Its called "The Plot Of Ground"
By Abbie Wagner
As I stand here on the edge of the grassy lawn, I see a bunch of laughing children playing at the back of the big white house. I push my strong branches, which hold a tree house, up in to the clear blue sky. I hear a splash that draws my attrition to the pond just down the hill. The older boys are jumping in to the pond trying to make the biggest splash. I smile; I have seen many young children do that. I look toward the house and see the old grandma looking out one of the windows at her grandchildren.
I remember when she was a little girl. I was a young tree, not more than eight years old when I saw her. She came with her parents and older brother for a picnic in the meadow. The big white house was not yet built. She was not more than three years old but something about her struck me. I don’t know if it was her golden curls bouncing in the wind as she played or her smile and laugh. Then I realized it. She limped. It seemed that her right leg just wouldn’t work. But she didn’t seem too sad about it. Whenever she would fall down she would hop right back up and keep going. Then in a little bit down she would go again. I watched in fascination as she followed her brother around this way. Soon it was time for them to go and I watched the family walk down a little path with the little girl between the mom and dad. I began to think of her as my girl. I hoped I would see her again.
I did. The family came often to picnic in the meadow or swim in the pond. And every time my little girl came I was surprised by how much she had grown. Soon she was not that little girl that had followed her brother’s every move. And she never let her leg get in her way. She began to do her own things. She climbed up in to my branches to play or sat under my shade to read.
One day my little girl and her brother brought another brother and sister to the meadow. They explored around the meadow and pond. The boys walked together and the girls walked a little slower behind because my girl couldn’t always keep up. Then they finely stopped at the foot of me.
“It’s a good strong oak.” the new boy said. I glanced down. I really had grown. Just like the little girl I had grown. I smiled.
“I bet we could hang a swing right there.” my little girl’s brother said pointing to one of my branches.
So they did. Soon the little girls where playing here every day. Some days the boys would come too. After dark they would play hide-n-seek in the trees. The children continued to grow. In the winter they would play in the snow and in the summer they would go swimming and play in my branches.
Two years later my girl, her brother and their friends from the farm next door, decided to build a tree house in my branches. It took them almost all of the summer but when it was done it was a good tree house. It was a big platform with a railing all the way around and poles supporting the roof above it. A rope ladder hung down the front. The boys played pirates and cowboys and the girls played house and had sleepovers. And my girl always found a way to join them.
What do you think? Come back next week for the last part!!
~Marie-Grace & Mckenna~