We had the pleasure of doing a group camping trip over Easter on the Nunniong Plains, ostensibly just vegetating around a nice campsite and enjoying the company of our friends. It was one of those weekends where you didn’t want to do anything and made no real effort to do anything. But I can’t ever leave my camera gear behind, as I know that I’ll invariably miss having it and curse myself when I find things that I could have photographed. Taking photos of the group is a given, but I also like to take in the bush life around us on such camping trips, if there’s anything of interest and, quite often, I try to make something interesting from the potentially uninteresting. So, as I took our hounds on some daily walks (the most effort of the weekend), I always had my camera with me.
While taking our hounds for a run at Mossvale Park over the last few weeks, I’ve been having a closer look at an unfolding story, a budding tale, being revealed by the trees in the park as Spring approaches. It’s the time of year when buds begin to shoot out as the trees emerge from their Winter slumber and the change is very evident. I’ve never really taken that much notice of trees when they start budding, but the variety in Mossvale Park caught my eye and then simply couldn’t be further ignored.
Pun on words again and this is another of my irreverent posts on photography, just because I can. I was going through photographs that I’d taken over a number of weeks this year during Autumn and Winter at Mossvale Park, while taking our hounds for a morning run, and I kind of liked some of the results and explored them in more detail. I often take photographs of things that catch my eye, but don’t always do anything with them immediately and that means photographs can sometimes sit in a folder for quite some time before I revisit them. When I do revisit them, things can coalesce and thus arose this post. It’s all about leaves and the character they bring to the landscape.
Now this post may be of very little interest to many, but it’s something that I’ve always noticed and which always captivates me, and I find it a bit of fun to write about. It’s a feature of nature that we see all the time, but it often just doesn’t register, unless it’s quite dramatic or pointed out. So following on from some earlier articles about trees, there’s an aspect that is unique when it comes to trees and that’s their essential integument, the bark.
I don’t know why, but I’ve always had a fascination for trees, be it because of their shape, size, colour or even oddity; I’ve always liked trees. Some people love flowers and even specific flowers such as roses or orchids and while I can appreciate them, they don’t hold the same feeling that I get when amongst magnificent, or not so magnificent trees. Even dead trees have an aura that no other plant, that I know of, can emulate. When simply a skeleton of its former self, a tree can still stand proud and tell a story. And nothing impresses me more than European trees and their great variety (at least down here in the south). That’s not to say I don’t like natives, but there’s something additional that European trees seem to express, surviving so far from their native homelands.