My family moved to South Lake Tahoe when I was 7 years old. It was 1958. For the next few years mine was what I call “a Tom Sawyer childhood”. In the summer time we, my friends and I, were constantly outdoors engaged in all sorts of adventures. And times were different then. After a quick bowl of cereal in the morning, a peck on the cheek from mom, we were out the door, perhaps to return for lunch, and then back out again to “play”. The rule was: be home before dark. After dinner we were all outside again for all sorts of games up and down the dirt street where we lived. We frequented the pine forests nearby, the Lake that was only a block away, and Trout Creek meadows a few blocks away. Swimming, fishing, exploring, BB gun shooting, raft and tree fort building, playing “war”, all of this and more made our days full of wonderful adventure. But one adventure could have killed me, or at least maimed me for life. What seemed like a miracle at the time saved me.
I was a skinny, lanky, 8 year old with the constant habit of tripping over things, stumbling, and whenever around water falling in. I didn’t know it at the time but I had terrible eyesight and frankly couldn’t see leaves on trees, fingers on a raised hand across the room or a duck swimming out on the lake. And of course I could not see rocks, roots, or other things I might, and did, stumble over. We all just figured I was clumsy. So you can imagine my fear of climbing trees. I knew I’d fall. But tree forts and boys of summer were as natural as can be. But climbing trees was the one adventure I really dreaded, so when the gang found a huge monarch Ponderosa pine in the forest down by the meadow with perfectly formed branches that would support the ideal tree house about 20 feet up I immediately became very anxious.
I was no dummy however, and quickly volunteered to haul lumber, rope, nails, tools, spikes, and whatever else we might need in building the tree house in my red wagon. Anything to stay on the ground. Construction of the tree fort proceeded quite rapidly and by the end of a long summer day it was done. Ronny, my best friend and hero, was almost 3 years older than me so when he told me it was my turn to climb the tree I could not refuse. But I was saved by the bell, so to speak. It was getting late. So, I made the excuse that it was time for dinner and I had to go home. I promised I’d climb the tree first thing in the morning. I could tell from the expressions on my friends faces that they would hold me to my promise.
That night as I lay in bed dreading the coming day a quick summer time lighting storm rushed over head. I could hear the wind shooshing through the pine trees. Pine cones fell from above and clattered on the roof. Lightening bolts lit up the sky and flickered on the walls of my room adding to the ominous fear I felt, but the storm was soon over and I fell into a deep sleep only exhausted boys of summer can experience.
First thing in the morning I answered a knock on the front door to find my friends standing there ready to escort me to the Tree. There was no escaping. They had me. I felt like a man going to his execution. I gave a farewell wave of the hand to my mom, and surrounded by my guard, proceeded to the forest. Very few words were spoken in this somber procession, and as we got closer to our destination my anxiety became overwhelming. I knew I would fall. I knew I could die.
We wove our way among the towering pines and finally came to the Tree. All of us stopped, stunned, mouths hanging open. Our giant monarch was laying on the ground! During the night a bolt of lightning had struck the tree and knocked it over! Unbelievable. Perhaps it was the large metal spikes my friends had pounded into the side of the tree, upon which to climb, that attracted a lightning bolt. But in my mind I sent a silent prayer to God for saving my life.