Rooted in childhood memories

Earlier this year my mum told me about a walk her and her good friend Neil had just been on. They'd come across the fifth oldest walnut tree in the UK and one of Neil's favourites - a type of cedar. When asked why the cedar, specifically, was Neil's favourite, it reminded me of how impactful childhood memories can be.

"My favourite tree has always been a cedar. I love its shape [and] its spreading branches. As a 6 year old my dad bought me a toy farmyard and it included a plastic cedar tree. I loved it. Then in the 70s a period drama started called The Cedar Tree, centred on a magnificent stately home with a cedar at the front where they constantly had picnics. I can still see the opening to the programme as clear as can be today. The sight of a cedar always lifts my spirits and takes me back to that childhood farmyard!"

Neil's story triggered a childhood memory of my own - a tree that my mum and I would walk past on our wanderings from the family home to the town high street. I always imagined it was home to the baboon Rafiki from the Lion King, and now that I think about it, it must have been a cedar of some sort too. Layers of branches jutted out against the sky and conjured up images of a burning sun on the plains of Africa.

The Rafiki Tree! Whilst finishing up this blog I happened to be visiting my mum so we decided to go and check if the tree was still in existence. Thankfully it was but we couldn't get any closer than this. It still looks cedar-like to me but I'm very happy to take corrections!

Rafiki's tree was just one of a handful I remember very fondly from those early years. Most vividly was the horse chestnut that guarded the entrance to our street; a giant treasure chest holding conkers that my brother and I would wait patiently to be dropped each autumn. We'd cache them in our own little hideouts - my own was a little bush with a tunnel entrance at the bottom of our driveway. I remember once the brother of our neighbour found the cache and stole some of my bounty - the highest crime imaginable to the scruffy dungarees-clad child that I was. The highest crime imaginable, that is, until new owners moved into the property and cut the mighty tree down.

The plum bush at the end of the garden was another hideout and I even tried to single-handedly build a treehouse in it one year (with little success). The little rickety plank platform was none-the-less a peaceful perch and hideaway from whatever homework or chore I might be avoiding. This, alongside a series of 'tree dens' I bagged along an old boundary at the local park seemed to have rooted my love of trees for the decades to come.

Thanks Neil for sharing your story, and for reminding me of my own childhood trees too. To anyone reading this; do you have a favourite tree from your childhood? Or a specific memory you'd like to share? I'd love to hear from you. Feel free to add a comment below or message directly via the contact form.