2020 CLICK! Photo Festival The FENCE

Denise Allen

I would not consider myself a true nature lover, but this area spoke to me in a way that I might not have been able to receive if it wasn’t during a pandemic. At a time were the simplest form of human contact is nearly impossible, I found this area to be very comforting. This large cluster of magnolia trees provided much needed shade under the branches and the branches intertwined with each other as if they are a group of old friends that coexist together and had history. The way that the roots and branches reach out felt very inviting to me. It was as if all of the trees had individual groves or spaces that I could easily fit in and feel included.

Neena and Bhavani Amma Sodhi

Neena Sodhi I am lucky to have my wonderful and beautiful mom with me at 96. She is the center of our extended family, supportive and caring for all of us. She remains very interested in the world and reads the NY Times every day. Sometimes we talk about her life, which goes from the mechanical age to the computer age. We have lived all over the world, but she has centered us and kept us on an even keel. How nice to have these years together! Bhavani Amma Sodhi I grew up in a land of trees. Coconut, jackfruit, mango and Anjali trees. We climbed trees and jumped into the river. We swing from the vines and move over the water. Papaya and mangoes were plucked and eaten. I had an amazing childhood! മരങ്ങൾ നിറഞ്ഞ ദേശത്താണ് ഞാൻ വളർന്നത്. തേങ്ങ, ജാക്ക്ഫ്രൂട്ട്, മാമ്പഴം, അഞ്ജലി മരങ്ങൾ. ഞങ്ങൾ മരങ്ങൾ കയറി നദിയിലേക്ക് ചാടുകയായിരുന്നു. ഞങ്ങൾ മുന്തിരിവള്ളികളിൽ നിന്ന് സ്വിംഗ് ചെയ്ത് വെള്ളത്തിന് മുകളിലൂടെ നീങ്ങും. പപ്പായയും മാമ്പഴവും പറിച്ചെടുത്ത് കഴിക്കുമായിരുന്നു. എനിക്ക് അതിശയകരമായ ഒരു ബാല്യമുണ്ടായിരുന്നു! എന്റെ മാതാപിതാക്കൾ മെയ്‌നിലെ ഗ്രാമപ്രദേശങ്ങളിലായിരുന്നു താമസിച്ചിരുന്നത് - ഞാനും അമ്മയും തടാകത്തിൽ പോയി മരങ്ങൾക്കടിയിൽ ഇരുന്നു നീന്തുക - ഇത് ഒരു അശ്രദ്ധ സമയമായിരുന്നു!

Neena and Bhavani Amma Sodhi

I grew up in a land of trees. Coconut, jackfruit, mango and Anjali trees. We climbed trees and jumped into the river. We swing from the vines and move over the water. Papaya and mangoes were plucked and eaten. I had an amazing childhood! മരങ്ങൾ നിറഞ്ഞ ദേശത്താണ് ഞാൻ വളർന്നത്. തേങ്ങ, ജാക്ക്ഫ്രൂട്ട്, മാമ്പഴം, അഞ്ജലി മരങ്ങൾ. ഞങ്ങൾ മരങ്ങൾ കയറി നദിയിലേക്ക് ചാടുകയായിരുന്നു. ഞങ്ങൾ മുന്തിരിവള്ളികളിൽ നിന്ന് സ്വിംഗ് ചെയ്ത് വെള്ളത്തിന് മുകളിലൂടെ നീങ്ങും. പപ്പായയും മാമ്പഴവും പറിച്ചെടുത്ത് കഴിക്കുമായിരുന്നു. എനിക്ക് അതിശയകരമായ ഒരു ബാല്യമുണ്ടായിരുന്നു! എന്റെ മാതാപിതാക്കൾ മെയ്‌നിലെ ഗ്രാമപ്രദേശങ്ങളിലായിരുന്നു താമസിച്ചിരുന്നത് - ഞാനും അമ്മയും തടാകത്തിൽ പോയി മരങ്ങൾക്കടിയിൽ ഇരുന്നു നീന്തുക - ഇത് ഒരു അശ്രദ്ധ സമയമായിരുന്നു!

