Blair is a kindred spirit! Love this girl! And she can write!
Every now and then, when I perhaps wanted to avoid Mama’s long list of chores or Daddy’s comments about “when he was a boy, he never just sat around,” I felt like disappearing. I would grab my stack of library books, which always stood constantly replenished, and I’d run across the driveway, barefoot of course, to my tree.
I wasn’t my tree in any sense; it wasn’t even in our yard. In my own mind though, it was all mine. I would tuck my books under one arm and swing up onto the first low branch. From there I could easily scramble up between the two biggest branches, scratching my knees on the small twigs and rough knots that protruded. When I got to the point where two smaller branches grew out at a ninety-degree angle, I would crawl out on to those, until I came to the place where the two branches intersected twice, forming a small oval, just the perfect size to keep my small rear from falling through when I plopped down. Here I would sit, and setting my books next to me, I would lean against the branch conveniently placed at my back. I would snap off any renegade twigs, squish any bugs threatening to tickle my legs or arms, and then set my books in the cradle of my lap, and read.