The Tree In My Head

Back when dirt was discovered and they were just trying to figure out what to name it, I was in the third grade in the little farm town of Northwood, Iowa. My father was in the Air Force and on a non-accompanied tour in Korea, so we were living in Northwood with my grandmother.

The art teacher at the school wanted us to draw a scene and said it could be a scene of anything we wanted. I drew a leafless tree beside a road that disappeared over a little hill. There were fences on both sides of the road and the sun was behind the branches of the tree. I had no idea where that scene came from, but it was very vivid. My drawing wasn't that great, but the teacher loved the picture and gave me an A+. From then on, whenever a teacher wanted a picture drawn and gave us free rein on the subject, I drew that same scene. It got better over the years with better perspective, shading and more detail, but it was always that same scene.

This went on until my junior year of college, when an abnormal psychology professor (and yes, he was as abnormal as the subject) wanted us all to draw a scene. His only stipulation was that it be something meaningful to us. I drew the tree. He was intrigued by the fact that the tree had no leaves. I told him I didn't know how to draw leaves. He was also curious about the road disappearing over the hill. But he was really fixated on the fences. He definitely had a thing about fences.

Anyway, I was recently camping with some great Florida friends up in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. Some online friends who are from that area took me out to Cades Cove at dawn one morning to take pictures. It was one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. The sun was coming up soft through the mist on the mountains, forest and pastures. I took a lot of pictures. Every time I would think a scene could get no better, I would turn around and it would be even better.

We were about a third of the way around the 11-mile loop when we stopped again alongside the road. I got out, turned around and there--there was the exact scene from my picture. It was perfect, exactly like that vivid image in my head all those years. It was more than a little unnerving, but it was nice to finally know where that image came from.