The story went, as I remember - correctly or not I do not know - hearing my mother tell it, that a family friend from her childhood who was out in the wilderness came upon a bear (or perhaps a bear came upon him), and he climbed the nearest tree. The problem was, the tree he climbed was a birch tree, it bent over under his weight, and there he was, hanging down near the ground, eye to eye with the bear.
The birches across the valley Photo by Mary North Allen |
This may be just a "bear story," but the part about the birch trees is real, and we had plenty of birch trees on our property. To get a really good swing on a birch, the tree had to be just right. The trunk had to be large enough in diameter to hold our weight as we climbed up, yet thin enough that it was still supple. We climbed as high as we could, then hung on with our hands and let go with our feet. The tree bent under our weight and we swung down close to the ground, then jumped off. With just the perfect tree, and climbing to just the perfect height, our feet touched the ground, with no need at all to jump. If the tree was too small, it bent over before we climbed high enough to get a worthwhile jump, and if the tree was too large to bend enough, or if we didn't climb high enough...well, there we dangled, hanging too high too jump, and yet jump we must, and jump we did.
Splendid and majestic is the One's work... --Psalm 111:3
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree~
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches. --Robert Frost