Tree Story #63: Cast and Reel and Cast Again

tree story #63: Cast and Reel and Cast Again


I love the natural light
hitting the rolls of
the carelessly placed lake
as I cast and reel
and cast again.

And I’m sitting beneath
the netted branches of a tree
as it casts its immense limbs
out against me, reeling
me in closer and I move
ecstatic like a flopping fish
hooked by the natural light.

Kevin Eagan

tree story #62: And Trees Caught Fire

tree story #62: And Trees Caught Fire

Early this morning, the sun came
too near the earth
and trees caught fire.

Midday, broad embers remain,
leaf-shaped,
flame-shaded.
Slowly, they crisp and fall.

Dusk haze rises from the ground
like smoke, unable to
smother the glow.
Even the pond seems to burn.

Fallfleshed, mooncold,
black on black,
the trees conspire
against the distant star.

In the morning,
they blaze again.
Throwing back their light,
they mock the sun.

Brigit Truex

tree story #61: Jack and the Redwood

tree story #61: Jack and the Redwood

"The forest canopies of the earth are realms of unfathomed nature, and they are largely a mystery." - Richard Preston, "Climbing the Redwoods," The New Yorker

Imagine ascending on ropes, not quite
to heaven; to the Canopy Kingdom where toppled crowns
turn to dust, to soil nourishing upstart leaders,
lichens and featherleaf ferns, huckleberry thickets
rooted in rot.

Gird yourself
in harness, Jack, and not for lumber. Climb
the beanstalk that sprouted when Caesar was a child,
its roots vast as an unseen underworld.
All you know is the trunk, more than 20 feet thick
at the base, rising buttressed, to look out
over a forest in coastal cloud.

Pull yourself up as in fairy-
tale to meet, not slay, this giant
tree. Climb out of his deep green shadow
till you see daylight filtering through the highest
branches, 350 feet above the forest floor.

Now, flop down
in the palm of his hand. Pop a huckleberry
into your mouth and give your host
a seedy grin. He holds you
by the roots.

Taylor Graham

New stories arriving!

I'm so thrilled, I've been getting several new stories - actually all poems recently - for my images in the past few days. Just as I was starting to get worried, or thinking that this would be a very limited collaboration... I sent out an SOS to a couple writer friends, who then got the word out to some writing groups & interest has grown - so exciting! (Thanks to JoAnn especially, since the first real submission from someone outside my own influence has come from seeds you have sown.)

So I'm inviting you who are now reading to browse the entries and look for comments to see what has been submitted and watch how this grows. I really need to get back into the darkroom to get this moving along now, and I'll be posting new work as I go. (Probably new contact prints, too, as I can't seem to not take photos of trees.)

It was also brought to my attention that Sacramento is the "City of Trees" so this is a particularly appropriate project here...

Tree Story #12: They Speak of Angels

(slightly fuzzy shot with my cheap digital, but it gives you the idea. ) 

Tree Story #31: Honduran Mist 

Progress!

I'm so thrilled - I actually have printed two tree stories collages in the darkroom, #12 and #31, and I am quite pleased. I actually found a great paper to use as well, Kentmere's Art Classic for all you photo geeks out there. I'm planning on painting one tonight and hopefully the second one tomorrow night. Evenings after the kids get to bed are my painting time. I'm debating whether or not to show final images on the blog here - I sort of like the idea of making viewers show up in April to see the final pieces, but I'm excited to share my work as soon as it's complete, as well. I'll have to wait to see which side wins out...

tree story #60: Quercus Ilex Under the Rain

tree story #60

Quercus Ilex
Under the Rain

Two pale hands
Two feet
into dry earth

This is where I began
if you insist that
I have a beginning

Who knows what made
me climb away from
el centro del mundo
(you see, I can speak
beyond green)

What moved me
towards that
which I couldn't see--

the roses
thick slabs of orange
with cream

Why didn't they
recognize me
like she did

My green imprint
on her hands
She made such a
big deal of it--my
being ever-green

beneath my branches
her words fell

I was something alive--
all her own--
without questions
she asked
sighs falling like
petals in summer

We talked to each other
in different languages
something was understood
something was embraced

we are green and
full of the light

we are a stone path
embroidered in
the sand

we are the
glass between
air and air

In our
Book of America
nothing was obscured
between us
She thought I was innocent

we were the space
between embraces

the space between
los minutos

we were
above, below, beside,
around and beneath
the rain

He told her she wastoo warm to be cold

Can we say now
that we had something
that afternoon
unremarked upon
unrecognized
unqualified
unremarkable

Some moments she
lost meaning,
searched only for
my fallen leaves
in the bark chips

If anyone could smile
like Guanajuato, it
would be her

Words between leaves
I was learning to speak
She was forgetting to run

Some things are just
there or they are not
like the rainbow
it did not learn to
be or grow into
being

and then

but wait

until

next

under



4/28/04
Rebecca Morrison

tree story #59

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tree story #58

tree story #58

Here's another example of what a tree story might look like in the end. You can see the whole creative process behind this image on HGTV's show "That's Clever!" on Oct 27th, noon & 5 p.m. est/pst.  

