Hemlock Hope

Over Christmas break, my son and I were walking through the woods, collecting hemlock branches that had fallen so I could embed the needles in handmade paper.  (Yes, it would have been easier to take the needles straight from the tree, and yes, I know that the Hemlock Wooly Adelgid is killing the tree, despite anything we may do, but I won’t harm a tree, particularly one so imperiled.)  I asked him if he had ever seen a healthy hemlock, because I wasn’t sure if he really understood the difference between the hemlocks of my childhood and the hemlocks he knows.  He thought about it and pointed to one that did have more needles than most, and asked, ‘is this a healthy hemlock?’  ‘No, sorry dear.  If you can see through a hemlock, it is not a healthy hemlock.’  A few minutes later, I hear, solemnly, ‘that really is depressing.’

So, here is an image of hope for you, dear child.  That even though your childhood has been colored by the loss of these sleepy summer storybook trees, maybe, just maybe, your children or grandchildren will know their mysterious, peaceful shade.

Young Hemlock

I’d rather be on the Parkway

Here in Alabama, it’s still so hot when you open the door you’re knocked down by a wall of heat.  Seriously, saunas are more comfortable.  The Blue Ridge Parkway is 6 hours and a world away.  We managed to go to Graveyard Fields (milepost 418.8) several times this summer.  Really wish we were there now to walk under the bright blue fall sky and pick blueberries and blackberries.

View of the Parkway from the creek.

The Sage pigging out on wild cherries at Graveyard Fields in July.