They would make us cut ours. If they didn't like it, we had to go get a better one...
By the time I was 12, there wasn't a tree for a half mile with a branch thinner than a finger within arm's reach... 
(And yep, I only ever got punished once for something I didn't do, and evaded punishment for so much more...)
Next to Gamma's farm house and near the crick there grew a huge willow tree. For those of you who don't know, Willow trees produce one other thing besides aspirin and small leaves. They produce switches. Now in todays enlightened era populated by progressive parents who give time-outs to kids, and good talkings to....it is a well-known fact that they believe that corporal punishment is child abuse. Thankfully parents didn’t know that in the 1950 and 60's.
My grandmom was a world champion switcher. She believed in the Bible and she didn’t “spare the rod”, or in my case, switch. Those of you raised in the country know where I am going with this. A kid acts up. Kid gets caught. For some reason getting caught was the easy part. After getting caught the ordeal was to begin. First, you got the SPEECH. Anyone who has ever been a kid knows the speech to which I am referring.
Next, came the really enjoyable part, getting sent to fetch the switch for the whipping that was to come. Out the back door you go and looming before you are those drooping branches swaying deceptively gentle, in the evening breeze. I would briefly think of picking one of the small green ones, the ones with the stiffness of a cooked spaghetti noodle. No, I did that once before and had to take the trip twice. So I pick a “goodun’”, and slowly walk back picking the leaves off one by one till you almost reach the end of the switch. Every good switch has to have a small rat tail of 4 or five leaves at the end...Not sure why....maybe just for aethstetic value!
After the whipping was done, you got handed the switch to do with as you pleased. A peace offering of sorts, or a reminder of your transgressions!
Several years ago I took a trip back to the farm. The old two story farm house was torn down years ago. The new owners replaced it a modern brick job with running water and indoor plumbing (one would guess). The new house was set back further from the road. It sits back where the outhouse (with the rabbit fur lined toliet seat Grampa made for Grandma use in the winter) used to be. But big as life sat the old Willow tree next to the creek just like it did in my childhood. Just like me the tree is a little worse for wear. Looked like it took a few hits from lightning and lost a few limbs to wind and rain....but she was still there.
