“When you go out into the woods, and you look at trees,
you see all these different trees.
And some of them are bent, and some of them are straight,
and some of them are evergreens, and some of them are whatever.
And you look at the tree and you allow it.
You see why it is the way it is. You appreciate the tree.

The minute you get near humans, you lose all that.
And you are constantly saying ‘You are too this, or I’m too this.’
That judgment mind comes in.
And so I practice turning people into trees.
Which means appreciating them just the way they are.” – Ram Dass.

I love trees. I grew up in Ontario, Canada climbing maple trees (to spy on the neighbours, of course), traversing fallen oaks across creeks, and collecting bright red and yellow leaves in the autumn to give to my mother who I’m sure would have preferred them to stay outside where they belonged.  But she obligingly helped me iron them between wax paper and paste them into school projects.  We raked the leaves in our yard into massive piles and took flying leaps. We shuffled through the dried leaves in the gutter just to hear the satisfying crunch under our shoes. Those trees and associated memories are deeply ingrained in my core.

Since moving to Northern California over 20 years ago, I’ve been amazed by and learned to love the trees here – statuesque redwoods and tangled Monterey pines. But I was homesick those first years and struggled to appreciate them as much as the ones back home.  Of course it wasn’t just the trees I was comparing, other things were judged and found wanting as well.  But it was the trees that slowly tugged my heart and eventually helped convince me that this could be home. And? There are maples and oaks here too.

My daughter was born in Northern California and so everything surrounding her, including the trees, are a part of her core memories and sense of home.  She climbs the bay tree in our backyard (although we don’t have neighbours close enough to spy on), hugs the ones she loves most and clambers over the fallen giants when we visit redwood groves.  At a park in our hometown, she grew up swinging and climbing with the redwoods towering over her, and played on the remains of an old mill next to a stream.

I can see the baby and the young girl she was once in the pre-teen she is currently. Watching her grow has helped me practice acceptance and tolerance of the place, people – and trees – where I am now.  It’s all connected.  Even my photography practice and the community that surrounds it are a part of that story.

cheers,
kim