Nancy Frank

Simply the Best There is something about this tree. Something that takes me to the first time I met her. Love at first sight. Was it the way she carried herself with open and accepting arms and words? The way light entered and moved through her space? Was it how she was grounded in all directions? It was all these things and so much more. Strong, stable, balanced. Feeling immediate and everlasting peace, I began to understand unconditional love, the gift of sharing life with a soul mate. This magnificent tree is a reflecting pool for my memories of her. Wonderful memories that fill my heart. Encourage me to be me. Remind me to appreciate every moment. She is magnificent now and always.

Kaidy Lewis

I find myself in a home in North Carolina, in an environment that makes me feel safe and content. On the second viewing, after my offer, I noticed the looming pylon! As a twenty year old, thirty year old and maybe even my forties, I would never have bought this house with a pylon in the back yard! So why now ? And what do the photographs made by Barbara mean to me? ‘For once you have tasted flight you will walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been and there you will long to return’ ( Leonardo da Vinci ) Leonardo da Vinci, is a fine example of someone blending science and art, curiosity and invention together. Judging progress or being fearful of science is understandable but just like the spectrum of any phenomenon it is healthy to strive to the midpoint where art and science meet in a harmony that benefits the majority. Still in 2021 we rage about this dichotomy. So the photographs I loved most were, where I looked comfortable, whole and blended with nature and at the same time celebrating humans endeavours to literally light up peoples’ homes. As a painter I use creativity to find these answers and bring me back to this midpoint. The midpoint cannot be sustained for long periods because we are alive, dynamic beings. We are part of the process and the result. Hence, it is all art.

Blythe Devlin

Barbara asked me to write a little something about what trees mean to me, so I’ve been trying to figure that out. Is it just that they are part of the natural world; is it their majesty as they tower above us; is it their fascinating architecture as they reach for the sun; is it the shade and peacefulness they provide; is it their strength to grow and flourish in spite of storms and droughts; is it their intricate connections with fungi and each other as part of a living forest; is it their signature barks and growth patterns that have been adapted to their environment over the years and centuries; is it their ability to evoke memories of places I’ve lived and traveled; is it their association with people I have loved and the experiences I shared with those people? Yes, that’s it. “Be like a tree. Stay grounded. Connect with your roots. Turn over a new leaf. Bend before you break. Enjoy your unique natural beauty. Keep growing”. Joanne Raptis

Jean Lecluyse

There is a lot to think about while drawing a tree and there is much to explore in rendering this physically complex subject. Trees fascinate me. Their majesty, rich symbolism, physical shape and texture make them a favorite subject for my drawings. Trees hold special visual appeal in the Fall and Winter. With the foliage gone the gorgeous textures of the bark and the intriguing twists and turns of the branches are a wonderful puzzle to try to draw. The shapes formed between the branches make stunning frames for clouds as they float by. The contrast of light and shadow on the trees at this time of year are especially dramatic. If the artist gets this right, it can make the difference between bland drawing and one that captures a spark of life in a tree.We all have lifelong relationships with the trees around us. Who doesn’t have treasured childhood memories of climbing trees, making treehouses, having a tree swing, using a neighborhood tree in a game of hide and seek or just resting in the shade of a favorite tree? We plant trees to memorialize a birth, a death, a historical event and we plant trees for the future generations to love and enjoy.

Johnny Randall

The heart of a tree – even in death - still beats with the life of other forest species. Think of all the stories stored in this ancient tulip poplar, which has stood in silent sentinel over the centuries. The bones of this old oak still stand and remind us that this giant was probably larger than the still standing tulip poplar in the background.

