Swamp Muck and Adventures with Trees

We just returned from a lovely, relaxing and refreshing weekend at my parents' house in Upstate, NY, and Merwin is going through withdrawals.  

The house I grew up in is situated on a 6 acre plot, 3 of which are part of the "picturesque" Clay Marsh (mosquito filled mushy swampland) and 3 of which are meticulously groomed by my father--perfectly tended flower beds, huge vegetable garden, and open lawn ripe for running.  During childhood, this is where my brothers and I spent the majority of our time-- sledding and fort building in winter and game after game of badminton well into summer nights.  

I think I was 10 at the time of the Great Apple Tree Incident.  I climbed into the tree with my friend Heather, worked my way to the top, then jumped off a limb to the ground.  But the branch snagged my shorts, ripping its way to the waistband where it stuck, literally leaving me hanging.  My hands and feet were about 2 inches from the dirt and I tried to wiggle free but instead was suspended, my fingertips able to just brush over the grass.  Heather ran into the house for help and my dad came out, unable to hide his laughter as he lifted me from the limb.  I withstood years and years of brotherly ribbing and recalling the experience always makes my dad laugh.  I'll never live it down, although thankfully, the apple tree was chopped into firewood a few years back and at least the scene of the mishap is forgotten.

Merwin didn't get stuck in any trees this weekend, but spent the last three days running free, chasing birds, sniffing squirrel trails and rolling in poison ivy.  On one of his jaunts, he disappeared into the brush only to emerge a few minutes later, covered in black swamp muck from his paws to his belly.  Despite the dirt and his stench, he was quite pleased with himself, took the hosing-off in stride, and dashed back into the woods for more.

Trees
W.S. Merwin

I am looking at trees
they may be one of the things I will miss
most from the earth
though many of the ones I have seen
already I cannot remember
and though I seldom embrace the ones I see
and have never been able to speak
with one
I listen to them tenderly
their names have never touched them
they have stood round my sleep
and when it was forbidden to climb them
they have carried me in their branches