By Amanda Curtis, Staff Writer
“Faster, faster, we need another master,” was a daily used phrase by elementary schoolers in the 90s as a team of “masters” would circle the merry-go-round. The ultimate goal? Spin it so fast that the riders would either throw up, be flung off or beg for mercy until it stopped. That’s how a kid knew they were a master spinner.
Of course, the famous playground staple only allows for so many players at a time, so while waiting a turn, kids were enjoying the “who can skip the most rungs” monkey-bars competition, burning their “tushie” on the way down the metal slide or trying their hardest to swing so high that they actually circled around the set in a 180 degree dream come true.
However, if children who weren’t the competitive type or were just having a non-social day, could be found under “the tree.” If you went to school at Lewis County, you know which tree is being spoken of. Stand at the school’s railing at the corner of Park Avenue and West Fourth and point your eyes toward the columns. THAT tree: The one boys would use as “base” in a game of tag, the tree that girls would sit under and pick those little white flowers, tie them together and make necklaces, bracelets and head wreathes. That tree could tell more secrets than your younger sibling or “bff,” but it never would because, well, it’s a tree. Your secret’s safe.
But it’s not just any tree. It is THAT tree. Unfortunately, that tree has been “broken by the wind,” as Tanya Tucker once sang, and down with it goes childhood memories that will never be made, but also some that will never be forgotten.