Mae's Real Stories

Almost all the way to the back of our back yard stood a peach tree. It was taller than the backyard neighbor's garage next to it. In the spring, beautiful bright pink blossoms covered the whole tree. There were enough that we could pick a few of them to put in a vase, though they didn't last very long. In the fall we sometimes had one or two greenish, hard, slightly insect-bitten peaches. (In other words, the peach tree hardly ever produced fruit -- we loved peaches but loved the tree for other reasons.)

The best thing about the peach tree was the lowest branch. This branch was pretty thick, and it stuck out almost level to the ground. It was near to my eye level when I was a little girl. I could grab the branch, throw a leg up around it, and pull myself into the tree. Once I was sitting on the first branch, there was a fork a little higher. It was a little scary, but I could stand up and then get up onto the fork. Sometimes I climbed higher than that. I could see the whole back yard and the roof of the nearby garages. My sister could climb anything, and she could go higher. But I really liked to get up into that tree.