The Plum Tree

The following story is a longer response to the previous story, "Climbing." It is written by my sister, Nancy. Then Judy added her comments in italics, too. Anyone else have a "tree story"?

Our sister, Karie, recently wrote a story about everyone having a special tree. Her story prompted our story about a tree that we knew before she was born.

Neither Judy nor I can claim this tree as our own, as we spent more time in our “Plum Tree” together than alone. Our plum tree was behind our house, the Methodist parsonage in Santa Cruz. We don’t remember Martie climbing the tree with us as Martie was three and four years older than we were and was into teenage things in Santa Cruz. She also had rheumatic fever in Santa Cruz and couldn’t play with anyone for a period of time. Both Judy and I had private moments in our tree, but most of the time you could find both of us up there together. Climbing the tree would make us exhibit our athletic prowess, asking the other sister if she could do the same swing up into the tree. (What Nancy is forgetting is that we didn't just stop with the tree. We somehow navigated from the tree to the top of the two story garage next to the tree. We would sit for hours on the top of the garage. It was an escape from the parsonage that had to be kept in perfect order.) We loved Santa Cruz and for the most part were happy girls in Santa Cruz at ages for Nancy (9 – 12) and Judy (8 – 11).

From our tree you could access the garage (oops, I guess she didn't forget); you could see into the Santa Cruz Sentinel (newspaper) next to our house; you could see into the parking lot for the church; you could see the side door and the front entry of the Methodist Church; you could talk to people; you could spy on people and listen to their conversations; you could climb to different spots in the tree; you could hide; you could make up games. (We were pirates on a pirate ship, or Rapunzel at the top of her tower waiting for the prince to come. Sometimes we'd be in a stagecoach saving everyone from the bad guys who always tried to rob it. Sometimes, it was as Nancy said, a place two sisters could go to talk and compare notes of our many Santa Cruz adventures.) We remember it being our paradise spot to be to have private conversations. We had many quiet (or sacred) moments in our tree staring at the stained glass windows and bell tower of the 100 year old church next door. We were lucky to escape in our tree. (As Nancy explained there was a Newspaper on one side of our house, a mortuary behind us and another mortuary on the other side of the 100 year old church. There wasn't much 'play' room in our neighborhood.)

In those days Nancy spent a lot of her time on her blue bike at the beach and the wharf, but always seemed to come home to spend equal time with Judy climbing up into the tree. Judy spent more time downtown at Leask’s Dept. Store riding the elevator. We don’t think it was surprising to see Judy or Nancy in their “Sunday Best” up in the tree (if we let anyone know that we were there) as climbing the tree on Sunday was cool (with all the people coming and going). (Mother always told us that was how we met the people in Dad's church on the very first Sunday we were there. Nancy and I in the plum tree - throwing plums at the cars as they parked in what we considered our parking lot.)

One exciting time in the tree was the day our little sister Karie was born. We climbed to our spots in the tree and shouted to everyone coming to church that day “It’s a girl!”

In later years in Palo Alto, we should have known that our sister, Karie, would find her own tree.