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1/18/09

Yesterday I climbed a tree. The tree was in a park outside the Wilmington, Delaware train station where I and thousands of others braved sub-freezing temperatures to hear Barack Obama speak. The president-elect was retracing Abraham Lincoln's  historic inaugural train ride from Philadelphia to Washington and had stopped to speak in a city Lincoln had been forced to avoid due to death threats.

From where I stood, the size of the crowd made seeing the hustings impossible until the tree I was leaning against proffered an unobstructed view. 

I can't remember the last time I climbed a tree - maybe forty years ago -but I found the fundamentals pretty much unchanged.

Obama was speaking. His words were ringing in my ears, lifting the crowd as I rediscovered the phrase 'tree hugger' and pulled myself higher and higher through the thicket of creaking limbs.  The frozen air and the rush of ancient muscle memory mingled with the electricity that hovered over the crowd.  My heart was pounding with excitement and exertion  as I looked out over a small ocean of faces bearing expressions of something we haven't seen a lot of in these parts lately.  Hope.

Mr. Obama didn't speak long. He had an appointment with history to keep, and a bit of work to do down the tracks. He concluded his remarks and began to shake hands with the pressing throngs as the secret service solemnly ushered him towards the waiting train.

Just then I felt something sting my leg. Something had hit me. Been THROWN at me!
A rock... maybe? I couldn't tell, but someone had a pretty good aim. I looked down and a policeman was yelling at me. I hadn't heard him over the music as a Lee Greenwood recording blasted through the public address system and reminded us of the pride Lee feels over being an American. (Really, Barack? I'm all for unity but Lee GREENWOOD?)

Apparently the officer wanted me on the ground immediately... a result that would have been achieved to his satisfaction whether I climbed down or fell after being startled by a flying projectile. I climbed down... smiling and rewriting an old Dylan song.

"Well they'll stone you as you're standing in your tree.... Yeah they'll stone you as your watching history... but I would not feel so all alone, Everybody must get stoned."

My feet hit the ground and I was swallowed by a smiling river of  human beings -my neighbors wending their way out of the park.  It was still pretty cold out there, but we didn't mind.