Ryan Trares: A tree-mendous time

Trares

Anthony stared down from the branches, grinning with pride and accomplishment.

He had just taken part in what I feel is one of life’s joys — climbing a tree.

His experience is much different than mine when I was growing up. Back then, there always seemed to be a few sturdy branches at just my height, begging for me to scramble up into the canopy.

Photographs from before I can remember show me poking my head between a V-shaped opening halfway up a small tree in my grandparents’ yard.

When I was older, my friends and I would spend hours tromping through the woods around our neighborhood, searching for a perfect place for our fort. More often than not, it consisted of finding a good climbing tree and tentatively arranging some boards for a makeshift platform.

Something about pulling yourself off the ground, navigating the maze of limbs to find the perfect foothold and handgrip, I used to find exhilarating. Even though I’m a little too old, too big and too inflexible to climb like I used to, I could live vicariously through Anthony.

We were in southern Indiana visiting my in-laws for Easter. The perfect spring weather lured us outside, where we ran around the backyard and soaked in the sun.

That’s when Anthony noticed, towering over the back corner of the yard, the maple tree.

Standing beside the massive trunk, he craned his head upward. The trees in our own yard are too small to climb, so he’d never had an opportunity like the one that lay before him.

Eyeing the lowest branch, which he could just barely wrap his hands around, he jumped up and tried to climb.

After failing to pull himself up onto the branch a few times, Anthony turned to me. “Daddy, can you help?” he asked. I agreed, offering my hands to give him a boost. Confident he was securely situated, I let him go. He was tentative at first, hugging the trunk and looking down.

But quickly, once he realized he wasn’t going to fall, he looked up. And wonder spread across his face. For once, he had the highest perspective. He could see far in the distance, or at least farther than he could standing on the ground.

“Whoa,” was all he said, at first.

Anthony’s wonder was quickly replaced by ambition. He was already on one branch, but he wanted to move to the next one. Slowly, he felt out where to put his feet and where to pull himself up. Over and over he repeated it, enthralled by the challenge each time he successfully moved up.

His progress was only thwarted by the lack of available branches. Once he’d reached his limit — which was still where I could help or catch him, if need be — he came back down.

But the excitement over what he’d experienced didn’t fade.

Anthony asked three or four more times to go back out and climb. Each time, he grew a little better at it, and was a little more brave. He was proud of himself, and I was proud of him.

When we had to leave to drive home, he was disappointed and mad at me for putting an end to his fun. I reminded him the old maple tree wasn’t going anywhere, and we could try again next time we visited his grandparents.

That cheered him up, and gave him a new mission. I’ve noticed as we’ve been walking around local parks or wooded areas in the area, he’s scanning the trees.

He’s on the lookout for a good climbing tree closer to home. Maybe we can find one both of us can climb.

Ryan Trares is a senior reporter and columnist for the Daily Journal in Franklin. Send comments to [email protected].