A Childhood Memory of Cayuga Island, Niagara Falls, New York,

I lived on Cayuga Island from about 1945 to about 1951. I say "about" because my parents were living in Griffon Manor (near 96th St.) when I was born. Sometime after that they moved to the 8124 Riverside Dr. where I have my earliest memories.

Kids those days, even below the age of five had considerably more freedom to roam than they do today. I recall sitting along side the Little Niagara River, which we called Cayuga Creek at the time, and curiously watched as my friend, Dickie, fell into the river and drowned. I didn't understand it at the time. I only remember that his body gave a jerk and he fell in the water and didn't move or struggle. I often wonder if he had a seizure of some sort to be the cause.

From that time on my mother would be hysterical if I wandered anywhere near the water. By the time I was six we moved off the island after my baby brother was born.

Barbara and Denise Fairchild

When I was a little girl, living on Cayuga Island in Niagara Falls, New York during the late 1940s and early 1950s I had a best friend. Her name was Denise Fairchild. I think she was maybe a year younger than me. Basically, we played with dollies. Denise had a little sister who was younger, named Barbara. I don't remember playing with her though she may have been nearby. It seemed at the time, she was too young to participate. When my family moved off the island about 1951, I missed my friend and didn't understand why I couldn't visit her. I never knew the youngest baby sister. I believe this picture was taken after we moved. Though my parents kept in touch with the Fairchild's for a while, I never saw the Denise and Barbara again. I always thought they were very pretty, and wished I had curls in my hair, too.  I found this photo among my mother's belongings after she passed away in 2006. Imagine keeping it all these years, with no further contact.

Willow Weep For Me

I remember lying on a blanket on the ground by the creek while my mother hung wet clothes on the clotheslines. I was mesmerized as i looked up through the labyrinthine branches and watched them weave and breathe their peaceful magic over me. As I listened to the soft murmur of the wind kissing the air above me, the clotheslines, the wet clothes in the basket, and my mother all disappeared from my little world.

My willow and me, about 1948-49
8124 West Rivershore Drive, Cayuga Island, Niagara Falls, NY

The weeping willow, her green skirts hanging down sheltered me. I didn't know the streams of leaf filtered light caressing my face was not part of her.

Perhaps I was swaddled. I had no desire to turn my back to the beauty, to roll over or crawl away. Perhaps I was younger than I imagine. Born in June, that first four months would have been the time this early memory occurred. If I had known there was such a thing as God, I would have been sure it was the Weeping Willow.

The next year my mother tied me to the tree. The blanket was my boundary again. I could toddle a bit, yet she hollered and screamed at me so much to be still, to not go in the direction of the river, and to not walk myself around and shorten my tether that it was easier to just sit. I would reach out and grasp at the long threads gracing the grass and get lost in the veins lining the leaves. When my mother wasn't looking, I would bite into a branch and taste the bitterness. I liked the crunchy chewiness of the pulp. I knew the weeping willow didn't mind. She was my friend.

The following summer, there was no more hanging clothes on the line. A big white box sat in the basement in the laundry room. My mother would stand at the washing machine fishing the clothes out of it to squeeze them between the rollers. I was not allowed in the that room, but could stand in the doorway to watch the drying machine go around in circles. I was easily bored by the whole process. Much to my mother's consternation I wandered off to explore other parts of the basement.

Our forays into the backyard to my weeping willow tree were few by that time. I remember when Daddy and Davy brought the kitchen table outside. It was a hot day and my cousins were there. Later, Mommy and Aunt Laura laid on the blanket in the sunshine wearing their swim suits. They didn't go into the creek to swim but sat talking and giggling while Nona and I sat under the magic tree playing with her little dishes with teenage cousin, Myrna watching over us.

"Don't go near the creek" I was warned so many times, I sang a song to the tree. "Don't go near the creek. It will take me away forever. My tree will really cry. Don't go near the creek." And I didn't. But, Dickie Culp did, and Bobby Baker did. They sat on the edge of the cement wall.  Willow had provided them with their pretend fishing poles which they held out over the water. Bobbie went home when his mother called him. Then, I watched when Dickie arched his back, dropped his fishing pole shaking his arms and fell into the water with his eyes open, not blinking, not moving and began to float away. I ran along beside him for a while calling his name. But, he did not answer.

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Recently, I used Google to look at the location where I lived as a little girl. I was disappointed to discover my willow tree is no longer there.