Have you ever loved a tree, you ask? Oh, yes, of course.
I loved all the apple trees in my Grandfather's orchard, many had low branches, or branches that bent down to form "seats" for small children. His apple trees were well-tended, and we picked the apples each fall. The apple tree in my parent's yard was quite different. It was a much beloved tree, though the apples it produced were small, green, and hard - good for chucking at siblings who might wander by. There were several great spots to perch in the tree - 4-6 of us (children of the neighborhood) could be in the tree at a time with no real crowding. There were three particularly comfy spots that were good spots to take a book and sit and read. Ma loved the pink blossoms in the spring, and the scent of them was heavenly.
Then, one night when I was returning from college for the weekend, though the yard was dark, I could tell "something" was wrong. When I awoke the next day, there was "the children tree" as Ma had affectionatly dubbed it - being as it was better for kids than apples - was down, in pieces in the yard. It had gotten old, was dropping branches, and needed to come down, sure, but Dad made sure he did it when I wasn't home. He saved me one crooked piece of branch for a "shillelagh" but then the apple tree was no more.
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