Recently I pondered tree-lined roads. My father grew up on one and so did my children. Is it possible that this kind of beauty skips a generation?

There is something inspiring and comforting about a tree-lined road where the branches scrape and groan in the wind, shedding limbs throughout the year and arch gracefully over a shadowy, darkened landscape. It's the kind of road made for movies where spectres lurk and shadows chase fear into the very hearts of all: the kind of road acting as a portal between worlds.

In the Game of Thrones the Dark Hedges road (Ireland) features in the scene where Arya and Gendry are fleeing from the King's Landing in Season Two. This backdrop lends itself willingly to such a fantasy. Imagination sparked by their ancient gnarly beauty creates a time warp, a place where anything is possible. Those trees oversaw the desolation of Ireland during the potato famine.

Ex-slaves, escaping their hard lives from the country south of us, purportedly planted the black locust trees, on my children’s road. In the spring, the trees' blossoms are filled with the sound of bees and the smell of heaven. These trees were sown by the hands of those that withstood unbearable suffering.

On the Pesserdijk Weg in Holland the trees that lined the road to my father's farm oversaw the devastation of World War Two and the young men walking by as they headed to the forest where they would remain hidden for weeks on end from the Nazi regime.

Long-lived trees are witnesses to our past. They watched the injustices and the joys that life offered. They remained steadfast, rooted deeply in the soil. Tolkien understood this when he wrote of the trees coming to life in his Lord of the Rings trilogy. They were fighting for all the evil they had observed over the years and for all the evil, yet to come.

Now when I walk south in the shadows of these trees that line this road I hear their song of hope, of resilience. But I also hear their long memory that stretches as far as they are tall.

I sat there with Tilly
We sat there, we two
On the old piano bench
That held both of us, too!

I picked up a book
I hope you don't mind
I picked up a book
It's sure quite a find.

A Dr. Seuss book
I will show it to you
I hope you don't mind at all if I do.

It's the words I play
Not even a note
It's the words I play
Words like boat and like goat. 

You see there is music wherever you go
There is music in words and in people
And... you know?
Yes, even in snow.

So listen real well, you'll see what I mean
Listen real well and you'll play just as keen.

Grandpa holds the key in his hand while he helps us to get into his truck. He closes the door behind us, smiles.
"Off on an adventure, I see. Don't be late for supper."
In Grandpa's truck I can see the world... well, sort of. Though I can't see over the dash, I can share, with my brother and sister, sights unheard of on this farm. 
The window is too high but that doesn't stop me from peering over the door, watching the roads pass like ribbons fastened to the back of a hat.  We are going to the fair. Ponies, tigers and unicorns on the carousel bounce up and down and their shadows beat against the sun-warmed truck. The cotton candy makes us sick and cranky. My brother and sister try to take the steering wheel. But they can't get it from me. I hang on tight.
We enter the desert, the wind blowing fiercely, scarring the windshield with the bursts of grit. The camels come close munching on something. But, I can't see what it is. One tries to put his head in the window to kiss me. I crawl behind my brother. He says he likes to be kissed by camels. My brother has the steering wheel now.
When I squint my eyes, the sun shines in prisms through the sandblasted glass. Colour spills onto the front seat and onto our laps.
My sister says that we're off to the Arctic, watching a walrus walk beside us. He talks in a deep voice about the joys of skating on thin ice. I get up on my knees and peer down to see if he has feet and skates. There is only snow and ice. He has disappeared.
A seal barks like a dog. He's warning us to stay in the truck because there are polar bears ahead. My brother and sister see them and tell me I should be very scared. I am.
I want to go back to Grandpa's. My sister drives us back while the road streams by. No one is hurt. Grandpa opens the door and lets us out. We run to Grandma to tell her where we've been and wonder if she was worried.
"No," Grandma said. "It is very safe in Grandpa's truck."