Secrets
Eleanore
T
Once upon a time there was a young girl who loved her grandmother's back yard. It was filled with many white pine trees. The one next to the school parking lot somehow beckoned to her.
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Childhood
October 27, 2018
Once upon a time there was a young girl who loved her grandmother's back yard. It was filled with many white pine trees. The one next to the school parking lot somehow beckoned to her.
When I was a young girl--until I reached college-age and headed to the Midwest--I lived in Pennsylvania. Penn’s Woods, my mom taught me.
Back in the ‘50s when I was a wee girl, things were so different.
We were both city people. My husband and I grew up in New York and you had to take a substancial drive in order to really commune with nature.
Although you would not see this very often anymore in the Chicago suburbs, I grew up with two apple trees in the parkway of my childhood home.
The memories are under the trees, split and open to the air like the fruit that fell from their branches every year.
There is a tree on the parkway next to our three-season farmer's market here in Oak Park that means a lot to our family.
Many years ago when I was a child growing up in Detroit, all of our family pictures were taken in front of the enormous oak tree in our backyard.
I laugh inside every time I hear friends or neighbors complain about cottonwood trees. The tiny seeds floating in puffs of cotton, yes, clogging the air conditioner, are a joy to me.
My parents are gone but their little Christmas tree made its way into my home.
