Deep in the woods behind our house– okay, technically less than half a mile in the woods behind our house– there grew the spookiest tree in the world. The moment I first laid on it, it gave me chills. Even just the memory of it today gives me the willies. If a tree could be haunted, this one was haunted. If a tree could be cursed, this one was cursed. If a tree could dance naked by the light of the full moon and then go cackling away on a broomstick… this tree surely did.
I found a satellite image of the ol’ woods this morning and was thrilled to find that the Hands-Down Tree still stands. Now, I realize this is a bit like looking at a stranger’s ultrasound photo, but for the benefit of my sisters and some childhood friends, here is the image:
Look! You can still see it! It stands to this day! I hope some other kids have found it and now it invades their nightmares. Um, I mean that in the tenderest way possible. I miss you, old Tree.
Every year, we would survey our Halloween spoils and start trading the second we got home. And every year, Dad would laugh at us, confiscate our candy, and then ration it out to us 3 pieces a day… until he reconsidered the dental bills and then just got rid of it all. We really, really loved Halloween anyway.