The imagination is an amazing thing; It allows people to be anywhere they want, be who they want to be and to escape momentarily from their reality. Of course, a person’s imagination can also bring negativity and fear to a person, real or perceived.
I recall having an active imagination as a kid. Growing up in a country town and on a very large parcel of land gave my brothers and I the ability to explore our imaginations and act them out with relative impunity. Whether we were motorcycle cops patrolling the streets (aka riding our BMX bikes), SAS operators on a covert mission behind enemy lines, or Celts assaulting a Roman outpost our imaginations came with us and provided thrills and spills of every nature. Of course, on occasion, our over-active imaginations would get us into trouble. We’d take our punishment; Sometimes self-inflicted pain and humiliation, equally measured with parent-administered corrective measures. We would then move on and start all over again.
Having a grandfather who worked with wood and subsequently had a well-equipped workshop was a bonus to us and we would fashion our equipment and props lovingly and with reasonable skill as taught by grandad. (He was a champ who I’ll post about someday). We made M16 rifles, pistols, broadswords, daggers, BMX ramps, wooden boats, model planes, crossbows…I’ve got a good crossbow story to share someday, one in which I earned myself a great thrashing… So funny now…Wasn’t back then. So, not only were we able to explore our imagination, we were learning to craft things, to take instruction and discipline. They were good times.
One of the most well-used props we had was a tree. Yes, a simple tree. Well, not quite that simple I guess. It was a good tree with a strong trunk and branches just made for climbing. The branches spread out wide from the trunk and were strong enough to allow us access to almost the top of the tree. It was about 10-12m in diameter and probably about 20m at its highest point, give or take some. The leaves would fall in winter and were thick and richly green in spring and summer. It was a spectacular tree, and one in which many memories were made playing with my brothers. I wish I knew what sort of tree it was, I mean it’s true name, but I don’t. To us it was called The Fat Hen Tree. I don’t know why it was called that, it just was.
That tree formed the base of many adventures. It was Police HQ, our pirate ship from which we plundered the seas, it was our Alamo, our Medieval castle, our Roman Hillfort, our hospital, our war room, snipers hide, POW camp and pretty much the main prop in most of our adventures. It was also a place I could go when I wanted to read, when I was mad or unhappy. It seemed to comfort me. I can recall many after-school evenings sitting there crying at some cruel taunt or racial remark I had received that day…
The Fat Hen Tree saw me grow up. It witnessed my first steps, learning to ride a bike, to kick a football and bowl a cricket ball. It also witnessed the crossbow incident. It watched a boy come to terms with racism, with being different. It supported me whilst I delved into my books, hid me when I didn’t want to be found and provided a stage for my brothers and I to live out our imaginations. The Fat Hen Tree stood in mute testimony to the unfolding of our young lives, silent but for the occasional creak or groan of a branch.
It’s gone now. The property was sold and the tree removed by the new owners. It makes me sad. Very sad. Writing this post has brought up memories from those years in the home I grew up in; Memories of my grandparents and mother who are no longer with us, of the births of my younger siblings, of simple times. Good times. That tree was like a close friend; It shared in my youth from a very small child and bore witness to a large chunk of my families’ journey. It kept watch over us until its watch was ended; A stranger and a chainsaw made sure of that. All things die, people, animals, plants and planets. Everything. I am glad I wasn’t there to see it. I think I would have cried.
The Fat Hen Tree isn’t where it once was, it’s now wherever me and my brothers go. It is in our memories, an intrinsic part of our lives.
Design and create your ideal life, don’t live it by default
Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash