Me and the Old Oak Tree
‘‘I BET IF I CLIMBED to the top of this old oak, I could see forever,” I said, looking up into the branches. Climbing trees was a rite of passage in the mountains of East Tennessee, where we lived. At 10, I’d climbed all the apple trees in the area, but to scale a huge oak—that was a real challenge.
My brother Buddy Earl put his hand on my shoulder. “Brother Doug, you’re not Tarzan.”
Being more of a
