Once a yellowwood stood by an old library, leafing, flowering, fruiting, setting seed; roots grabbed hold, suched air and water from beneath a plaza of brick. Its skin-smooth silver trunk bore knobby limbs. Floppy leaves clung to long stems, catching a wind, moving green shadows across red bricks. Students sat each spring under the yellowwood, listening to names named, glad for green shade, walked under it to the library, breathed musky June flowers, kicked yellow leaves of October across red bricks.

For many years the yelowwood grew; red stone blackened, the building decayed. Then men came one day to fix the library, piled stacks of tools, tiles, and sacks around the tree, sealing soil under bricks. Two years later, the library reopened, leaded glass gleaming, blackened stone brightened, furance fixed. How elegant, poeple said. That fall the tree lost its leaves in September.

Next May, the yellowwood flowered early and profusely. Thousands of fragrant white blooms hung in long clusters; petals covered bricks, blew across grass. How beautiful, poeple said. How sad, though. Several years' bud scars bunched up against each twig's growing tip. Abundant flowers signaled a dying, and seeds found no purchase in the plaza. People admired the tree and walked on; they had lost the language that givs tongue to its tale. Once a yellowwood stood. No more. and few knew why.

exerpt, The language of landscape. Anne Whiston Spirn



and some more contact sheet scans to share, my histories.



green lake, new york.

green lake became a state park during public works projects during the depression era. green lake's surface water does not mix with its bottom layer of, defining it as a meromictic lake.



lake minnewaska, new york.

from a journal entry. lake minnewaska state park is actually two lakes, and giving away the secret, the larger lake which you must trek to is the better lake.