Selecting a picture for “a quiet moment” was really enjoyable because I kind of associate the entire act of photography as my “quiet moment” so to speak, so I felt justified choosing just about any picture. But something about this picture makes me feel calm and quiet and safe. Besides the obvious beautiful symbol of grace and serenity, I think the calming part of this picture is the density of greenery.

I grew up in a forested area (my wife used to call me a forest kid, because she was from the valley like some weirdo), and there is something that makes this type of scenery feel like a blanket. Like it is anchoring me to the ground, keeping me from falling up into the sky. When I think of all the places I have lived, it seems a common theme that the ones without tons of trees are all the ones I did not enjoy very much. It feels empty and lonely and untethered, even in the heart of civilization.

I have a working theory that deep down you always crave the place you were born. Do not take my scientist card away, because I know that this is unfounded and silly, but I feel like there is something about being made of the literal elements of a place that is always magnetic to you. When I moved to Hawaii it was wonderful, but I longed for the California foothills. Missouri (for at least a few months a year) is literally the most beautiful place on earth, an upgrade to everything I love about my small mining hometown; but you guessed it… I still miss that place. I don’t even think it has to do with nostalgia or family or familiar spots; there is a feeling in my chest, a relaxing of my shoulders when I see the giant Black Oaks. Playing the same game I have with myself for years- spotting the majestic Ponderosa Pines in the sea of Gray Pines. Hearing my dad for the thousandth time tell me to be careful burning Manzanita wood in your fireplace, a friend of his did and it was so hot it cracked the cast iron stove.

It may seem overly romantic, it is after all just a place. But I am made of that place.