I grew up in Florida. Unlike the rest of the world, we had two seasons: hot and hotter. When I went to college in Pennsylvania, I would press the autumn leaves in heavy books and send them back to family and friends in the south. Most of them had grown up in the north, so for them this was a nice connection to their youth. I would return home for visits and see leaves pinned to bulletin boards, or maybe tucked in a picture frame, a reminder of the change of seasons in a more or less unchanging environment.
However, my friends in Pennsylvania would look at me like I had lost my mind: why was I picking up leaves–carefully choosing this one and not that–and taking them back to my room? One of them finally asked what I was doing. I explained that leaves didn’t turn colours and fall in Florida: it was pretty much green year round. That was a revelation to her.
I think it is very easy to take the change of seasons for granted, that the bluebells and daffodils of the spring will give way to a lush summer which in turn explodes into autumn then slides into a cold, bright winter. Perhaps that is one of the reasons I’ve become a bit obsessed with documenting the seasonal shifts, taking advantage of our proximity to places like West Woods and Westonbirt Arboretum to showcase the colours and textures of the natural year.
This has also encouraged one of my future projects: stay tuned to see A Card for All Seasons, and check out some of the products on Redbubble. I love that I can now literally curl up with a winter’s sky.