Natalie and Violet Knox

“Knock, knock, is anyone in there, Violet, do you hear Mr. Gnome?” Every time I am walking around outside with my daughter, I knock on a tree’s trunk to see if anyone will answer us back. One of the fun things about being a new parent is getting to be the conjurer of the mysteries and memories we bestow and create in our kids. Now Violet, almost two, knocks when she sees a tree. Realistically, I know what’s going to happen when I knock, so I wonder why I even do it… It’s not a revolutionary concept, that there are countless ways your life changes after you have a child of your own, but one thing that really changed for me is how much I look back and appreciate the mindset my mom instilled in me. Some of it is cultural and some of it is just uniquely, Coco. My mom is Mexican through and through and like most people from Mexico, very proud of it and rightly so. The Mexican culture is so rich in history, art, literature, food, just about everything. Mexican people have a whole genre of painting, writing, and film that combines the fantastical with realism. The idea of death isn’t necessarily something to be afraid of but another way to celebrate life. This idea is depicted in these art forms as well as it is deeply embedded in the Mexican culture and religion. My mom has always said to me that she will visit me when she passes, which led me as a child to ask, “well won’t that be scary?” To a reply of “how can it be scary if I love you so much?” My mom is the one who always taught me that the world is what you make of it, the mundane is not mundane if you find some beauty and magic in it, your imagination has no limits. These ideas have always been in mind, though I find that with each passing year, the mysteries of the world become a little less mysterious and oftentimes a little more bleak, cynicism creeps in. However, I am often reminded with my mom’s voice in my head, nudging my mind in a different direction—though I sometimes roll my eyes, I know I will share the same mentality with my kids. Saying the word ‘daughter’ makes me happy and fills me with pride. I have wanted to be a mom for as long as I can remember and getting to share the world and the potential of imagination and mysteries of life in the same way my mom has shown me, makes me so excited. And though, even as an adult I know for the most part what is logical and rational, there is always the question that remains… will someone answer back when I knock on the tree?

Holly Riddle, JD

Certain trees hold memories, their taproots taking us back to people that were once with us beneath these very bowers, lives intertwined with the roots of our own. It was 1976 when I met gay rights activist Lightning Brown, twenty years before he died in an earlier pandemic, AIDS. Housemates, Lightning and I shared a love of poetry and a caring for the Earth. He nurtured my calling to social justice with his often brave and ever brilliant political activism. Up by these roots, in this place and in those times, grew the foliage of my own life and its work.

Jade Jackson with Sydney and Christopher

We're so grateful to have had this time to create in a way that connects us as a family. To be in nature enjoying what already is and has been and creating something new through art and photography is both inspiring and confirming. This experience allows our family to honor our stories of the past as we begin to tell the new stories of our present. During this past year, the three of us have worked and schooled from home together along with the sweeping majority of the rest of our planet and in this time we have focused more than ever before on our relationships with one another as well as our relationships with ourselves. It's given us more reason to reflect on our impact, our journey, our own personal legacies. Which has meant more time together in nature as well as alone in nature. This has been where we can feel most grounded in a freeing way. The opportunity to grow and flourish while staying firmly planted continues to allow us to define our legacies and it's one of the biggest joys to be able to do that together as a family. Wow, this was hard to write and even harder to scale down. I hope I properly understood the prompt and again thank you for incorporating us it was uplifting at just the right time.

Judith Ernst

Growing up in Western Oregon in the 1950’s, we were surrounded by giant, old growth trees. They were everywhere and we took that environment for granted. My father had a degree in forestry from the University of Washington, a Southern California boy who had fallen in love with the Pacific Northwest. He worked for the BLM (a different BLM—the Bureau of Land Management) and spent much of his early career in the woods, though later he became more of an in-the-office bureaucrat. In short, I grew up around forests without thinking much about them and not taking the time to know much about them, either. They were ubiquitous, and my dad took care of the “knowing” part. When we moved to North Carolina and bought our house on two acres of land outside of Chapel Hill, I remember the first time my parents came to visit. My father couldn’t believe the rich variety of trees on our little parcel of land. Though there are many different tree species in Western Oregon, it is dominated by just a few varieties of mostly conifers. He finally called up some NC state department of forestry and was told that there were something like 37 different kinds of oak trees in the state (I remember the number 37, though a quick search shows Duke University noting 29 species.) He was stunned. I still don’t know much about the trees on our property, nor can I very easily identify many of them. But over the nearly 30 years we’ve lived on the property I’ve noticed changes, seen trees go down, and had to have some very large trees taken out that threatened damage if they fell. I’ll never forget the morning after Hurricane Fran hit. We had 12 huge trees (mostly tulip poplars) lined up like cordwood along our driveway, 5 trees on our house, and around 55 trees in total down on our 2-acre property. It felt like the forest came down around us, though surprisingly, we still have many, many trees of all sizes left. Going outside that morning, the quiet was palpable, and yet behind that quietude, I could almost sense the forest trembling.

