Nature

Tree Hugger

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There was a time that “tree hugger” was a dirty word. If you were accused of being a tree hugger, that was an insult. It meant you were a softie, perhaps a bit tetched in the head because you loved trees.

“Tree hugger” was also the catchall name – a slur – for an environmentalist, someone who loved and respected the rich and diverse life on this planet. And there were, and still are, too many people that view the environment as something to be used and abused.

But to others of us, “tree hugger” is a mighty fine compliment, thank you. I will happily accept your calling me a tree hugger. And if you’re still here reading, and looking at photos, I feel pretty confident that you are a tree hugger, too.

Nice to meet you.

The photographs here are selected from those I’ve taken over the last 10 years or so with my phone or digital camera. I have many others taken with SLRs, but they are stored in other formats, not available on my computer.

Some of these are taken around my own town, others in Frenchtown and Clinton, NJ, Tinicum, PA, and a couple at Grounds for Sculpture in Hamilton, NJ.

They all say one thing – trees are magnificent beings. We can be grateful that they share their beauty with us, season after season, clean our air, offer us shade, and provide homes for so many forms of wildlife.

Have you hugged a tree lately? You might feel a little too embarrassed to brazenly wrap your arms around a tree and hug, but I’m sure a little pat and a quiet `thank you’ would be appreciated.

Poetry – Day 30

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Today is the last day of National Poetry Month. We leave quietly with a poem by Mary Oliver.

Photo: Leeloo The First/Pexels

Today

Today I’m flying low and I’m
not saying a word
I’m letting all the voodoos of ambition sleep.

The world goes on as it must,
the bees in the garden rumbling a little,
the fish leaping, the gnats getting eaten.
And so forth.

But I’m taking the day off.
Quiet as a feather.
I hardly move though really I’m traveling
a terrific distance.

Stillness. One of the doors
into the temple.

Mary Oliver, 2012

Noticing in Times of Abuse

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A gun held to the head of another, albeit lowered, the trigger not pulled, is no less of an abuse, whether to a country or an individual.

However, we can still choose to notice beauty around us, and hope together for a more loving and harmonious world.

Poetry – Day 6

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April is National Poetry Month. During the month, I will occasionally share poetry that speaks to me, hopefully, to you, too.

What Kind of Times Are These

There’s a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill
and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows
near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted
who disappeared into those shadows.

I’ve walked there picking mushrooms at the edge of dread, but don’t be fooled
this isn’t a Russian poem, this is not somewhere else but here,
our country moving closer to its own truth and dread,
its own ways of making people disappear.

I won’t tell you where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods
meeting the unmarked strip of light—
ghost-ridden crossroads, leafmold paradise:
I know already who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear.

And I won’t tell you where it is, so why do I tell you
anything? Because you still listen, because in times like these
to have you listen at all, it’s necessary
to talk about trees.

– Adrienne Rich, 1991

Photo by Jen Theodore/Unsplash

The Symbol of the Butterfly

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What is the meaning of a butterfly? Often, the butterfly symbolizes change, due to its dramatic transformation from a caterpillar to a magnificent winged creature. In Japanese, Burmese, and many other cultures the butterfly is seen as a symbol for the soul.

Was symbolism intended when I wrote my picture book, Where Do Butterflies Go at Night?

If you had asked me when I first wrote it in 2009, I would have said `no’, but I now question if I didn’t have more in mind than even I knew. I submitted “Butterflies” to agents and traditional publishers for many years. Although I often got positive feedback, it was ultimate;y rejected because it was in rhyme, and rhyme is hard to sell.

A small, independent publisher saw the beauty in my story of the magical imaginings of a child who wondered where the butterflies went at night. It was published with the lovely art of Stella Maris Mongodi, who brought the sweet simplicity of the cabbage white butterfly to life in a whole new and charming way.

When the original publisher closed its doors, I self-published this, my debut picture book, now identifying it as “2nd Edition.” In 2025, it won a first place award in the poetry category from a prestigious reviewer of children’s books. And in my most recent picture book school presentation, I decided to do something a little differently.

In emphasizing the concept of change from caterpillar to butterfly, I talked with 1st and 2nd graders about the importance of embracing change; being brave in the face of change; and understanding that all change is ultimately working in our favor. One might think little ones wouldn’t get that, but they did. Sometimes wiser than we adults, they did.

And so, the butterfly has become a symbol of transformation for me, as well. I’ve gone through many changes with these butterflies and their story. They continue to light my path, and I am still unfolding.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Where Do Butterflies Go at Night, 2nd Edition is available on Amazon and in also my Etsy shop, if you would like your copy signed.

Photo credits:
BW butterfly: pexels/6th Era Photography; @stories_by_sixthera
Blue butterfly: pexels/aarngiri; @aarn_giri
Cabbage white butterfly: pexels/mali maeder
Butterfly illustration: Stella Maris Mongodi