I loved the pine tree outside my bedroom window. I watched it grow almost 20 feet and stand tall through all kinds of weather. When the oil tank was removed, my pine tree’s stability was compromised.
I’ll miss the way the snow rested on it’s branches and the way I felt protected by it’s presence. Below is one of my favorite photos of
My Pine Tree.
View our my window. © melabee m miller
According to the book, The History of Arbor Day, found on The Arbor Day Foundation website, the first Arbor Day was April 10, 1872 in Nebraska where over one million trees were planted. All thanks to J. Sterling Morton and his wife, pioneers who moved from Detroit to the Nebraska Territory in 1854. As the editor of a Nebraska newspaper, Morton advocated tree planting as much for his love of trees as for the need for windbreaks to keep soil in place, for fuel and building materials, and for shade from the sun.
As secretary of the Nebraska Territory, Morton proposed a tree planting holiday called “Arbor Day” in 1872 and in 1885 it was named a legal holiday in Nebraska. Since then National Arbor Day is the last Friday in April. Some states have their own celebrations on a day that coincides with the best tree planting weather. For example, Florida and Louisiana celebrate on the third Friday in January.
Above are my photos of trees-care to guess which one is my favorite?
The past two weeks have been quite difficult. I hope that my photos from a recent trip will transport you away….for just a moment or two.
In mid-October, I went to the New York Botanical Garden‘s show, Monet’s Garden. My garden had just a few flowers, so I was amazed at the amount of plants in full bloom outside the Conservatory. Even some water lilies were still blooming in the courtyard pools. Of course, inside was overflowing with plants similar to the ones that Claude Monet planted in his garden in Giverny, France. I hope you enjoy these photos and take a moment to smile.
All my best to those who are still struggling.
The days are shorter, the weather is cooler and orange becomes nature’s favorite color. It’s mine, too. What’s yours?
On almost every beach we visited in the Virgin Islands there were lounge chairs perfectly positioned to watch the water lapping the shoreline. Find your ideal spot this summer and let me know.
Today’s post brings us to Borgo San Fedele, a restored ancient parish church, near the village of Vagliagli in the middle of the Chianti. Vagliagli means “valley of the wild garlic”, which grows in the countryside. The workshop classes took place in the restored church.
At Borgo San Fedele, I heard the crunch of small stones under our sneakers and saw terraced flower and herb gardens, a pond with water lilies and very tall cypress trees. There was a distinctive scent of Linden Trees and the sound of deer barking. (Yes, it turns out small Italian deer bark like dogs.) It was unlike any other place I have ever been.
When I took a photography workshop in Italy years ago, it seemed familiar to me because I was photographing. Well, as familiar as photographing wheat at dawn in Tuscany can be.
I recently spent one week in Chianti attending a watercolor journaling workshop. This time felt different. I was learning new techniques and creating in new mediums. This process helped me to see my surroundings in new ways. I sat on benches and steps, leaned on walls and spent time looking, drawing and painting. I was recording it on paper right in front of me, but I couldn’t resist the urge to photograph. I’m not ready to share my drawings and paintings – yet. In future posts, you will see where I’ve been and what I’ve seen.
The workshop was taught by Sharon Pitts , an accomplished watercolor artist who teaches at the Yard School of Art at the Montclair Art Museum in New Jersey. It was facilitated by Il Chiostro at The Tuscan Renaissance Center in Borgo San Fedele in the heart of Chianti. The location and countryside were stunning and my fellow workshop artists were such a pleasure to work with. I’m grateful to have had such an inspiring experience.
March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb.
– English proverb
March is ending and I haven’t been thinking about lambs. Instead, my Uncle Bruno and cows have been on my mind. A few weeks ago, at the age of 95, he said goodbye. I will miss him dearly. He shared many stories of his childhood and growing up in Newark, New Jersey. My daughter, Chloe Yelena Miller, wrote the following poem based on his remembrances.
Noisier than the Milk
Newark, N.J.
The empty bottles chimed
with the horse’s half-moon step.
Two AM, the milkman found
screen door knobs in that unlocked dark.
The neighborhood children remember
those sounds like a map.
Fifteen cows up on Third Avenue
slept with hushed bells.
First published in SpiralBridge (2004)
© melabee m miller
And I think of him when I see this photograph of a lone cow in Doolin, Ireland.
Remember what warmth feels like?
I’ve been experimenting with more reflection images and turning the image led me to look at them differently. Time to upend the normal. What do you think?
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