Next, I went to Pelican Park, the hub of all sports activity in our community. Though on a Wednesday afternoon it’s as empty as Charlie Brown’s mailbox on Valentine’s Day. I planted myself near a white birdhouse and waited.
I didn’t really want a bird landing on me, so I practiced a plan if one approached. I’d drop: If a tree fall falls and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? Yes, and the sound is “Ouch!”
Off to the Northlake Nature Center, which I discovered is the unofficial “Squirrel Capital of America.” I did not want to be climbed by a tree hugger yet. Or ever.
In search of the perfect spot to be tree-mendous (Editor’s note: Please stop!!!), I passed a guy walking alone on the trail. Here’s the thing: It makes sense why I'm here. To be a tree. But why is someone walking alone in the woods on a Wednesday afternoon? How weird.
The only calming elements are the stones throughout the woods that name my fellow trees. I think the Tree Naming Committee members were one-upping each other to be more stupid with each name.
Here’s a mix of real tree names and made-up Frat Boy nicknames. Can you tell the difference?
Jenkins Wiggle
Fetterbush Swamp Dog Hobble
Button Bush
Ogre
Fanleaf Hawthorn
Grounded Leaf
Elder Fern
Horse Sugar
Clover Crush
Elderberry
(Here are the Frat Boy names, meaning everything else is oddly real: Jenkins Wiggle, Ogre, Grounded Leaf and Elder Fern. Give yourself two frequent flier miles if you got everything right.)
I’m clearly a tree in CrazyLand, so I figured my name should be “Gator Bait Delicioso,” and wanted to leave before they began filming "SquirrelaGator" and I became victim No 1.
So I briefly set my roots down just off the Eagle Trail path and waited for nature to take its course, knowing that critters would overrun me any minute. Squirrels and snakes and bugs, oh my. (I’m on a “Wizard of Oz” theme, I guess—that’d make me the brainless Scarecrow.)
In this environment, I decided to be an intimidating tree to counter my nerves, so I extended my branches to the heavens and snarled. I’m sure the ants were terrified.
As I left the park/Haunted Woods of Doom, a few things were confirmed. I am NOT an outdoors guy. And I feel a whole lot braver in that park when I'm with Linda. I can out-run her when nature attacks.
A street sign on the drive home offered the equivalent of nuts to squirrels, Roach meat to gators, and, well, trees to dogs: Mandeville Middle School. Daniel’s school.
(Cue the Barry White voice) Ohhhh, yeahhhh.
Dare I be a tree outside of Daniel’s classroom? What parent doesn’t have the same thought?
Wheel keeps wanting to turn . . . must fight the urge . . . Daniel would be so humiliated . . . that’s not helping fight the urge . . .
I must be more sensitive now that I’m a tree, but I couldn’t do it. I think I sprained my wrist resisting the desire, but that’s a small price to pay for having a son look up to his Tree-Dad.
That didn’t stop me from rallying his neighborhood friends to finalize my Tree Day. I wanted to be a tree with a tire hanging from a rope on a branch so kids could fire a football through it. Dan Marino became a legend that way.
Except I didn’t have a rope. Or a tire. And I wasn’t a tree, if you want to be literal. I think I just made Dan Marino cry.
So Daniel, Luke, Dominic, Brennan and Tree-Dad scoured the garage for options. Linda’s gardening hat was both rope and target/tire. Then I started listening to the kids. My mistake.
Dominic: “Why are we doing this?”
Me: “Because I’m going to be a tree.”
Dominic: “Oh.”
Luke: “Can we swing from you?”
Daniel: “Can we climb you?”
Luke: “Can we chop you down?”
I kept an eye on Luke as we walked to the backyard and he kept an eye on the sharper items in our garage. I was relieved when he looked at me and said, “This looks like a sturdy kind of tree.”
Should I have been insulted? Or was that the highlight of my day?
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