Up in the Air Junior Birdsman

I cut down some dead branches at my parents’ house on Saturday. They were hanging over our RV trailer. My dad became concerned about a week ago as he watched the winds bend the branches awfully close, so he strongly suggested that I do something soon. Armed with an extendable 24’ pole that has a saw pointing one way and a branch cutter pointing the other, I spent about an hour sawing and snipping, taking all that were within my reach as I tip-toed on top of our camper.

While working on this project, my cousin, who has been working with me for weeks now, was inside working on an old Toyota truck, trying to get the alternator working. (How’s that for a “working” sentence?) After making it safely back to ground level, I was looking up at some of the other old trees in my parents’ back yard. Lodged between two old oaks was some wire edging that must have been a part of my long-gone tree house. It was built back in the 60s by my mom’s dad, the grandpa that my cousin and I share. He was a high energy, driven, skillful mechanic and handyman, who could figure out anything, out-cuss a sailor, and “put ‘em down” faster than most. One of his hobbies was building forts, and I think most of the grandkids got a personalized tree house or fort. It was a fairly simple design, but we spent many hours up there with the birds and squirrels, throwing things down on younger siblings and unsuspecting neighbors. OSHA would have never approved it, but we all outlived the tree house, which my dad finally dismantled after we kids moved out. All that’s left is that wire, which the tree must have enveloped as it grew, making it too tough to take down. But it makes for a nice reminder of simpler, but not necessarily safer times.