Keith Allen

This large white oak tree stands guard in a corner of my front yard. The house where I live was built by Civil War veteran of whom some locals still had personal memories when I took up residence in 1988. The frame of this photo is white oak, which was once the wood of choice for “mission” furniture, popular beginning around 1900.

Kim and Neil Moore

The Growing Tree There is a Kwanzan Cherry tree in our yard. In the spring it comes alive with beautiful pink blossoms and in the autumn its bright green leaves turn a brilliant burgundy before falling earthward. It was a sapling when we moved into our Chapel Hill home with our two young sons. Through the years I have watched all three grow as they cycle through their seasons. Our boys have left Chapel Hill to take root elsewhere. Children, like trees, require little nurturing once mature. The Kwanzan Cherry remains a steady metronome that reminds me of their growth and the joy of life’s seasons. Bonding with Nature The pandemic has significantly impacted the lives of many. While the loss of life has been horrific and the pain and suffering immense, not all of the effects have been negative. The upending of our daily routine has allowed us to see and appreciate the joy and beauty of our surroundings. This past year we have spent many hours walking at Carolina North, Duke Forest, and other local trails. We’ve also spent more time sitting on our patio and discovering the nature in our yard. We’ve been fortunate to have developed deeper bonds with nature – and with each other.

Charlotte

Charlotte, Thoughts from a Parent It’s important to me that my child knows that she and the natural world belong to one another. We spend so much of life teaching children to divorce themselves from their senses, to ignore the “distractions” of the world around them, to treat the natural world – dirt, worms, ants, dead leaves, weeds, mud pits – as something inherently dangerous or disgusting. In truth, however, bodies are not meant stand apart from the rest of the natural world, carefully preserved in pristine clothing and thick shoes. Rather, we were shaped over the course of evolution through engagement with the natural world, and our bodies are testament to this close contact. We have toes that grip – let us use them to climb trees. We have a pincer grasp – let us use it to sort pebbles by their texture. We have a protective barrier of skin – let us feel the wind, sunshine, and rain pound upon it. To feel at home, and a sense of belonging, in the physical world around her, this is the powerful birthright I wish for my daughter to claim. Thoughts from Grampa Many years ago, I instructed for Outward Bound. The founding theme of these schools is that it is only through exposure to hardship and challenge that we realize that the limits we think bind us are artificial and of our own making. One of the vehicles used by OB was ropes courses: leaping, balancing, swinging high above the forest floor. With their parents, I help build the means for Charlotte and her brother, Finn, to begin that adventure, to know the thrill and satisfaction the outdoors can afford us. The hope is to expand these structures as their skills, bodies, and confidence grow.

Amy Lark and LL

LL, LL, what do you see? I see the world looking at me! Dream big, explore often, ask questions, listen, work hard, stay humble….and love yourself. All these (in no particular order), I hope for you, my sweet boy. When life seems to loom over you as a shadow of doubt, remember the courage and curiosity of this place…looking up towards the light along this massive tree…and how you can channel the strength and resilience of nature, always. Never alone in the woods; home to many souls and disguised connections to our past and days ahead. Look up, see your potential, and know I am with you always.

Michael Goy and Kathy Dunlap

KD: As an amateur woodworker, I spend much of my time appreciating wood for its practical uses, its beauty when buffed to a soft finish, and the way a well-planed edge reflects the light and highlights the grain. But trees in their natural form offer something entirely different—a quiet strength, an invitation to reflect, an opportunity for gratitude, a celebration of their existence. This tree said to me, “sit here in this nook I’ve created, make yourself comfortable, and admire me!” MG: Every molecule in existence vibrates, under the influence of its intrinsic thermal and kinetic energy… and when that energy enters our ears, we hear the universe singing. There is an undeniable beauty in the spontaneous resonances that naturally surround us—a soft wind sighing through the trees, a gentle rain falling on the roof, a raging river tumbling to the sea. But vibrations can also be deliberately sculpted by a composer or a performer to produce intentional music of the most achingly exquisite poignancy. In this context, the stringed wooden instruments have always produced what are, for me, the most magnificent of musical timbres. And of course, every wooden instrument starts with a tree. When I pick up a guitar, with its fine wooden face, its sturdy wooden neck, and its powerfully braced wooden bridge, I sense the immense acoustic power inherent in its design. And when I coax the instrument to release its sounds, I feel that an ancient tree is speaking through me.

