The Magic of Trees

Woodbury Heights abounded in trees. Every street was lined with them. Streets were named after them: Walnut,Elm,Chestnut,Poplar and Oak. Woods dotted the place. Behind my house,behind the Gerbers,around the lake and up Freund's cliff. Walls of trees followed the streams and the railroad track.
There were maple trees along Walnut Ave. that had paper thin bark you could peel away revealing large, black and red ants. Catalpa trees with their long pods we called Johnny smokes.
Mrs. Olsen's yard had massive fir trees; giants in their time.
A giant fir tree in the Gerber's front yard that you could disappear into.
A special tree grew in our yard. An old maple tree a few yards from the back of the house. It was so wide it took several people's arms to encircle it. The bark was gray and black and would peel off in large solid chunks. Our maple was very old. So old in fact, that it was almost completely hollow inside, and the trunk had a large hole in it. A small child could stand inside it if they so dared. Inside were spider webs and ants and the smell of the ancients. Sunlight filtered down from the hollowed out branches.
The maple tree was where we gathered for picnics and summer birthdays. The sandbox was there, and the picnic table. On hot summer days we clustered in its shade with popsicles and coloring books and our cars and trucks. It stood for many years bearing witness to family events, card games , barbecues and lazy summer conversation. It was another of my life anchors, but it finally succumbed to age and insects and rot. A sad day when the old maple had to come down.
In the days of my youth, the trees were everywhere. The oaks in our front yard were our air conditioners in the summer heat and the cherry trees provided sweet juicy refreshment.
When we came home in the car on a particularly hot evening we always knew when we were home.
We could feel their cool, refreshing air.
A gift from the magic of the trees.