In 1955, when I was six years old, my parents built a small ranch house on Chestnut Street. They did most of the work themselves with help from relatives and friends. My job was to care for my little brother and sister while they worked. It was the perfect house for a young family of five, but after a few years, there were seven of us and the house was too small.
Next door lived a little old lady named Miss Kent who was like a grandmother to us. In her yard was a tree with a branch I could reach if I shimmied up. Climbing trees became one of my favorite escapes. Up in the canopy, it was quiet and there were no demands on me. It's my first memory of finding solace in trees.
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