Under Her Branches

Under her Branches

School was out for the summer. My brother, Darryn, and I were about to spend the entire summer vacation at my aunt and uncle’s fishing cabin in Cross Creek, Florida—a world away from Miami. Earlier that year, our Uncle Stanley had moved his wife, Aletha, and their three boys up to north central Florida to raise his family in a more country atmosphere, away from the hustle and bustle of a big city. His intentions, though good, disrupted the family, which in the years that followed caused a migration of our entire family in that same direction.

That summer was the greatest ever. Darryn and I, along with our cousins Max, Jo Jo, and Travis spent long hours fishing, swimming, romping and exploring in nearly every inch of woods catching turtles, snakes, chiggers and even poison ivy. We didn't care, we were together again. The five of us were only separated in age by a few years, and in Miami we had seldom been apart. I was a tomboy back then and every bit as tough as those boys.

Cross Creek is just a small blip on the map, a fishing camp in-between Orange Lake and Lake Lochluoosa, with a few boat docks, a bait shop/general store and a very well-known restaurant called The Yearling, named after a novel written in the 1930s by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings. Ironically, it too was about growing up in Cross Creek. Ms. Rawling’s home was just a short distance down the highway from the fishing camp and had been converted into a museum of sorts. Because the museum only charged a quarter, we would often visit there with Aunt Aletha to eat lunch and sit under its verandas and weeping willows, enjoying honey peanut butter sandwiches. Some of Ms. Rawlings' personal belongings were still there. My favorite, her antique typewriter, sat atop a beautiful Victorian desk. A quite place, Aunt Aletha said, that was good for the heart.

For the whole summer, once our menial chores were completed we went on adventures, pretending to be great explorers. One of the highlights of that first vacation was when we made a significant discovery. Deep in the woods we came upon the burned out shell of an old coral stone house, mostly caved in, still holding the remnants of the folks who once lived there. Aunt Aletha told us that coral stone houses were actually built out of oolite limestone that had been partially coral millions of years earlier and that many of the houses in the early 1900s were built from it.

The coral stone house quickly became our archeological dig where we found many small trinkets such as coins, brass locks and keys, buttons, pieces of pottery, and porcelain statues. Oh, it was marvelous! Each day we would return from our dig site with our wondrous treasures. Our family members didn't think much of our finds, but to us, they were spectacular! Little did we know at the time that these things would help to shape our future lives.

Another wonder at our archeological site was a huge pear tree which bore the largest, most delicious fruit I had ever tasted and, though still early for harvest, they were sweet and juicy. We never went hungry during our days at 'The Dig', we came to call our site, as there was always a plethora of natural foods to eat: pears, black berries, sugar cane, and occasionally we even roasted crawdads caught in a nearby spring.

Well as time does, it goes by, and so did our summer vacation. My little brother and I returned to the city and our cousins to their country routine. We promised to return to Cross Creek and The Dig the next summer and continued summer after summer, year after year. In the third summer we finished our excavation of The Dig. Cousin Max continued his investigation, discovering that a family named Miller once lived there at the turn of the century. The head of the family, Mr. Edward D. Miller, was an English lock maker who came to America in1902. We felt a certain grief when we found that he and his entire family had died during the Spanish Flu Epidemic. We held a small memorial for their loss and even erected a cross behind the old house.

Through all the years of our adventures in and around Cross Creek there was one main stay—the giant pear tree at The Dig—which seemed to never let us down. We named the tree Big Mama because of her size and forever fruitfulness. We carved our names and measured our heights in her bark, took home her fruit for desserts and jams, and even sold the pears along Highway 325 to earn summer cash. Some nights we would camp out under Big Mama, gazing at endless stars and digging for night crawlers among her roots. Amid her rich, mossy branches and thick, sweet fruit lived colorful hummingbirds, wild Florida orchids with their fragrant flowers, and air plants which housed green tree frogs in their watery furrowed arms. In the early mornings we would try to count the different species of butterflies that flew among her leaves and the many amazing colors that they displayed: the brilliant oranges of the brush-footed butterfly, the American ladies and buckeyes that appeared to have extra eyes on their wings, the huge black swallowtails, the zebra longwings, the Miami blues, and the hundreds of others that we never learned the names of. After every rain the frogs, that we thought fell from the sky, would come alive, creating a symphony of tones. Their loud croaking would echo through the forest, in hopes that their songs would attract a mate. Big Mama had her own ecosystem that supported life to a great many.

Early one morning in our excitement to get to The Dig and have a fruit-filled breakfast, we stirred up a mama bobcat with her kittens. She was teaching her young to climb and catch tree frogs within the moss-covered branches, her loud screechy cry warning us way ahead of time, stopping us dead in our tracks! We could hear hissing sounds coming from the bobcat and watched the kittens as they gobbled down tree frogs. We ended up eating black berries for breakfast that day, giving mama bobcat lots of room to teach her young.

Eventually most of our extended family moved to the Cross Creek area and joined the fishing community. Cousin Max went on to study Archeology at Florida State University. A few years later he bought the Miller’s property, had it listed as a historical site, and built a small museum, gathering from all of us the artifacts that belonged to their family. It felt right letting my artifacts go, after all they had never really belonged to us, and now they would be forever memorialized. I went on to study art and now photograph and paint wildlife art, doing pretty well professionally. My little brother Darryn works for the Forestry Department. Cousins Jojo and Travis followed their older brother Max at FSU both graduating and pursuing careers in botany.

Our lives are forever shaped by our early experiences and choices and sometimes even the uncontrollable choices that others make. And so it was with us. I think the deciding factor lies where a heart filled with imagination and courage can lead us. We are all explorers and adventurers, even hero's in our own stories, joining forces with others, building upon each other’s strengths, and being there when one of us stumble and fall. Such is life.

As will be with all of us, Big Mama slowly succumbed to age, although it was impossible to know how old she was or whether or not she suffered—for in truth, she had no human voice. I took it hard when she died, as I felt like I had lost one of my best forever friends. We suspected she was planted when the Millers first built their coral stone house in the early 1900s, but my cousin, Jojo, said it was impossible for a pear tree to live uncared for for that length of a time. But in my mind she was a living, caring being, and like every grand lady, deeply loved and cared for those who lived in and under her branches, keeping her alive long past what anyone would have believed possible. After all, she was a pear tree—a symbol of comfort.

Saddened by the loss of my beloved friend, I find myself remembering the good moments we shared. For over twenty-five years she and I, as well as many other members of our family, spent long hours enjoying each other’s presence. I only wish I could have been there with her as she drew her last breath.