Tag Archives: Tree Hugger

Spring in Charlottesville has officially been sprung for a few weeks, and boy, if you already think I’m annoyingly perky, don’t hang around when there are blooming flowers nearby.  I pick flowers every day, and put them around my house in vases.  And when the vases are full, I stick them in doubleshot glasses, tumblers, old beer bottles, and mugs.

Springtime is a sickness.  Especially for me; a friend recently described me as “pathologically obsessed with nature.”  What with the budding leaves and the fresh nature-y smells, it’s enough to keep me constantly distracted.  And while I know I’m not unique in enjoying this beautiful season, springtime in Charlottesville is especially lovely.  Here are three reasons off the top of my head:

Skirt Season
As soon as temperatures rise above 65°, the students at my historically preppy school take the opportunity to dress up.  I personally welcome skirt season with open arms; after a winter of holiday indulgence and cold-weather inactivity, I’m grateful to skirts for allowing me to embrace my legs without having to acknowledge my thighs.  Ladies, from what I gather, gentlemen are also generally appreciative of our sartorial celebrations.  And guys, feel free to bust out the pastel shorts (I have a weakness for Nantucket Red).

Dudes can don their springtime duds, too.

Day Drinking
Speaking of sundresses and seersucker, spring in a college-town marks the return of lazy weekend afternoons in the sun with a cool beverage.  And in the south people take the opportunity to do this in style.  Enter: the Foxfield Races (the equivalent of the Carolina Cup, for those farther South). This horse race every April affords us UVA kids to suit up and tailgate for an entire day of hazy sun-drunk festivities.

Wait, what is all this talk of daytime debauchery?  Basically my point is: the springtime weather bodes the return of something I only got acquainted with in college–the tailgate experience.  Whatever the occasion–a horse race or just another balmy Saturday on the porch, there’s something to be said for the grown-up thrill of starting the day off with a mimosa and some sunshine.

The Luck of the Irish
When the fields start filling with clover, I am provided with an endlessly entertaining pastime: hunting for four-leaved clovers.  No, really.  I have this uncanny ability for finding lucky clovers ;  I think it has to be a combination of my single-minded patience in searching through larges patches of Trifolium, and the positive feedback loop of luckiness I’ve built up through the years.  With every clover I find, I get some luck built up towards finding the next one.

I wish this were a skill I could put on a resume (Will bring you years of good fortune), or even a skill at all.  But in any case, springtime means I can sit in grassy fields and do things like search for luck and weave daisy garlands until I tire of hanging out amidst plants.  Which, let’s face it, I probably never will.

Basically, I love everything about spring–the not-yet-scorching temperatures, the awakening of my favorite plants, and the fact that each sunny day feels like a gift worthy of celebrating in dress and leisure.

December is approaching, which means I’ll soon succumb to my own special version of Seasonal Affective Disorder.  My wintery blues, however, have less to do with the lack of sunshine and more with the bare branches on all the trees.

So why do I care so much?  Well, if you’ve read either of my short bios, you already know that I love trees.   All plants, actually, and just nature in general.  I used to play “apothecary” when I was younger, picking bunches of grass and leaves and hanging them up to dry.  For a while, I toyed with the idea of becoming an arborist—essentially, I was choosing between becoming a tree doctor or a people doctor.  I talk about plants a LOT…enough so that my boyfriend can now identify ginkgo trees (my favorite) and other plants and knows a lot more about plant ecology than he probably ever wanted.

Plants are great!  How cool is taking sunlight and turning it into food*?  Or being able to regenerate body parts (branches etc.) almost limitlessly?  Denise likes to make fun of me for this—she calls me “Fanny” after Fanny Price in Mansfield Park, who is always rhapsodizing about the “evergreens” on the estate.  And it’s true, you can’t really go anywhere outdoors with me without being expected to look at and admire various trees and flowers.  I also just think all plants are beautiful, from the elegance (and delicious smell) of a tall cedar grove to the tiny but perfectly formed fruiting bodies of mosses.  Hence why they are my favorite things to photograph.  Here are a few of my favorite shots:

Cosmos blossom.

The Pratt Ginkgo, one of the oldest trees on Grounds, in the spring.

Moss, ready to release spores.

So do I consider myself a tree-hugger?  Absolutely.  And I don’t eat organic local granola, drive a Prius, or particularly mind the idea of drilling in Alaska.  I do, however, take navy showers, hope to eventually settle in a rural area (more grass than the city), and fully appreciate how much we depend on the earth.  It’s possible to love the environment and not want to push my conservationist tendencies on others—or, have a huge number of conservationist tendencies at all.  See not having a Prius, above.  Basically, I just really like plants…and if you hang out with me for awhile, you’ll probably learn to like them too, if only to avoid dying of boredom.

*I’ve just greatly simplified the process of photosynthesis, but think of this as the more romantic definition.