A Thanksgiving Memory
When I was growing up there were trees in our area that most people called colloquially "umbrella trees" or "chaney ball trees". In other places people called them by their true name which is chinaberry trees. They were great shade trees in the summer and were pretty good for climbing, too. They sprouted clusters of 1/4 inch size hard, green berries that were ideal for us kids to use as ammunition for a slingshot or simply throwing at one another. In the fall they turned yellow, got kind of mushy, then dried out, and fell to the ground. I think these were actually seeds produced by the trees. They were usually a few of the hearty chaney balls that hung on until the next spring but these were few and far between.
We had two of these trees in our front yard, one each on either side of our
front porch. Our front porch was a concrete slab with an aluminum awning over it and it was a favorite place to sit after supper on a hot summer evening. The shade from the trees covered the porch and my mom and dad loved to sit there with their ice tea and talk. Sometimes daddy would bring a section of the paper out to read but usually it was just a time for easy going, pleasant conversation and rest. Other folks in our blue collar neighborhood did the same thing before the sun went down or until the mosquitoes got too fierce.
front porch. Our front porch was a concrete slab with an aluminum awning over it and it was a favorite place to sit after supper on a hot summer evening. The shade from the trees covered the porch and my mom and dad loved to sit there with their ice tea and talk. Sometimes daddy would bring a section of the paper out to read but usually it was just a time for easy going, pleasant conversation and rest. Other folks in our blue collar neighborhood did the same thing before the sun went down or until the mosquitoes got too fierce.
There was not a lot of automobile traffic on our street so the kids played
kickball or baseball in the street using a tennis ball and a stick. If a car
did come by and momentarily disrupt us it would usually be someone we knew who'd smile and wave at us as they went by and we'd return the same. Sometimes neighbors would walk over and visit and sometimes we'd walk over to where they were sitting. It was normal protocol and etiquette to just "drop over". Often those who were close enough would even converse from where they sat, speaking loud enough to be heard from across the street or from next door. Remembering that time reminds me of how quiet our neighborhood was. It was a good, safe, and friendly place.
kickball or baseball in the street using a tennis ball and a stick. If a car
did come by and momentarily disrupt us it would usually be someone we knew who'd smile and wave at us as they went by and we'd return the same. Sometimes neighbors would walk over and visit and sometimes we'd walk over to where they were sitting. It was normal protocol and etiquette to just "drop over". Often those who were close enough would even converse from where they sat, speaking loud enough to be heard from across the street or from next door. Remembering that time reminds me of how quiet our neighborhood was. It was a good, safe, and friendly place.
When the fall of the year came the chaney ball trees shed their now yellowed leaves and the bare limbs in their concentric pattern outward from the main trunk remained. If left unattended these trees can get fairly tall. However, my dad had a ritual that he performed every Thanksgiving Day that minimized the growth of our trees. He would say to me, "I think its time to get the saw." I'd go get the hand saw and we'd head to the front yard to take care of the annual pruning.
The base of each limb was about 3" in diameter and could be reached from ground level so there was no need to even use a ladder. As daddy sawed through each limb it was my responsibility to pile them on the street curb where the trash collectors would pick them up. This was not a very time consuming task, maybe 30-45 minutes at the most, but still it fulfilled a need and brought satisfaction. When we were done he'd sit back on the porch and comment, "Yep. I think they look pretty good." What was in front of us were two very straight, nondescript tree trunks about 8" in diameter that stood about six feet tall. To anyone who passed by they would hardly be noticeable but Daddy would look at his handiwork and it meant something to him. To him it was like Rembrandt looking at a freshly finished painting or the satisfaction those felt who hoisted the last stone at Stonehenge.
It was a tradition that marked another Thanksgiving, another year past, and a time for counting blessings. Every family establishes traditions and they become landmarks in our lives. They don't have to be elaborate to be meaningful but they are consistently repeated causing us to remember the past and appreciate that which exists in the present and looking forward to the future. So have a "Yep. I think they look pretty good" moment this day and establish a landmark that you can visit for inspiration and thankfulness.