Natalie and Violet Knox

“Knock, knock, is anyone in there, Violet, do you hear Mr. Gnome?” Every time I am walking around outside with my daughter, I knock on a tree’s trunk to see if anyone will answer us back. One of the fun things about being a new parent is getting to be the conjurer of the mysteries and memories we bestow and create in our kids. Now Violet, almost two, knocks when she sees a tree. Realistically, I know what’s going to happen when I knock, so I wonder why I even do it… It’s not a revolutionary concept, that there are countless ways your life changes after you have a child of your own, but one thing that really changed for me is how much I look back and appreciate the mindset my mom instilled in me. Some of it is cultural and some of it is just uniquely, Coco. My mom is Mexican through and through and like most people from Mexico, very proud of it and rightly so. The Mexican culture is so rich in history, art, literature, food, just about everything. Mexican people have a whole genre of painting, writing, and film that combines the fantastical with realism. The idea of death isn’t necessarily something to be afraid of but another way to celebrate life. This idea is depicted in these art forms as well as it is deeply embedded in the Mexican culture and religion. My mom has always said to me that she will visit me when she passes, which led me as a child to ask, “well won’t that be scary?” To a reply of “how can it be scary if I love you so much?” My mom is the one who always taught me that the world is what you make of it, the mundane is not mundane if you find some beauty and magic in it, your imagination has no limits. These ideas have always been in mind, though I find that with each passing year, the mysteries of the world become a little less mysterious and oftentimes a little more bleak, cynicism creeps in. However, I am often reminded with my mom’s voice in my head, nudging my mind in a different direction—though I sometimes roll my eyes, I know I will share the same mentality with my kids. Saying the word ‘daughter’ makes me happy and fills me with pride. I have wanted to be a mom for as long as I can remember and getting to share the world and the potential of imagination and mysteries of life in the same way my mom has shown me, makes me so excited. And though, even as an adult I know for the most part what is logical and rational, there is always the question that remains… will someone answer back when I knock on the tree?

Nerys Levy

I have lived in the heart of this forest on the edge of Carrboro for thirty years and am the steward of hundreds of trees and their attendant wild life.Part of my property falls under the Triangle Land Conservancy ‘s easement program resulting in their careful monitoring of plant life and trees along Morgan Creek, the natural boundary of my property. My entire forest falls under a covenant which prohibits the cutting down of trees with trunks larger than 12” in diameter. My deceased husband and I moved here from California where we had witnessed unbridled environmental devastation by property developers. The opportunity to be effective stewards of the land was not only appealing but was also what we considered to be our part in arresting environmental degradation and consequently climate change. The beech trees in this image keep their orange leaves throughout the winter. Their warm glow elevates my spirits during the winter months and the shedding of their leaves heralds the coming of Spring. Living in and with nature is both thrilling and humbling. I take my job as steward of the land seriously. Each tree matters- but these beech trees are special.

Judy Van Wyk

We’ve suffered a great loss in our neighborhood over the past many months. Dozens of the majestic oaks that shade the streets of Forest Hills have succumbed to old age, their death heralded by the grinding din of chainsaws. Then last March, just as the country was going into lockdown, I discovered a dogwood sapling in full bloom – with pink flowers no less! Examining its perfectly formed, cross-shaped flowers took me back to my childhood when dogwoods ushered in the lushness of warm spring days. And recessive pink dogwoods, though always special, were not so rare. In the years since, our state tree has been seriously threatened by a fungus that nearly wiped them out in some areas. So, to come upon a young pink dogwood flourishing just as we confronted a new reality ruled by a potentially deadly contagion felt like a revelation. For me, those delicate pink blossoms signified resurrection — giving me hope that we would survive the pandemic and find a path towards renewal.

