Cowboys, Indians & The Tree

I must have been about 7 or 8 when an elderly couple visited our farm. I cannot recall the relationship whether they were friends or family but what I do remember is playing Cowboys and Indians in the vast front yard. I would sneak from bush to bush with my fake bow and arrow improvising my best Comanche Brave whilst ‘old mate’ stood firm in the carport resting his imaginary rifle across the top of the fence and watching my every move. This memory has remained more so because of the elderly man’s willingness to play or engage in this fictitious event until such time that it was me who finally succumbed for the afternoon!

I do not recall similar play scenarios with my own Dad. I am sure there were many but as our minds do, they hang on to and horde the sad or negative experiences. I therefore remember the times where my anticipation to go fishing or head to Melbourne to the footy was met with false promises and crushing non commitment.

Wim Hof, The Iceman, is as some describe a ‘different cat’. Something he acknowledges and tends to agree with in his book The Wim Hof Method. Different indeed but equally fascinating and inspiring. Now infamous for his cold-water therapies and breathing techniques he also reminded me about the joy and healing powers of nature and play. It was a couple of weeks ago whilst reading his book when he began to discuss the joy in climbing trees. He had done it countless times in his native Netherlands forests and later in life conducted tree climbing parties in his neighbourhood.

It was at this point I had my light bulb moment. I happened to be reading the book by a window that had full view of a massive tree between our house and the nearby river. A tree that had often caught my attention and intrigue. I immediately put the book down, silently blessed Wim and raced up to my 11-year-old daughter’s bedroom. “Do you want to come and climb a tree?” I exclaimed. Normally it is hard to draw a response or even have her head tilt north from the iPad but she too had a flush of enthusiasm,” Yes!” she squealed.

Without much more discussion and a wardrobe change, mainly footwear, we announced to the rest of the household we were off to climb a tree. Scaling the barbed wire fence and contorting around the lone electric wire was our first challenge. Upon approach, we understood this was not going to be an easy task. What seemed like a six-foot-deep wall of box thorn coupled with piles of debris left from floods in the previous 12 months kept us separated from the target. My normal defeatist attitude in such situations abandoned me as my daughter and I plotted our strategy. Without realising it our simple wish of climbing a tree had become a project, a mission. The massive trunk at the epicentre of the tree looked enticing, almost appetising. Small wooden steps and frayed lassoed ropes could be seen attached to this behemoth structure. Evidence it had once been a magical play place for others in years prior.

We returned to the house and gathered whatever apparatus necessary to gain some sort of access to this unfeasible space. Armed with a steel rake, a small axe and not much more we returned to the tree to start some sort, any sort of renovation on our new abode. After what seemed, and felt, like thousands of lacerations and pricks from the box thorn we stood back to realise we had made some headway into the thick scrub. We had penetrated to the inner sanctum. It was a satisfying day as we adjourned at home looking back down beyond the yard to our new satellite venture.

The tree, or tree house we are now manifesting, has become a goal of mine. Of ours. We have added old wooden pellets for an entrance. Another for a set of stairs and we constantly assess the next adjustment or addition. Trees give oxygen, yet this tree seems to be giving so much more. Sitting up high looking over the river and back toward our house it gives humbleness. Honesty in a way I have not felt. Simplicity for Dad and daughter. Tranquillity. A zephyr through its’ branches and pine needles adds mystery and mystique. My challenge now is to not let go of the tree. The pure natural element of this acquired hobby is not only a bonus but a blessing.

Baking, making, singing, riding, playing in any sense with your children should never be ignored or flippantly postponed. In fact, you should schedule time to do it. Not because you ‘have to’ but because you ‘want to’ and kids know the difference. In Rutger Bregman’s book “Humankind” it suggests ‘play’ could be the opposite to depression. If true, then all and sundry will benefit from some focused time and activity together.

Anticipation is a thing you cannot tamper with when it comes to kids. As adults we are more emotionally mature and advanced to cope with things not coming to fruition. How many of us in this past 18 months have had holiday and travel plans snuffed out due to the pandemic? For kids though it can be merely a suggestion during the morning commute of an after-school treat which if not acknowledged can set off a cavalcade of angst and emotion.

Kids seem to have a magnificent mental calendar and tattoo notion and promise into their developing brains. So be careful what you suggest, announce, or commit to with your children. Keeping yourself generally free will help with the activity side of things. As a young Dad I spent way too much time doing other ‘stuff’ as opposed to being with the kids. Was it intentional? No! Avoidable? Absolutely. Particularly when kids are little, they cannot exactly express they would like to spend an hour at the park chasing butterflies. With the lack of challenge from the little ones it was therefore easy for me to make plans to do other things, to stay later at work, to take on other commitments and therefore eradicate time. Time you do not get back. Time that could establish lifelong memories. A wise friend once said to me that by saying “No” allows you to say “Yes” to much more.

That more can be your kids and who knows, maybe a tree house.