Why Heather of the Forest?

When I first flirted with the idea of beginning this blog, I created one without knowing that the fairly random name I typed in was about to become part of the URL. When I later realized what I had done, I felt a little silly, but then thought it was hilarious to say "Heather of the Forest" with an exaggerated 1930's Mid-Atlantic movie accent. So, I kept it, and may still dress up as Errol Flynn's Robin Hood and take an amazing photo in the trees with a big bag of gold. Who knows.

My elementary school years were spent in the miner's limestone cottage in which I currently reside, on the edge of a little forest. My dad often says that I was a Christopher Robin sort of child, who played near or in the woods most of the time, befriended or attempted communication with animals, showed fascination with flowers and bugs, and otherwise became more fully immersed in my imagination and natural surroundings than most children.

After having lived elsewhere for many years, I've realized that I truly do feel a physical connection with this place, that it is home, and somehow having grown up here-- having eaten the garden produce that grew in the shade of the maples and elms, or the fruit of the apple, mulberry and cherry trees, having listened to the sound of the wind in the leaves, climbed and rested in the tall branches, cried into the trunk of one of the mighty oaks, crawled into a natural fort beneath heavy snow-covered low branches of the pine or honeysuckle-- this place became my playground and sanctuary, and I was a little bit of a wild one. Maybe I still am.