I recall many incidents of the summer of 1887 that followed my soul's
sudden awakening. I did nothing but explore with my hands and learn the
name of every object that I touched; and the more I handled things and
learned their names and uses, the more joyous and confident grew my
sense of kinship with the rest of the world.
When the time of daisies and buttercups came Miss Sullivan took me by
the hand across the fields, where men were preparing the earth for the
seed, to the banks of the Tennessee River, and there, sitting on the
warm grass, I had my first lessons in the beneficence of nature. I
learned how the sun and the rain make to grow out of the ground every
tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food, how birds build
their nests and live and thrive from land to land, how the squirrel, the
deer, the lion and every other creature finds food and shelter. As my
knowledge of things grew I felt more and more the delight of the world I
was in. Long before I learned to do a sum in arithmetic or describe the
shape of the earth, Miss Sullivan had taught me to find beauty in the
fragrant woods, in every blade of grass, and in the curves and dimples
of my baby sister's hand. She linked my earliest thoughts with nature,
and made me feel that "birds and flowers and I were happy peers."
But about this time I had an experience which taught me that nature is
not always kind. One day my teacher and I were returning from a long
ramble. The morning had been fine, but it was growing warm and sultry
when at last we turned our faces homeward. Two or three times we stopped
to rest under a tree by the wayside. Our last halt was under a wild
cherry tree a short distance from the house. The shade was grateful, and
the tree was so easy to climb that with my teacher's assistance I was
able to scramble to a seat in the branches. It was so cool up in the
tree that Miss Sullivan proposed that we have our luncheon there. I
promised to keep still while she went to the house to fetch it.
Suddenly a change passed over the tree. All the sun's warmth left the
air. I knew the sky was black, because all the heat, which meant light
to me, had died out of the atmosphere. A strange odour came up from the
earth. I knew it, it was the odour that always precedes a thunderstorm,
and a nameless fear clutched at my heart. I felt absolutely alone,
cut off from my friends and the firm earth. The immense, the unknown,
enfolded me. I remained still and expectant; a chilling terror crept
over me. I longed for my teacher's return; but above all things I wanted
to get down from that tree.
There was a moment of sinister silence, then a multitudinous stirring
of the leaves. A shiver ran through the tree, and the wind sent forth a
blast that would have knocked me off had I not clung to the branch with
might and main. The tree swayed and strained. The small twigs snapped
and fell about me in showers. A wild impulse to jump seized me, but
terror held me fast. I crouched down in the fork of the tree. The
branches lashed about me. I felt the intermittent jarring that came now
and then, as if something heavy had fallen and the shock had traveled
up till it reached the limb I sat on. It worked my suspense up to the
highest point, and just as I was thinking the tree and I should fall
together, my teacher seized my hand and helped me down. I clung to her,
trembling with joy to feel the earth under my feet once more. I had
learned a new lesson--that nature "wages open war against her children,
and under softest touch hides treacherous claws."
After this experience it was a long time before I climbed another tree.
The mere thought filled me with terror. It was the sweet allurement
of the mimosa tree in full bloom that finally overcame my fears. One
beautiful spring morning when I was alone in the summer-house, reading,
I became aware of a wonderful subtle fragrance in the air. I started up
and instinctively stretched out my hands. It seemed as if the spirit of
spring had passed through the summer-house. "What is it?" I asked, and
the next minute I recognized the odour of the mimosa blossoms. I felt my
way to the end of the garden, knowing that the mimosa tree was near the
fence, at the turn of the path. Yes, there it was, all quivering in
the warm sunshine, its blossom-laden branches almost touching the long
grass. Was there ever anything so exquisitely beautiful in the world
before! Its delicate blossoms shrank from the slightest earthly touch;
it seemed as if a tree of paradise had been transplanted to earth. I
made my way through a shower of petals to the great trunk and for
one minute stood irresolute; then, putting my foot in the broad space
between the forked branches, I pulled myself up into the tree. I had
some difficulty in holding on, for the branches were very large and
the bark hurt my hands. But I had a delicious sense that I was doing
something unusual and wonderful so I kept on climbing higher and higher,
until I reached a little seat which somebody had built there so long ago
that it had grown part of the tree itself. I sat there for a long, long
time, feeling like a fairy on a rosy cloud. After that I spent many
happy hours in my tree of paradise, thinking fair thoughts and dreaming
bright dreams.