Just to give you an idea, here's what a final tree story piece might look like. This is from the image for tree story #23. 

Every tree tells a story

Every tree has a story. Somehow the tree was planted, maybe seed was blown by the wind, carried by a bird, sown by a gardener, maybe it's an offshoot of another tree. Conditions were right for this particular tree - others seedlings may have been eaten, pulled up or died from lack of water, but this special seedling managed to survive.

Time passed and the tree grew, maybe many years passed, hundreds even and the tree is a local legend. This tree has seen many seasons: summers of drought and clouds, followed by a falls of fire or rain, bitter and mild winters, floods and warmth of springs. Maybe only a few years have gone by and the seedling has grown only to the size of a large bush.

Soemthing has happened where the tree grows, it's seen human dramas, roads and buildings have come, the tree even became host to some child's fort of dreams. Children have imagined great things here, picnickers have dozed in its shade, lovers have hidden under its arching canopy. Perhaps a gardener has tended it carefully and planted a whole garden to compliment it. Shy animals have come cautiously to the tree, brought their young and gone again, unseen by human eyes. Migrating birds have rested here en route to far off destinations.

The tree stands as a sentinel, guarding a gateway, a witness to history, a memorial to someone loved and lost. The tree provides shelter to some, nutrition to others - perhaps was once part of a long forgotten orchard - it provides fodder for fires and for our imaginations.

Look at this tree, growing strong in all its glory, or past its bloom, it's nearly ready to fall. Listen to the tree, to the birds in its branches, to the wind whistling through the leaves, to the rain as it falls. Listen to the story this tree has to tell.

Spammers are scum

Now I've gotten all 57 of the initial images for Tree Stories uploaded and ready for your comments. I'm sorry but I've had to put some securities on comments because I was instantly assaulted by spam comments, if you can imagine such a thing. I had no idea. It took me over an hour of work to clean up all the crap, but now it's done and I just want to go on record as saying that indeed, spammers are scum, plain and simple.

So now that I've gotten that out of my system, I hope to start seeing some real comments in the not-too-distant future. I'll continue to post, including some more finished versions of these images, and likely new images as well.

For those of you thinking that April is a very long time from now, it is just over six months hence, which in terms of darkroom, painting, matting and framing time is just enough time to get it all done. Please don't delay in getting stories to me. Thanks so much.

tree story #57

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tree story #56

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tree story #55

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tree story #54

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tree story #53

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tree story #52

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tree story #51

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see also tree story #3 & #28 - same tree

tree story #50: Under the Shade

Tree Story #50: Under the Shade

One day the angel of God came and sat down under the oak in Ophrah that belonged to Joash the Abiesrite, whose son Gideon was threshing wheat in the winepress, out of sight of the Midianites. The angel of God appeared to him and said,
“God is with you
O mighty warrior!”
Gideon replied, “With me, my master? If God is with us, why has all this happened to us? Where are all the miracle-wonders our parents and grandparents told us about, telling us, ‘Didn’t God deliver us from Egypt?’ The fact is, God has nothing to do with us - he has turned us over to Midian.”
But God faced him directly: “Go in this strength that is yours. Save Israel from Midian. Haven’t I just sent you?”
Gideon said to him, “Me, my master? How and with what could I ever save Israel? Look at me. My clan’s the weakest in Manesseh and I’m the runt of the litter.”
God said to him, “I’ll be with you. Believe me, you’ll defeat Midian as one man.”
Gideon said, “If you’re serious about this, do me a favor: Give me a sign to back up what you’re telling me. Don’t leave until I come back and bring you my gift.”
He said, “I’ll wait till you get back.”
Gideon went and prepared a young goat and a huge amount of unraised bread (he used over half a bushel of flour!). He put the meat in a basket and the broth in a pot and took them back under the shade of the oak tree for a sacred meal.
The angel of God said to him, “Take the meat and unraised bread, place them on the rock, and pour the broth on them.” Gideon did it.
The angel of God stretched out the tip of the stick he was holding and touched the meat and the bread. Fire broke out of the rock and burned up the meat and bread while the angel of God slipped away out of sight. And Gideon knew it was the angel of God!
Gideon said, “Oh no! Master, God! I have seen the angel of God face to face!”
But God reassured him, “Easy now. Don’t panic. You won’t die.”
Then Gideon built an altar there to God and named it “God’s Peace.” It’s still called that at Ophrah of Abiezer.

Judges 6

tree story #49: Wonderland Under Rock and Hummock

tree story #49: Wonderland Under Rock and Hummock

Our own wondering Alice squeezes
her young life
to the size of a mole’s
burrow, inquiring eyeless of the mole:

his comings and goings,
the sleek upholstery
of his wonderland under rocks
and hummocks.

In season she picks flowers:
buttercups and lilies, daisies,
all the daylight beauties.
But on cloudy as on sunny days

she walks under tall trees, wondering
at where their roots live; still
inquiring after her friend
of the dark, the ashy-gray mole.


