Sitting In Trees

I claimed before that as a child, I lived in the trees. At least, I tried. In Decatur, Illinois, where I did most of my growing up, there was a mulberry tree in our backyard where I spent many a summer day. Both me and the books I smuggled out of the house and up the tree with me came down at the end of the day, in season of course, stained from head to toe, frontispiece to end papers, with mulberry juice. Read more about Sitting In Trees


Wish I'd Thought of That

That's what I thought when I first read Robert Frost's poem, Birches. I spent my childhood in the trees. Usually I'd find a cozy corner on a juncture of limb and trunk where I could read and dream the day away. But sometimes I would climb on up and up and up to the tallest, most spindly branches I could reach, where I could see out over the canopy and let the wind rock me back and forth.

I don't think I ever climbed a birch. I don't know why. Read more about Wish I'd Thought of That



I have seen them in grown-over clearings in the woods, lilacs where no domestic flower should grow. I am told they mark the place where once a cabin stood and the lilac, carefully tended from a place further east and holding within its roots the scent of home, was planted in the dooryard.

Is there another flower of May so well loved as Lilac?


By Amy Lowell

False blue,
Color of lilac,
Your great puffs of flowers

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The Lives of Others

Years ago, when a friend of mine was sent to prison for growing marijuana, I joined FAMM, Families Against Mandatory Minimums. Because my friend, on a first-time offense, was given a mandatory minimum sentence of ten years. A story for another time, but I wanted to explain why I spent a summer tabling at the summer fairs, handing out literature for FAMM in the early 90's. Collecting signatures on a petition. And the reason that some folks, although they were very sympathetic to the cause of marijuana, balked at another one of FAMM's goals. Read more about The Lives of Others