by Rolli
This is the story of Tracy Jo, the girl who lived in a tree. For eight years, she was an ordinary little girl – with pigtails and everything – and did ordinary little girl things, like smell daffodils, and pick the raisins out of oatmeal raisin cookies. But then one day she climbed up a tree, and refused to come down. Nobody’s sure why, exactly. Maybe she’d had a fight with her younger brother, who was always going into her bedroom, and messing up her stuff, even though she’d told him at least a million times not to. Maybe her mom had yelled at her for dropping raisins and cookie crumbs all over the house. It could have been almost anything.
But late one afternoon, when her father stepped out to call the girl in for supper, he heard a voice say “No thank-you.”
Looking up, he saw Tracy Jo sitting on a branch high in the plum tree that grew on the front lawn.
“No thank-you?” said her father, looking puzzled.
“No thank-you,” repeated the girl. “I’ve decided I’m gonna live in this tree from now on.”
“Live in a tree?” cried her father, itching his head. “But what’ll you do when you’re hungry?”
“I’ll have a plum,” said the girl, plucking one off the branch as she spoke.
“But what’ll you do when you’re thirsty?”
“Plum juice,” answered the girl, tilting back her head, and squeezing the fruit over her open mouth. “Delicious!”
“But what about when it rains?” asked her father.
“I thought of that,” said Tracy Jo, “and so I brought my raincoat with me.” It was hanging over a branch close by, along with a pillow, and a blanket with stars on it.
“But what will you do in the winter? Plums don’t grow all year, you know.”
Tracy Jo thought for a while, then answered, “There’s plenty of time to figure that out.” Then she thought a little longer and said, “I’m sure that when people see a little girl stuck up a tree with no food to eat, they’ll share some of their own when they walk past. Especially if she sings them a song.” And she started singing “Jack and Jill,” for practice.
Just then, her mother stepped outside, wearing her red oven mitts. “What’s the hold-up?” she asked.
“Says she’s never coming down,” muttered her father.
“Ridiculous!” snapped her mother. “Living in a plum tree! What about your education?”
“I’ve got books – heaps of ’em,” said the girl, pointing upward. And indeed, the very highest branches were full of books of every kind, like a bunch of colourful birds. There were picture books, novels, even a lot of thick, heavy ones that bent the branches down low. Tracy Jo was a clever girl, you see, and knew that, as she got older, she wouldn’t just be reading picture books any more. Grownups like to read very big, dull books, so she found the biggest, dullest ones she could find. One of them was a phone book.
“Hmm … ” said her mother. “Well, books are one thing – but what will you do for exercise?”
“That’s what the skipping rope’s for,” said the girl, pointing to a long, blue snaky thing that was tangled up in the branches.
Just when her father was about to ask her how on earth she’d manage that –
“If you’re not coming down,” said her mother, “then I’m coming up.” She threw off her oven mitts, and started climbing up the tree. But whenever she got close, Tracy Jo threw plums at her till she turned back.
“Me next,” said her father. He disappeared into the garage for a minute, and came back with a long ladder. But whenever he leaned the ladder against the tree and started climbing up, Tracy Jo kicked at it, and knocked him back onto the lawn. So he soon gave that up.
“Fine!” cried her parents, at last, collapsing on the lawn, out of breath. If you really want to live in a tree your whole life, I guess there’s nothing we can do to stop you.”
“Really?” said Tracy Jo. I mean, she could hardly believe it.
“Really,” answered her parents, gasping for breath.
Tracy Jo grinned.
* * *
And really, things went very well, after that. When she was hungry, all Tracy Jo had to do was reach up, and grab a plum. When she was bored, all she had to do was reach up, and grab a picture book. When she felt like exercise, she untangled her skipping rope. That usually took so long, and was such hard work, that she just tossed it back into the branches, and had a nap instead.
When winter came, and all the plums dried up, she sang to people as they strolled by. “Adorable child!” they’d cry, and give her some of their groceries. So many people gave her things like onions and celery, though, which she couldn’t stand, that she started singing made-up songs like “Cake is Great,” and “Little Girls Love Cookies with White Stuff in the Middle, As Long As They’re Not Too Hard or Dry.” That helped a bit.
Yes, things really went pretty well. Now and then, her parents would step outside, and say, “Are you sure you don’t want to come down, now?” And Tracy Jo would always answer, “No thank-you.”
And so the years rolled on. The little girl grew bigger, and taller, and older, and – well, she soon wasn’t a little girl anymore. Her younger brother had grown up, too, and gotten married. Her mother and father were now very old people, and decided they’d move to Florida, where there’s lots of sunshine and orange juice and other things that very old people like.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” they asked her, before they left.
“No thank-you,” she said, and went back to reading the phone book.
And off they went.
* * *
One night, many years later, Tracy Jo woke up in the middle of the night. Usually when that happened, it was because a branch was poking her in the foot, or the wind had blown off one of her blankets. What woke her this time, though, was a strange noise coming from across the street. It sounded like … snoring. Looking in that direction, she noticed something she’d never noticed before. On the lawn just across from her, high up a peach tree, was a man, about her age, fast asleep.
“Hey, you!” she shouted. “You, up the tree!”
“Hmm? What? Yes?” said the man, rubbing his eyes, and sitting upright.
“How long have you been up that tree?”
“The tree?” he said. “Well, let’s see….” He counted his fingers for about ten minutes, then blurted out “All my life!”
“Really?” said Tracy Jo, astonished. You see, she’d been so busy reading and eating plums and jumping rope all that time that she hadn’t noticed.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Preston,” said the man. “Preston Rice.”
“Not a very good name,” said Tracy Jo.
“No it isn’t,” said the man. “But it’s the only one I’ve got.”
Tracy was silent a moment (only a moment), while she thought up another question.
“Where are your parents?” she asked him, at last.
“They moved away,” said Preston, sadly.
“Mine too.”
There was an even bigger quiet, where neither of them could think of anything to say. Sometimes that happens.
“Say,” said the man, eventually – “I was just wondering – umm – do you ever get … lonely, sometimes?”
“Absolutely not!” said Tracy Jo, crossing her arms. “Except – for once in a while.”
“Oh, me too,” said the man.” “I mean – once in a while.”
This was the biggest quiet of all. Then the man said, finally, “Say – and this is probably a very silly idea, but – well, do you think that, with you all alone in that tree, and me all alone in this one, we should just – well, just move into the same tree, and … get married? But you probably think that’s awfully silly,” he added, nervously.
“It’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard!” snapped Tracy Jo. “And yes, we should,” she added.
“Really?” said the man.
“Really,” said Tracy Jo, smiling.
And they did.
* * *
If you were to walk down that same street today, and look high into the branches
of the plum tree, can you guess what you’d see? Tracy Jo, of course, and Preston, both a
little older. But besides those two, you’d see five children, swinging from branches,
jumping rope, and singing to passers-by. Not one of them has ever set foot on the ground.
I don’t suppose they ever will. Who can say why?
Question Time
1. How old was Tracy Jo when she decided to live in the plum tree?
2. What did Tracy Jo have in the tree for exercise?
3. What did she do to get food in the winter time?
4. Where did her parents move away to?
5. What did Tracy Jo notice was in the tree across the street?