Whispering secrets with a best friend

Rebecca Neigher

My most memorable tree adventures happened in the Pisgah National Forest where my aunt, uncle and two cousins lived in a log cabin in the middle of nowhere. To my parents’ dismay, my uncle had loaded guns sitting around everywhere. My cousin actually carried her own pistol by the time she was six to frighten bears and moonshiners off the trails she was exploring. Together we searched for just the right hard wood trees to make bows, arrows, and slingshots. Then we looked for springy sticks and she’d pull out her pocketknife and we’d take turns sharpening the ends to a point and stuck rotten apples on the tips. With practice you could hurl them and knock the tin cans off the fence or hurt someone. My Uncle was a kaleidoscopic guy. He told me he shot a thief dead when he was a kid. Was it true? I could see a gunshot hole in his front door. He loved Civil War history and was prepared to refight any battle or expound on the mistakes of the generals on both sides. He recited poems by Bobbie Burns from memory. One time, tipsy on bourbon and branch, he drove his motorboat up into a field, scraping a birch tree and nearly killing a cow. He loved to read and that’s where he and my father connected. Deciding he wanted to make more money, my Uncle bought property on a huge TVA lake near town. He went into the tile and marble business and cleared away trees and built a house up from the lake. The roof was white marble chunks and the entire inside, floor to ceiling was either tile or marble. He wanted low maintenance and said you could just hose down the entire house inside and out. And he did. He realized he wanted to be closer to the lake, so he rented the tile house and bought two double wides and took them apart and rearranged them into two huge rooms and numerous small bedrooms. He added a stick built giant deck on the back. Every night he could sit and watch the sun go down with his Scottish Collie, Jim, at his feet. Curiously, to the left of the trailers, he planted two trees very close together. I found out he’d read Ovid and was touched by the story of Zeus and Hermès being fed by a very old and poor couple. To reward their generosity Zeus granted them two wishes. Philemon spoke the most important one. “Will you make us die together? Will you make us die in the same moment, so that I will not have to stand by her grave, so that she will not have to bury me?” Zeus granted his wish and after living many happy and prosperous years, Philemon saw Baucis in the garden staring at her feet. He joined her and together they gradually transformed into two trees. Their limbs entwined and the Oak and the Linden grew together. In the very last moment, they whispered “Goodbye, dearest one”. I have many more tree stories; misty mornings in Laurel Canyon where I lived in a room built on the roof of a house. And moving into a house with coral trees next to mimosa, next to jade, next to lemon and fig, next to pine and palm trees in my yard. I cherished this variety and was heartbroken when the people bought our house and tore out these wonders for, can you believe it, grass??!!! Now I’m in the woods with loblolly pines, hickory, beech and oaks. They grow tall but not wide. A storm created a wonder in our front yard by blowing down a huge oak. It kindly fell away from our house and now we have a giant 15 foot intricate root in our front yard. Can’t wait to see who moves in.

Mary Wall Garren

It took a pandemic to open my eyes to trees. Trees, to me, were places to put a child’s swing and sources of blazing color in the fall, were sources of shade but pollen to make me sneeze, providers of my favorite fruits but sources of leaves to be raked in the fall, loblolly pine trees on ancestral land to be cut and sold and replanted, but I only saw the forest, not the trees, really. And then the forest became a refuge from the confinement and isolation of a vicious Covid 19 pandemic. Hiking the trails of our parks, preserves, nature conservancies, and local woods give relief from my anxiety and stress. I’ve always enjoyed looking for wildflowers, exotic mushrooms, and other interesting phenomena but I began noticing, really noticing trees. First, I was fascinated by those little open places near the roots of trees that I fancied were places little woods fairies or hobbits could live. I took almost one hundred photos with the idea that I would have a housing advertisement for any interested hobbits or fairies. That easily evolved into noticing other distinguishing features of trees I would see on my hikes and wondering what kind of tree it was. I decided to exercise my brain and expand my appreciation of trees. I wanted to learn to recognize trees and started in winter using only bark for clues; loving descriptions like “lenticels visible” or “looks like burned cornflakes” or “shaggy”! Oh, joy! I might now recognize a half-dozen and I’m eagerly awaiting the emergence of leaves for clues but trees will continue to be another source of education, delight, and wonder.

