Growing up in the wild woods of Sprint Point (on an island in the San Juans) my sisters and I used to tromp through forest and field over the Stream and past the Platform to the Gnarling Tree. The view was spectacular and looked West across the trees and out to the waters of the Puget Sound. But the view was not what we were there for. This old growth tree, with branches the size of giant tree trunks, with a low-lying arm reaching out perpendicular to the ground... this is the reason we had donned our Grubby Clothes and headed out on our adventure.
We spent hours climbing, sitting, singing, and leaning on, in, to this beautiful old tree.
Many years later, I wonder if it is still there. This silent guardian of children's imaginings. We played so many games of pretend, sheltered under his branches when it rained, and felt so small and wild.
Of course, we were small and wild then.
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