I imagine that lots of farmkids had a tree at the old home place that they grew sort of attached to. Maybe it was a venerable oak with a tire swing attached. Maybe it was a sturdy fruit tree with branches just right for climbing when the fruit was ripe. Maybe it was a lone maple in a field somewhere that made a special thinking spot. But trees are part of farm life, and farmkids don't forget them. My own tree isn't a single one, but a type.

Early on, I learned that Grandma had a special recipe for hickory nut cake, and that the mere mention of it caused my dad to head for the kitchen.

Late in the season, when the nuts began to fall, I remember heading out to one hickory tree that stood all by itself in the middle of a field out by Grandma's. Bushel baskets in hand, we would trudge down the path and return loaded with the things. In Grandma's cool garage, we would sit and shell hickory nuts until we'd gone through the whole batch. We got the easy job.

After we'd gone home to supper, Grandma would crack the inner nuts and pick out all the nutmeats. She must have loved those nuts ... and Daddy ... because I've since done some of that job myself and it's no fun.

But the hickory nut tree in the field wasn't the only one to crop up during my childhood days on the farm.

During our family wienie roasts in the woods at the back of the farm, we'd gather wood for a fire (way too much, according to Mom) and hunt nuts to pass the time as the fire burned down.

Some of the shaggy-barked hickory trees in the woods are long past bearing nuts, but those still producing are a source of treasures for the grandchildren who attend the annual Boehm Family Wienie Roast these days.

I wasn't thinking much about the hickory trees until just the other day. My husband recently accepted a long-awaited job as a music pastor at a church in Millington, Michigan. We'd hunted and hunted for a place to rent while we were learning the lay of the land and adjusting to our new surroundings. We were lucky enough to find a peach of a house just outside town.

As we stood in the kitchen, our landlord-to-be pointed outside to the lots next door. "We own those, too," she said. "Your kids can play over there. And that tree there with the bird feeder is a hickory."

Well, well. A hickory tree that I can see from my kitchen window. Things can't get much better than that!

I'll be thinking about hickory trees a lot more in the future, I expect, and maybe even shelling some of the darned things for my dad. And I think I'll adjust to Michigan just fine. Somebody up in heaven must have wanted to make me feel at home here, with a special reminder of the trees that this farmkid will never forget.

Although Jennie now lives in Millington, Michigan, she hails from a farm near Sherwood and is the author of a dozen children's books.