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~
