About Blog Title

This is written for the curious few who have asked me about my blog title.

Okay, I know it sounds eerie, but there is an involved story behind it. Its beginning stems from my childhood, when I would visit a great-aunt who lived on a farm. My grandfather would take me and my siblings out there on weekends in the summers. Within a deep back field there grew this big old locust tree. I would head out there whenever we visited, for we lived in the city, and I always loved the solitude of nature. I would take paper and pencils, my books, and sometimes, a fishing pole for there was a small pond along the way. There, I would daydream, read, draw, and write stories. My brother would sometimes tag along to look for arrowheads or snakes. This routine of mine continued on for three wonderful summers until one day we stayed out too late, and my grandfather came looking for us. Well, he found us dangling from our legs off branches of the locust tree, and bellowed for us to come to supper. On the trek back, he told us a story about the tree, and how in other times, people had been hanged to death from it’s branches. Whether it was true, or if he meant to scare us I never knew because he would not discuss it again. I never knew him to lie, ever. Needless to say, I slept with one eye open on each subsequent visit, and only walked the meadow to the field again if I was with my grandfather gathering the cows. A few years later my aunt passed away and her property was sold, and I never walked that field again.

Later in my life, a funny thing happened, funny odd that would lead to heart rendering sorrow. In my freshman year of college I had a classmate who lived right off campus, and sometimes she would invite a small group of us to her home for lunch. We would discuss politics, poetry, and men. During one of these lunches, I noticed a picture of a tree, framed and faded , and asked what it meant to her. She told me that it was a hanging tree, and how she just loved it, that it spoke to her. She was a wonderful poet, one whom I truly admired, and she always inspired me with much needed direction. Later, she transferred back to Michigan, where she was from. She came back a few months later for a visit, left my home, went to a creek to swim with friends and drowned. Her mother sent me the picture of the hanging tree.

I eventually got married, started a family, and the everyday things took over. Husband, kids, job, etcetera and I quit writing very much. When I decided to try it again, I was going through some of my old papers and boxes and found the tree picture. I took it out, re-framed it and placed it over my desk, along with other things precious to me. Hence, there could be no other title , so I aptly name my blog, ‘Beneath the Hanging Tree’.