to drive to the park.
When I’m in the park I walk slow. Snails sit by the trail and laugh; turtles blow their horns to get me to move out of their way. I must admit that there are times, after I’ve been out in the woods for an hour or so, when I will let my thoughts drift, and pay little attention to what goes by. But for most of the morning, my senses are heightened with the scenes and sounds and smells of the forest. My slow pace facilitates that fine purpose.
Today’s photograph represents quite a bit more to me than just a shade tree. I was hiking a portion of the park that was once farmland. My slow pace benefited me as I leisurely scanned the old fields and a spot where the farmhouse probably stood, within a grouping of very old trees. No evidence of the house remains, at least none that I saw. One tree especially caught my attention, it’s long umbrella-like limbs shading the grass and weeds underneath. The contrast of shaded area and bright sun on trees in the hazy distance caused me to lift my camera. Even as I composed the shot, my mind began to drift back through time.
Whenever I see a big umbrella-like tree, I am reminded of my grandfather’s farm and the big shade trees around his house. One shade tree in particular, a large pecan tree, holds special childhood memories for me. Almost every Sunday, my extended family would visit grandpa and grandma on the farm. And, weather permitting, all the men would gather around under that big old pecan tree, sitting in straight-back wooden chairs with woven straps of crisscrossed material for the seat. They discussed farming and hunting and fishing and family business, while all the cousins would play and explore. Sometimes, I would just hang around under that tree and listen to the grownups talk.
Once, when I was six or seven, maybe eight, while all the folks were inside the house eating lunch (we called it dinner), I climbed all the way to the top of that pecan tree; wasn’t supposed to do that; never told nobody.
I won’t be climbing any more trees. And all those conversations I listened in on are just echoes in my memory. I might go for a long time without thinking about those days. But when I come across a big ole shade tree, those memories can come flooding back. What a beautifully simple time it was. And what a joy it was to be a little kid exploring the barns, the fields, and the surrounding forest, sometimes with cousins, and often all by myself.
And so, excuse me for a moment, while I stand here in the shade, before I mosey on down the trail. Whatever else might be happening around me has briefly faded away; my mind is drifting back to another shade tree, where grandpa was still alive, where daddy was also still alive and still a handsome young man, where they and my uncles all tolerated my presence, because they all loved me, and because there was never a word spoken under that tree that a child should not hear.