Anyone who knows me knows I like trees. And mountains. Mountain forests. Costal forests too. Maybe just forests in general. As long as I can remember I’ve really enjoyed going to forests, which I’ve always found strange since I’ve grown up and still live in a place the opposite of a forest. A land of cement and asphalt: Los Angeles County.
My earliest memory of a forest was going to Yosemite with my Aunt Helen (Knickerbocker) Vesterby and her husband, Uncle John Vesterby (my Mom, Dad, and Cousin Jim too) when I was about four (maybe three?) years old (1967 or 1968). Here’s a few blurry pictures camping in Yosemite.
For whatever reason, the magic of camping under the trees in Yosemite has stayed with me all my life.
Uncle John Vesterby, me, Aunt Helen (Knickerbocker) Vesterby
Me, with a book ( another common sight)