Chieko Murasugi

I had not seen a crepe myrtle tree until I visited Chapel Hill in 2012. There were four of them flowering pink and white in the front yard of the house we chose to buy. I was enthralled. Having grown up in Toronto and then residing in San Francisco for over twenty years, the crepe myrtle was truly exotic. The peeling bark reminded me of the California eucalyptus, and the bright pink flowers, of the hibiscus I remember from trips to Florida. A Carolinian landscape designer told me that the crepe myrtles’ peeling bark makes a mess, and that the magnolia tree is the trashiest in the South. Maybe so, I laugh. I’m so accustomed to maples and redwoods that these southern trees are enchanting to me, like the peaches ‘n cream stereotype of genteel southern ladies.

Mirinda Kossoff

I grew up playing alone in the woods and looking for crawdads in a creek near my house. I collected rocks and built house layouts with the twigs and moss I found. As a young adult, I hiked part of the Appalachian Trail. I’ve always turned to nature for comfort and serenity. When spring arrives and the songbirds return, I’m filled with hope and delight. Nature is my cathedral. I need nothing more.

Nora Gaskin and Steve Esthimer

I am a writer. I grew up in Orange County, on Mount Carmel Church Road. Now I live on the Chatham County side of Edwards Mountain, not far from the woods and fields I knew as a child, especially as the crow flies. This is my native landscape, where I am at home. In this photograph, I lean against a poplar tree I can see from the window in my writing space. I write mysteries and I have come to realize the Piedmont landscape is perfect for suspense. We cannot see over the next hill around the next bend in the road, or what lies below the surface of the river. My husband hangs windchimes in the woods and they translate unseen air currents into sound. I write to pick up those sounds and to find out where stories will take me. Author of Until Proven, Time of Death, and The Worst Thing

Steven Esthimer

When I was a kid, trees were kindred spirits. They grew, they towered, they also toppled, just like humans. The best times I had with trees was in one of the many (I can remember five) tree huts my siblings and neighborhood friends and I built. We could clamber up through the branches or steps we nailed into the trunks to reach heights that were scary. But once inside the burlap bag walls of our structures, usually just a platform made from scrap wood, we were safe. We were part of the tree. It hugged us, as we later learned people hugged trees.

Natalie Boorman

The tree in this photo evokes memories of my favorite childhood tree. As a child I lived on a farm in southern Minnesota. Every morning I woke up looking out of my bedroom window at my favorite tree. It was a tall evergreen with many branches. These branches were good for climbing. I easily climbed to the top of my tree, sat there and ate my snack. I felt invisible in a good way. I would daydream, watch the clouds and could see cars go by on our road and the road farther away. They could not see me ( so I thought). I had a clear view and felt I could see forever. Not a care in the world, what a wonderful feeling. The tree in this photo is outside the window of my art studio. I look at it a lot, though there aren’t branches low enough for me to climb. I still have that same sense of freedom when I look at it or touch it. I feel the freedom to breath in the fresh air and take in the sky as I look up at it. Relationships with trees are nurturing and forgiving. I don’t know if my favorite tree in Minnesota is still there. If it is or not, I want to thank it for being my faithful companion, giving me a source of comfort, solace and even adventure.

Deborah Hauser

The Magnolia tree evokes clear, happy memories of my childhood. My grandma had an enormous Magnolia tree in her front yard on her farm in Chatham County. It was as tall as her two story house and stood strong for about a hundred years until it was struck by lightning. When I was a child, my siblings and I climbed that tree and played in the dirt along the roots. One lateral branch was large enough for two or three of us to sit on it, pretending to ride that branch like a horse. My older brother would pull the branch down and bounce us up for a ride. We used our hands, rocks and twigs to dig, scrape and build little villages along the exposed roots. In the summer, the magnolia provided shade and lemony aroma of it’s tremendous, long lasting blossoms. The magnolia tree is symbolic for me in its strength, endurance, love and healing.