Zora Hurston and the Chinaberry Tree

Zora Hurston loved the chinaberry tree.
Her mother taught her to climb it, one branch at a time.
From the tree, she could see as far as the lake, as far as the horizon.
Zora dreamed of fishing in the lake, catching bream and catfish in the moonlight.
Zora dreamed of seeing the cities beyond the horizon, of living there one day.
But only boys fished in the lake, only men traveled to the cities.
Zora watched with envy as the wagons rattled down the dusty roads.
Her father told her to wear a dress, to leave tree-climbing to wild boys who had no better way to spend their time.
He told her to read the Bible every day, learn verses she could recite in Sunday school.
He warned her about girls who didn’t obey their fathers, girls who didn’t grow up to be young ladies. But Zora only listened to her mother.
She taught Zora that everything had a voice: the trees and rushing wind, the stars in the midnight sky.
She taught Zora that the world belonged to her, even the lake and far-off horizon.
So Zora went everywhere.
She walked into the town store and watched while the men played checkers.
She asked questions and more questions until the men taught her how to play.