I’ve always felt some kind of connection to trees. I think this comes from my upbringing in Chelsea, learning to love the land from my parents and grandparents. But I think part of this comes from what a tree represents to me. The old silver maple tree in our backyard is unwavering, throwing its shade onto the green grass and dropping its colorful leaves on our deck in the fall. The perfectly straight, slender maple behind the woodshed is youthful compared to the rest; its strong roots allow it to grow on a slope, towering over and protecting our house. The evergreen trees that stood proudly behind our swing set are forever landmarks in photographs of our house over the years. Although they are now just stumps, they still hold the magic placed in them when my grandfather planted them and nurtured their growth. The old apple tree will forever be a testament to the childhoods of my siblings and me. Now too just a stump, it once held our small bodies in the crooks of its branches with the only thing between us and the ground being a faraway and easily ignored reality.