This brought tears to my eyes, memories of my childhood tree. It was my solace, my freedom. In its branches, I could hide from the world below. Because we lived on a hill, from the top, I could see that world. It was such a big world, with houses and people and the north shore mountains as the backdrop. The house, the tree, are long gone and living no where but in my memory but I will always remember that in that tree my love of nature, my hopes and dreams were born. Thank you.
I didn't finish this epoch book The Overstory, but it won the Pulitzer Prize. It's about people and their relationship to trees told in a series of short stories in the first half of the book. The first story is about someone who planted a tree on his property and then took photographs of it monthly for decades and passed the legacy on to his son and grandson to continue a photographic history of this one tree.
We have a great big pine in our yard. It isn't a regular pine. It is what we used to call a stone pine. Unlike the soft would normally found in pine trees, stone pine have wood that is hard to cut with gnarled grains that make most interesting wood pieces but are the devil to work with. This particular tree is at least 30 feet tall and has wild twisted branches. I would not even want to hazard a guess as to its age but it looks old. I have often wondered what stories it could tell if only it could talk.
I would love to be able to hear the stories trees could tell. Our silent witnesses to so much of life. When I was young, I used to imagine the rustling of leaves in the wind was trees whispering and that if I could only listen harder, I'd hear what they were saying.
I figured this wood be good. And it was. 😉
Leaf it alone! I can't take any more humor on this vein.
You are bark-ing up the wrong tree.
I can see you have deep rooted problems. This conversation is sap-ping my strength.
This brought tears to my eyes, memories of my childhood tree. It was my solace, my freedom. In its branches, I could hide from the world below. Because we lived on a hill, from the top, I could see that world. It was such a big world, with houses and people and the north shore mountains as the backdrop. The house, the tree, are long gone and living no where but in my memory but I will always remember that in that tree my love of nature, my hopes and dreams were born. Thank you.
I'm so glad this touched your heart. You know how I feel about trees!
This reminds me of the beginning of The Overstory.
I don't know Overstory. What's the premise?
I didn't finish this epoch book The Overstory, but it won the Pulitzer Prize. It's about people and their relationship to trees told in a series of short stories in the first half of the book. The first story is about someone who planted a tree on his property and then took photographs of it monthly for decades and passed the legacy on to his son and grandson to continue a photographic history of this one tree.
I am literally staring at a copy of it that I have not started 😄
Hmm. Are you procrastinating or busy with other reading?
Definitely busy with other reading. But it is an intimidating volume.
An interesting concept. I take it you didn't find it riveting?
I love trees, so I was looking forward to this book. Yet I couldn't stay with it to connect the seemingly unrelated people. 612 pages seemed daunting.
That's a lot. I sometimes note that books that are chosen for prizes aren't particularly engaging reads.
I loved how you told this tree's story over the course of time. Great story, Dascha!
Thank you, Justin. 😊
We have a great big pine in our yard. It isn't a regular pine. It is what we used to call a stone pine. Unlike the soft would normally found in pine trees, stone pine have wood that is hard to cut with gnarled grains that make most interesting wood pieces but are the devil to work with. This particular tree is at least 30 feet tall and has wild twisted branches. I would not even want to hazard a guess as to its age but it looks old. I have often wondered what stories it could tell if only it could talk.
I would love to be able to hear the stories trees could tell. Our silent witnesses to so much of life. When I was young, I used to imagine the rustling of leaves in the wind was trees whispering and that if I could only listen harder, I'd hear what they were saying.
A tree story will always make me smile. Thank you, Wild Tree and Dascha
As you know, I love trees! I think I was a dryad in another life.