Berkshire Trees: A Portrait
Surviving the pandemic for the past 18 months has made for a long, very long journey. Confusion, dread, loss, alienation, loneliness, the list goes on. I remain grateful, however, that we haven’t seen a loved one succumb to the disease. It’s also been a roller-coaster of a ride with the additional whiplash that has hit us courtesy of the Delta variant. From feeling positively elated in March when I got vaccinated, to abandoning my mask near the front door in June, and then growing anxious in August if I forgot it, I, like so many others, wonder if life will ever be the same.
This season for us was like emerging from a forest, highlighted by a few rays of sunshine to basking in it as we celebrated with friends our anniversary in our backyard where David and I had been married 40 years ago. Other highlights (how we appreciate them today!) included attending an outdoor Tanglewood concert or a dance performance at Jacobs Pillow where the stage, framed by stately trees, offered breath-taking views of the Berkshire hills beyond. We could breathe more easily; life might just be returning to “normal” and while the Delta variant loomed, we naively assumed we were home free…
Since I returned to the Berkshires after months in NYC for family health reasons, photographing nature within a small radius of home became my sole focus. From capturing flowers and leaves highlighted by rain — almost a constant here, I also gravitated to trees. They were providing me with an anchor to life.
Coming back to our 18th century home in April, we were greeted by our magnolia offering a profusion of flowers. I was particularly drawn to appreciating its beauty when its fallen pastel pink petals formed a perfect oval carpet below. And while, in my nostalgic perspective, it would be easy to see it as metaphor for today, I reminded myself how, for centuries in Japan, similar trees have been revered for their ephemeral beauty.
I also relished in fresh, new life bursting out with lime green leaves on the branches of deciduous trees. Of course, this had always been the case in spring. However, it seemed more poignant than ever this year. And, as days were growing longer, my greatest joy was hopping onto my new E bike, passing fields, woods, farm houses and barns to the small village of Alford, all with its white church, graveyard and town hall.
One of my favorite destinations however, remains Baldwin Hill in Egremont. As other “pilgrims” that gravitate here know, thanks to its almost 360 degree views and expansive sky, it is the site of one of the most iconic — and photographed elms. Just below, it can be seen standing alone in a corn field in different seasons. Sadly, due to Dutch Elm Disease, few still remain in New England. Fortunately this one, thanks to proper “social distancing” from other elms, still stands.
When it comes to appreciating trees however, nothing compares to the subtle, almost mystical mood offered by mist in the early morning hours. In contrast to such soft, hazy light, trees take center stage. And while the mist will soon dissipate, one can relish a sense of time standing still.