Taylor Graham

tree story #48

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tree story #47

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tree story #46

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tree story #45

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tree story #44

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tree story #43: Things We Cannot See

Tree Story #43: Things We Cannot See

"Though our bodies are dying, our spirits are being renewed everyday. for our present troubles are small and won't last very long. Yet they produce for us a glory that vastly outweighs them and will last forever! So we don't look at the troubles we can see now; rather, we fix our gaze on things that cannot be seen. For the things we see now will soon be gone, but the things we cannot see will last forever. " 2 Corinthians 4: 16-18

part of the Heaven project at http://www.heavenartproject.blogspot.com/

tree story #42: Castle in the Sky

Tree Story #42: Castle in the Sky

The little girl tugs on the man's sleeve and, with longing in her eyes pleads, "Please Daddy? Will you build me a tree house? I can go there to have tea parties with my dolls. And how fun to peek down on the tiny people on the ground!"

The man contemplates the tree as if through his daughter's eyes. What is childhood without a tree house? Could he ever live up to his title of “Daddy” if he were to push this request aside? Did he not ache for the same thing when he grew up in a suburban home that offered no hope of a castle in the sky?

Of course he will do it. The weekend is free to get started right away. Lumber is purchased, designs drawn, dad and daughter excited at the thought of seeing it built. The floor first. Maybe a roof next, but plan to protect the growing branches that burst forth from the rafters. And walls are a must. Those teacups need shelves to store them, and windows with lace curtains to waft in the breeze.

The little girl moves in right away, happy with just a floor. Her dolls can imagine the rest. Walls? Who needs walls when the sun offers the warmth and security that those very walls would block? Spring blossoms peek in the windows that do not even exist. She is content.

The pleasant seasons offer hours of escape in her tree house. Daddy visits, but the excitement of the building process is dampened by other duties, other projects, maybe another day?

Fall turns to winter. The leaves vacate the tree, as does the little girl.

Maybe next spring will be time enough to get to those important details: roof, walls, a rope to climb.

Then again, the little girl is growing. Tea parties and dolls may be stored away and replaced with more young womanly things. Maybe a tree house with no walls will offer her the freedom to grow without boxing her in.

LVA

tree story #41

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tree story #40

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tree story #39

Jacob’s Ladder

Meanwhile, Jacob left Beersheba and traveled toward Haran. At sundown he arrived at a good place to set up camp and stopped there for the night. Jacob found a stone to rest his head against and lay down to sleep. As he slept, he dreamed of a stairway that reached from the earth up to heaven. And he saw the angels of God going up and down the stairway.

At the top of the stairway stood the Lord, and he said, “I am the Lord, the God of your grandfather Abraham, and the God of your father, Isaac. The ground you are lying on belongs to you. I am giving it to you and your descendants. Your descendants will be as numerous as the dust of the earth! They will spread out in all directions—to the west and the east, to the north and the south. And all the families of the earth will be blessed through you and your descendants. What’s more, I am with you, and I will protect you wherever you go. One day I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have finished giving you everything I have promised you.”

Then Jacob awoke from his sleep and said, “Surely the Lord is in this place, and I wasn’t even aware of it!” But he was also afraid and said, “What an awesome place this is! It is none other than the house of God, the very gateway to heaven!”

The next morning Jacob got up very early. He took the stone he had rested his head against, and he set it upright as a memorial pillar. Then he poured olive oil over it. He named that place Bethel (which means “house of God”), although the name of the nearby village was Luz.

Then Jacob made this vow: “If God will indeed be with me and protect me on this journey, and if he will provide me with food and clothing, and if I return safely to my father’s home, then the Lord will certainly be my God. And this memorial pillar I have set up will become a place for worshiping God, and I will present to God a tenth of everything he gives me.”

Genesis 28:10-22

tree story #38

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see also tree story #19 - same trees

tree story #37

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tree story #36

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tree story #35

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tree story #34

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tree story #33

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tree story #32

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tree story #31: Honduran Mist

Tree Story #31: Honduran Mist


You told me of the place
In the dark.
We were in the night.
And you told me of the place in the dark that wasn’t night
where our dreams met.

Did our dreams drift apart?
It was a question.
I didn’t realize that
it was a question
of you and I,
between you and I.
It was one more thing that I didn’t see.

You told me of when you were in the jungle.
You would have dreams of being in the jungle.
It was difficult for you to see the difference of being and dreaming.
Then there was the story.

How to explain the stars that stain our skies?
Oriental carpets flying above in the dark underneath of wonder.
Stars are the souls of trees.
When a tree is killed its soul appears in the sky.
And I looked at you,
I couldn’t hide my confusion
and my shameful disbelief.

By the hand, you took me
into the darkness of your jungle.
In the night the darkness,
I could taste it,
feel it on my face,
weighing my feet with dark.
Turning my face to look up at the underneath
of trees,
not enough air to breathe,
the sky can be cruel, I thought.
And you said “When a tree dies its soul is now alone, naked . That’s why when we stand here and look we cannot see the sky but if this tree were gone in it’s place a star appears.”
There are places more quiet than the night.
There are places
inside me that look like that night.


JF