We have a lovely but skinny Frangipani tree at our back garden. One day the girls declared, “We wanna climb a tree!” And so the hubby indulged them as I watch their monkey acts from inside the living room.
Climb a tree? Hah! How sad my girls don’t know what climbing a real tree is all about as their antics brought back memories of me and my tree.
I grew up in a big house with an equally big garden. And there were trees, lots of trees. Thirty six of them. Sometimes, somethings in life you remember forever and this is one of them.
I remember going through a phase and would be counting every single tree in the compound, playing authority with a clipboard and going around the compound doing a census on trees. I don’t know why I did that but I was obsessed with it, doing it every evening. And of course, the result showed 36 matured trees. My mother loved her garden, full of flowers, plants and trees.
And I loved my tree. My tree was special; it was a matured mango tree and had sturdy branches snaking out as if it was creating a nest with spread out fingers. I would climb my tree every afternoon and sit there to daydream. The branches were so thick that I could lie down anywhere I fancy and stare at the leaves or beyond. One day while staring, I discovered caterpillars! Here, there, everywhere. Eeuuww. I stopped hanging out on my tree after that.
But the fact remains, today’s children hardly has the opportunity to experience what we experienced. Climbing trees and catching little fishes from the drain (as what the hubbby used to do) are deemed activities of the dinosaur era, for people like myself and the hubby. We may have one tree for the girls to attempt now but sadly our drains are all covered up. Development and time plus technology has rendered many classics to be obsolete today.
Angieneering 
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