As a kid, trips to visit family in St. Louis helped shape our year. Often, we’d arrive in the dead of December in time for Christmas. Usually it took place at several venues across town and there was much driving around and eating multiple dinners. As the Floridian cousins, we’d wait for snow and the chance to borrow the gear of our relatives to attempt sledding or making a wonky snowman. On winter trips we usually didn’t venture too far from the warmth of an aunt’s house or the confines of an indoor museum. Occasionally, the trip would be made in the summer and a place we always visited was Shaw’s Garden (also known as the Missouri Botanical Garden). My parents would fawn over the plants they could no longer grow in their sandy Floridian yard. My sister and I would gawk at the big trees with leaves that we were told fell off in the winter leaving the tree bare and naked. This, being from a land of skinny pines, fascinated me and, frankly, left me feeling a little saddened.
Well, it seems that not much has changed. My intrigue into the lives of trees in the deciduous sort is as well as strong as my subtle apprehension to them. What to do? Visit the Botanical Garden, I thought, and do so especially in the winter.
We didn’t go at all in January, but took advantage of a sunny day recently to walk among strange trees and remark on those bare branches that have come to be more familiar. Thankfully, the markings of Spring were peeking out under a sun that was strong enough to show us our nearly forgotten shadows.