Take Flight: True Stories of How Dreams Shape Our Lives

By Laura Crowe

Dreams, unlike we are often taught, are not foolish, unnecessary things. Rather, they are what define us. Especially the ones that linger.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jun 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9780988016910

Book preview

alone.

Stories

The Tree

by Joseph McPherson

The garage roof jump was our first gang test.

Oh man, it looks like a long way down, I said. Like at least ten feet. In actuality the distance was more like seven feet from the edge of the roof (that my toes automatically curled around through my plastic Adidas runners) to the tilled dirt below, a burgeoning garden that would sprout corn a few weeks later. My neighbour-friends' dad—a Henry Sukkau—had built the garage a few years earlier, but, as they had an underground garage beneath their house, the building behind their home served as a workshop and storage shed. This building was filled with: snowmobiles, go-carts, a mini dirt bike, a John Deere lawn-tractor, a Pacer car (a moon-vehicle—or so it looked—undergoing an overhaul), a work-bench, and welding equipment (which Mark and Ray learned to operate practically out of diapers).

No doubt, said Ray.

It was your idea, Mark, and you're the captain, nine-year-old Raymond Schmidt said. You should have to go first!

Where we got the gang concept, I'm not exactly sure-though my brother had read me several books from The Sugar Creek Gang series, so the idea probably originated with me. We went by the name The Ruarkville Gang after the neighbourhood we grew up in Three Hills, Alberta.

Mark looked to be psyching himself up—his eyes measuring, judging the landing surface. I don't know . . . We might break an ankle. It looks stinkin' high!

Just shut up and do it, Mark! Ray said. This is a gang test. Quit being a wimp.

Mark appeared not to notice the taunt and before we knew it he had coaxed his legs off of the roof. He landed with a thud, collapsing onto his knees and hands before bouncing upward like a rubber ball to his feet. He dusted off the front of his pants with glee, amused that his limbs were still intact.

That was awesome! You losers have to try it—it's not hard at all! Mark said.

We all laughed nervously. I was amazed that Mark had made the jump and knew (along with the others, I think) that at some point, the rest of us were on the hook to mimic the feat.

With a slightly less-than-enthusiastic leap, Ray passed the test next. He, too, sprung to his feet, though it looked like he had mildly twisted an ankle as it momentarily buckled under his weight before he caught himself and secured his posture. He shouted, Whoo-hoo! Hokey pick! That was so fun!

Raymond and I sat on the edge of the roof. My younger friend looked like Humpty anticipating a reassembling process, and how that outcome weighed against not being part of a gang. The ground appeared so far down, and, outside of defeating the high diving board at the swimming pool, neither of us had come so close to death as this.

Being the end of June, I remember the afternoon sun's blistering heat, my shoes melting into the black asphalt shingles of the garage. It was the combination of burning feet and impending insults that eventually caused me to take the plunge a minute or two later. I landed with a kerplunk, my bottom smacking the ground, thankfully not hard enough to cause paralysis . . . or at least not enough paralysis to inhibit further jumps. I got up okay, smiling.

Wow! I said. That was so cool. Raymond, you have to do it—it's totally amazing!

It feels like you're flying, Mark said, just as Raymond zoomed past me. His body splayed onto the earth as did ours, and he, too, stood up laughing and looking like he had captured a city.

The next gang test was Henry Sukkau's fence.

Henry Sukkau built a white fence that outlined his property on three sides. The fence was made up of round posts that punctured the earth every eight feet or so, with three connecting two-by-fours in between them. The uppermost two-by-four was nailed flush with the top of its supporting posts, forming a very narrow, two-inch sidewalk that ran roughly a hundred metres long.

So, it was another hot summer day in a time before the Internet, cable television and video games that led one of us to say, Hey, let's see if we can walk around on top of the whole fence without falling down!

Oh man, that's impossible, said Raymond.

Don't be a wuss, Raymond, I said—after balancing along a whole eight-foot section before falling. This is going be a cinch!

It's going to be easy as pie, Ray bragged, then fell into my mother's tulips, carefully encircled with rocks on my family's side of the property line.

