Desert Park Lane

I spent a great deal of time on Desert Park Lane as a boy. My grandparents lived there, off of 7th Street, until I was 13. It was my home away from home. I probably spent more time there while awake than any particular place I lived with my parents.

I was thinking, today, of one of the trees in the front yard. I think the tree is still there. I drive by the house from time to time to take a look at it, but I realized today that I cannot remember if the grapefruit tree in the front yard, the one closest to the street, was still there.

I wondered if it would still feel the same? Would my hands remember it if I were to stand underneath it and place my hands where I did when I was a boy? I would reach up there and swing back and forth or do pull ups. Would the branch still support my weight? This was the first tree I remember climbing up fairly high in. Would it still seem high? Could I still climb?

I broke my first window in that front yard, pitching a baseball at the bricks between the two bedroom windows that faced the street. There was about as much room between the two bushes under the windows as there is on a baseball field between the two batters boxes. It was perfect for learning control. I remember being very ashamed to have to go ask one of the neighbors if they would help fix the window. My grandmother made me go and ask and explain what I had done.

I remember being outside one day while my grandfather was watering the various bushes and such around the house. At one point, he told me to stand very still and I was a bit startled by his request. I looked at him and saw that he was aiming the hose, which had one of those gun like nozzles on it for spraying the water, at my leg. He said, "don't look down" as he shot the water toward me, knocking off the black widow that was climbing up my leg before it could bite me. How much pain did my grandfather save me that day? He was the man and I miss him.

I've often thought about writing a book that would be about all of the places I have lived. I would go around and take pictures of them now and then write about my time there. The Desert Park Lane entry would be bittersweet, for sure. It would be hard to write, but probably important for me to do so. Who I am has so much to do with my time there.

I may just have to drive by there again soon to check out the tree. I wonder if the new owners would let me have a closer look?