I Grew Up Underneath These Trees

I grew up underneath these trees.

Because my brother was 9 years older and left for college a zillion miles away in Texas when I was 8, I felt like they were my companions. I really wanted a little sister growing up, but instead my mom got me a dogwood tree, and I named it Amanda. At the time it seemed kinda weird that she gave me a tree instead of a sister, but now I see how tender it was. What I really wanted was out of her control, but she still gave me something to enjoy to acknowledge my heart’s desire.

On one side of our house in suburban New Jersey, our neighbors were the Marano’s. On the other side, The Romano’s. Both husbands were named Joe and had Purple Hearts from World War II. Instead of neighbors across the street, we had baseball fields, and the sound of a baseball hitting a bat is still one of my all-time favorite sounds of childhood. As these trees watched over me, I walked out of this yard and onto the sidewalk and set off into worlds of possibility, walking myself to school with friends from elementary all the way through high school. Uphill both ways in the snow, of course. 😏

I spent hours of imagination under Amanda, in that little suburban yard overlooking the baseball fields. I literally hugged trees. I studied the oak leaves and evergreens, too, pretending I was gallivanting through an enchanted forest, lost in imaginary worlds, and always wooed by beauty.

Every fall without fail, my mom or dad will text me photos of the trees in the yard, and even though I can’t really tell with my eyes, they’ve grown slightly taller and older. Whenever I have the chance to visit New Jersey with my family, I take my girls to the front yard, and we sit under these trees and do cartwheels.

I show them the round spot on the lawn with the fluffier grass that was my “nest.” I sit there too and remember the child I was that loved nature and beauty. The trees are a stable marker in my life of who I’ve always been and where I came from.

I marvel at how the real, last things don’t go away; they just change and grow into something different and equally as beautiful with the right nourishment and time.

Here are some photos of my girls last summer with Amanda in the background…