What the pickle? Mark grunted after falling off the fence for the fourth time while attempting to make it on top of the first pole.

We all laughed.

You're such a geek, Mark! Raymond said, with a hearty grin.

Come here and say that, you fink! Again we chuckled and guffawed as Mark teetered mid-post, a look of anger on his face.

I think it was Mark who completed the fence-walk first, but not until a week or so later.

Each step that I took around that fence without falling made me feel like an Olympic gymnast on a balance beam. On the back side of the Sukkau's property there grew a few poplar trees that we could hold onto while we traversed the fence there. But to make it around the whole fence—jumping across the three-foot-wide fence crossings on two sides—was quite a triumph; it was an accomplishment filled with shaky moments and intense concentration that required restart after restart after faux-curse-laden restart.

I eventually walked the entirety of the fence without falling. We all did, in roughly the same order that we had each performed the garage jump test. When Raymond finally completed the circuit I was as happy for him as I was for myself.

The Tree was the next and last official gang membership test. This requirement, however, was a monster compared to those that preceded it.

How far up is that bottom branch, anyway? I said.

Twenty feet, maybe? Ray said.

Raymond looked uncomfortable. Guys, I don't think I can do this.

I doubt any of us are going to be able to climb this, Mark! I said, appealing to our leader.

Yes we will, he said, as he bent down to tighten his shoelaces.

The giant cottonwood tree across the street from the Sukkau home was about two-and-a-half feet wide in diameter. It wasn't something we could just wrap our legs around and shimmy up. It was something that we'd need to climb—much like a mountaineer or a rock-climber. There were rich, deep faults that ran up and down the trunk of that great tree, and there were a few knobs here and there where branches had grown and broken off. However, these knobs were small and spread out in awkward locations. And there sure weren't many of them.

Raymond and I sat back and watched Mark and Ray alternating their attempts at scaling the daunting tower, not believing it was possible to reach that bottom branch way up in the sky. And, what would happen once they reached the lowest limb? This was nothing like the garage jump test; how were we supposed to get down other than by hanging from the branch and free-falling to the ground?

So, the hours rolled quickly by that afternoon, our preoccupation with the impossible keeping us amused. And then the impossible happened. Mark Sukkau made it up the tree near the end of the day.

How are you going to get down? I asked Mark.

"I don't know, climb?" His legs dangled from his precarious position. A half hour later, and after several abandoned attempts at descending the cottonwood, Mark was swinging a good fourteen feet above the ground. He hung there until his hands gave out. In front of all of our horrified eyes, Mark finally let go of that limb and landed with such tremendous force that I was positive we'd be carrying his limp body to his parents.

Mark raised himself though. Stiffly. Confident. The leader. He said something like, "There. I did it. Now all of you have to do it if you want to be in the gang!"

Not long after, Ray completed the task.

I, of course, was incredulous, as was our younger friend Raymond.

I chalked it up to Mark and Ray being older and more developed than Raymond and me. But the older boys' bleeding arms and legs (where their pants had worked up past their socks) and their sweaty, grimy faces reeked of struggle. And their hoots and hollers and smiles of satisfaction proclaimed their victory. Would I be able to follow their lead? Usually, I kept up with the Sukkau twins, but in this case I had a sick feeling of inadequacy.

I went home that evening with the agonizing thought that the Ruarkville gang could very well end up being a two-member unit. After dinner, I returned to the tree to find Raymond already straddling the behemoth like a rider-and-bull at the rodeo. In the background, the noise of a motor running in the Sukkau garage told us the twins had moved on to a mechanical project, one that involved the two of them only.

How's it coming? I asked Raymond.

Stupid idiots! he muttered. He had a look of determination in his eyes despite the angry sentiment.

How far have you got up it?

Just to that bump there. Raymond pointed about six feet up the trunk of the tree to a rounded hump that looked like it had the face of an infant owl peering back at us from its flat centre. I could smell the spicy odour of smudged sap and scuffed bark—a result of the day-long skirmishes that had taken place on that lower front.

