IN THE TREE
Growing up, we had a gnarled crab apple tree in our backyard. It was the first tree I learned to climb, with low, generous branches that made it easy to hoist myself up and swing a leg over to gain purchase. When my sister and I got a bit older, my dad transformed it into an elaborate tree house, complete with a trap door, and I reveled in bringing toys and games up to my lofty “second bedroom.” Every late summer the tree became flush with equally gnarly-looking fruits the size of fresh apricots, and right when the humidity quit, it dumped them in huge numbers on the lawn. In something of a mutual dare, my sister and I would each pick one up and take a bite. As the…