Sunday, February 11, 2018
Again with the rain this morning. I wish I could hear it. This house has deep eaves and a tall attic space, so I rarely hear “rain on the roof” like I did when I was a little kid and still at home. Always loved that sound. Rain, and if there was enough wind, the pines soughing. Those pines weren’t the tall, tall spindly pine kind. They were more like an oak tree with large trunks I couldn’t reach all the way around. Our house was surrounded by them. When it snowed, the branches would all but touch the ground and it was like being in a huge, green, wonderful-smelling cave. One tree in particular was great for climbing. My neighborhood BFF and I had our self-assigned limbs. We would climb and sit exactly where we were supposed to. It was great—except for the pine sap (“rawsin”) I got all over me. Ever tried to get pine sap off your skin? And there was the thing about little girls getting themselves all “sappy.” LIttle boys, no problem. Little girls, eek, no. My climbing worried my mom. A lot. We climbed anyway when she wasn’t looking. I’m happy to say neither the BFF or I ever fell off our limbs. Never even had a close call. She came to my mom’s funeral even though she could barely walk. Both our climbing days are done. All those big pine trees are done, too. At my mom’s house and all through the South. Killed by some kind of murderous pine tree weevil. I wonder if children now will remember their video games the way I remember those pines?