Sandy, is now too old to count, she spends her days resting in the quad, giving shade and only moving when the wind comes. She is almost 75 years old. Sandy has not always been that way, old, still and tucked away in the Dickinson academic quad. When she was young, she use to run and play on the beaches of France with her sapling friends. She loved the beach, the sand, the salty air, and the foamy waves. And so did her friends. But there comes a time, in all trees lives, where they must settle their roots and start their adult life. When sandy was three months old, her friends all drifted away in the wind and settled their roots in farmer’s yards, outside of towns, or in parks. But sandy couldn’t leave the beach. Sand tried her very best to stay in the sand she loved, but sand is not a climate a big tree can grow in. The earth was not firm enough. But she tried her best. The water that licked her roots through the sand, was filled with salt and poisoned her insides. She became very sick and didn’t think she would live through the rest of the summer of 1944. She began to die on the beach of Normandy. One day there was a loud banging. Men shooting everywhere, land mines exploding, and the sand become blood stained and littered with bodies. Planes filled the sky, boats filled the shores, and bunkers exploded. Her quiet beach was the scene of destruction. As Sandy was dying, so where hundreds of people around her. A man lay next to her, missing his arm, plucked her out of the ground and put her in his cargo pocket. He said “if I ever make it home I’ll plant you in my home town and you’ll make the beauty that will let me forget about this day”. The man was saved by his comrades and shipped home. And just like he promised he planted sandy in his home town of Carlisle. The next thing sandy knew, she was being planted between limestone buildings in a grassy field. Her roots took and she was nursed by the clean rain water. She grew for seventy years. She saw; the re-birth of a country in the fifties, the social changes of the sixties, the style of the seventies, she heard the music of the eighties, the overalls of the nineties, and the technology of the two thousands. She became old, tall, and strong. She has seen high snow, in the storm of 1996, and storms with strong winds, such as the one in 2012. She is tall and strong, and most of these things don’t affect her. Sometimes she coughs from the smog in the air, and dreams about the clear air on the beaches in France, but for the most part she it happy and likes her home at Dickinson College. Now she, spends her days, not running on the beach, or in a man’s pockets but, watching students walk to class and study in little red chairs, and even occasionally, play games under her shade. Every once in a while, the man, now very old, comes and sits under her shade, and thanks her for her beauty. He and Sandy count their blessings.