Let me give it a try, I said. Now that it was just Raymond and me, the pressure to pass this test was gone. My friend stepped to the side. He was breathing heavily and his skin sparkled with sweat.

I clasped the rotund thing in front of me and felt for a handhold. It certainly didn't feel like what it looked like even from just three feet away. My hands naturally found two of the many vertical furrows on the back side, and I pulled myself against the tree with all my might. My legs from the knees down brushed back and forth against the giant growth like a frog's legs swimming through a pond. I tried to hoist myself with only the strength of my arms up the bark, but the slight rise in the tree leading to the hump that Raymond had pointed out resisted all movement. A moment later my groin muscles gave out and I glumly let go of my grip and staggered backward.

Without looking to my younger buddy, I leapt at the tree again—securing a position on it much like the first time, though different enough that one of my flailing feet caught a nub and latched to it. I later saw that it was a busted-up, green shoot about three inches long. It had no way of growing into a branch over the long-term, but it served a purpose in providing something to push off of. From this position about a foot off the ground I was able to shimmy to the side of the hump above me. I could sense a way up in that direction.

Of course I fell again, and Raymond did, too. We both stayed at it until dark—it might have been ten-thirty by the time I opened the back door of my house. I was discouraged, but there was a glimmer of hope in the back of my mind that climbing that granddaddy of a cottonwood was possible. At least part-way. The hump six feet up seemed achievable—forget the limb fourteen feet higher. My arms and legs stung from the multitude of abrasions that I had acquired during the day's many limbless-tree-climb attempts. One thing I knew, I'd be wearing long sleeves in future ascents, and I'd have my jeans tucked into my socks.

The next day after breakfast, I made my way back to my nemesis. Raymond was already there. He had been at work on the tree for some time and was in need of a break. He appeared to be looking at the tree differently, analyzing it like a map or puzzle in front of him. He hardly noticed me when I walked up.

With Raymond's permission, I took my place at the base of the tree again. A sort of calm had overtaken me; down deep I knew that given enough time I would find a way to make it to the branch twenty vertical feet away.

The hump just above me was the first hurdle. I could only imagine that once on top of that knoll (as it seemed on the rolling contour of the cottonwood) I could rest in a sitting fashion, though from an observer's perspective I might appear to be stuck to it like I was wearing a Velcro suit.

I fell, over and over, but with each failure a stubborn energy welled up inside of me. It was like I had become enamoured by this strange conquest, and, whether or not victory ultimately lay in store for me, the battles along the way were becoming increasingly captivating and navigable as I engaged them one by one. The first few feet were a Normandy Beach. The next few feet were Vimy Ridge. My mind was no longer on the sum of the battles anymore; instead, I was living in the moment of crevices and knots and toe-holds the size of quarters. Although my body ached and grew tired, ironically it was reinvigorated every time Raymond fell back to the ground and it was my turn again.

By early afternoon, I made it to the hump. Raymond placed his hands on his hips in a Well . . . Would you look at that! I used that lasting image like fuel to overcome the next stage of the climb.

The rest of the way to the branch fourteen feet higher was much like the first six feet. There were small victories and many falls—though each plummet obviously further and harder than the ones during the first six-foot stretch. Amazingly, my body could adapt more easily than it did before. And what I had learned in the first six feet I managed to apply to the last fourteen.

Then, finally, with open wounds, and bruises, and even tears, I somehow grasped that tree branch twenty feet from the ground. Clasping the tree with my legs and my left hand gripping a knot or crack in the bark, I pulled at the limb with my right hand. Fear was no longer a close companion, as long as I kept my mind on my struggle. I manoeuvred myself onto the branch with a feeling of elation that's hard to describe. I could tell Raymond, below, was glad for me and I think my achievement gave him some hope that he would get there, too.

When I got to that branch after such a terrific fight, I didn't want to think of the descent. I looked above me to see what other branches existed, and I climbed around on those sturdy limbs for awhile, finding great nooks to perch in and look toward the mountains in the west. I was elevated so high above the rest of the world that I was camouflaged to the occasional passing car or pedestrian and they didn't even notice me.

I ascended the tree at least one more time once