"I frequently tramped eight or ten miles through the deepest snow to keep an appointment with a beech-tree, or a yellow birch, or an old acquaintance among the pines." ~Henry David Thoreau
Maeve has just a few serious devotions at this age: she loves me, our ceiling fan, and trees. She will stop crying, even during a terrible teething moment, if you show her a tree.
She's been interested in trees since she was big enough to see a couple of feet in front of her. On our first walk. we went under this giant crabapple tree that was just solid pink blossoms. That same tree is all orange and brown leaves now. She's very interested in how the trees are changing, and practically does a double take when we walk out to the car and she sees a bunch of her regular trees have lost their leaves. The other great thing about fall from Maeve's perspective is how much the trees move. She stares, awe-struck, as her trees wave, quiver, and sway along.
She got to meet a very grand oak in England that shades my parents' back garden; it's home to a bevvy of birds and drops its little acorns everywhere. A few fussy days she had were well quieted after a little time under the oak. She also noticed, as we did, that the birdsong is different over there, and would turn her head toward the new sound.