When You Were Just Ten

 When You Were Just Ten

Noel Laflin

8-30-20

When growers began to let the orange grove go wild, since it was just a matter of time before the bulldozers would come and topple the trees anyway – making room for a church and its parking lot to take the place of a perfectly fine playground for all of the neighborhood children – tenacious vines started to take hold, creeping their way up and around many of the old trees.

The vines grew fast and strong in no time at all, allowing ten-year-old boys the opportunity to fashion a fort within a tree – a place to hide from the sun, or enemies, or better yet, hang out with friends, telling one another stupid jokes, and corny ghost tales once shadows lengthened and twilight faded.

But if it was a view one sought, well, the sturdy vines with purple flowers provided perfect ladders to the top of many trees, and could be scaled by skinny kids (frequently mistaken for monkeys) in a matter of seconds, up to their own private crow’s nest.

Weight from those boys would create a gentle bowl - not unlike a real nest - from which one could stand, crouch, or lazily stretch out and comfortably take in the view.

To the south lay the supermarket, and beyond that old Center Street and the elementary school – unless your pal went to parochial school which was in the opposite direction, but still visible from their perch.

To the north lay downtown – to the west were the familiar roof tops of their home street.

But the coolest view of all lay immediately east of them – just spitting distance away actually: the town cemetery, filled with ancient giant trees of its own, spooky old mausoleums, and sad statues.

As evening would begin to close in on long, lazy summer explorations, the crow’s nest was a fine place to be as lights from the town began to glow, church bells from a half a mile away tolled out the hour, and distant train whistles grew closer.

There was a sharpening of all the senses from such a height.

Especially when you were just ten.