A cast of children from the various grades performed
appropriate skits and readings while their classmates
in the audience fidgeted and teachers shushed. Six or
seven little girls in tree-shaped cardboard costumes
scampered around the stage eventually forming
into a forest; piano accompanyment for the entire
pastoral extravaganza was provided by the nimble
but oftimes erring fingers of Mrs. Nichols. Usually,
to close out this annual ceremony, an outwardly
nervous boy in a white shirt, freshly startched but
a bit too large and looking sheepish wearing
his father's necktie, shuffled onto center
stage and haltingly recited Joyce
Kilmer's arboreal ode, TREES.

The program ended and we filed out to regroup
in the schoolyard where our Principal, with due
solemnity, proceeded to plant a bush in a seldom
used corner of the yard. A tree would have been
nice but certainly far too expensive; after all, we
were only a small school but it was "our bush"
and it would bloom forever in our memory
as fitting rememberance of this day,
"Our Arbor Day!"

Well now, I don't hear too much these days
about Arbor Day. Kids don't have special
assemblies in school, Principals probably
don't plant bushes in schoolyard corners
anymore and the newspapers don't even
feature those photos of local politicians
turning a shovelful of dirt so that workmen
can later dig the hole and plant an Elm
or Maple there but what the heck,
go out and hug a tree anyway!