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(Note: This blog post may also be found at www.appalachianmorning.blogspot.com.)
The older I get the more I love trees and the more photographs I seem to take of them. They crop up everywhere, these photos of trees. When I travel, I notice the architecture, the artwork, the people, the climate, the food -- but what I notice most of all are the trees.
When winter presses glaring whiteness against every window in our house, it is the trees I notice first -- their ink-like branch-strokes creating veins and arteries against the light grey February sky or their ice-covered bark holding on against weight and gravity or snapping like gunshots in the woods behind our place. (See photo below of the view from our kitchen window in the wintertime.)
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When I remember being a little girl, my happiest afternoons were summers spent in the shade of a tall tree, on a blanket, playing with dolls. Here I am at age 10 picking oranges from the tree in my grandparents' yard in Bradenton, Florida.
In high school, my parents and I moved into a new house in northeastern Ohio, right on the Pennsylvania border, and my dad promptly set about transplanting small trees from nearby woods into our yard. By the time I was off to college, he had quite a nice, park-like backyard. He and Mom would rest in the hammock there, looking up at the trees. Here is Dad in 1982, with my eldest child, Bryce…introducing him to the joys of lawn care.
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When I was nineteen and everything seemed to be before me, I stood at the top of Blanket Hill at Kent State and roll…roll...rolled down the leaf-strewn grass, passing trees who were teenagers also.
As a young mother in Sarasota, Florida, I took my sons, an old sheet, and some snacks and off we would go to the grounds of the Ringling Mansion. (Now, you can't just drive back to the grounds and wander aimlessly, but then you could.) There was a huge banyan tree there and that's where we'd sit and look out at the Intracoastal Waterway, the sail- and motorboats passing by, the pink stone facade of John Ringling's house so near we could almost pretend it was our house too. Here is a photo of us there, in 1984! Jesse is on the left and Bryce is on the right.
I went through a period of years where I didn't think much about trees; there were more pressing matters and, after all, trees always seem to be around when you get back to noticing them. They are patient that way. Eventually, though, I ended up back in Ohio in an old two-story house with a bedroom window that looked right out onto the boughs of a huge maple tree. When we moved there in March 1999, nothing much was happening, leaf-wise, but soon the buds, then leaves appeared, and then the morning bird sounds broke through the silence of cold winter nights, and I loved it so much that I knelt beside the open window at dusk, my heart filled with thankfulness at all the good that was in my life, even though when I look back on it now, I realize life was more than a little difficult. Maybe that's why the steadfast beauty of a big tree meant so much.
So, here are some of my tree photos, in no particular order. There will be subsequent tree posts, because I have so many photos and continue to take even more. At one time I kept an album of tree photos, thinking one day I would do a large painting and all these photos would come in handy. But now I just want the photos, and in many cases the stories that go with the trees that are in them.
AUTUMN
The bright tree above is what we see out of our kitchen window in the fall. There is our bird feeder with the visiting goldfinches.
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On the same morning I was standing out in the backyard in my robe, camera in hand, taking the photo above, I began to hear loud scurrying sounds among the branches. This tree, below, was acting as an early morning freeway system for a slew of squirrels who were chasing each other along the thicker branches, as if they'd already been hyped up on coffee for an hour or so.
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SPRING
I love the way trees look when their leaves are just starting to emerge. They remind me of lace…like a Victorian beauty in fancy, somewhat transparent layers of pale fabric. I love seeing the branches through the tender, young leaves.
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All photos copyright Janice Phelps Williams. All rights reserved.