The wind of the Olympic Mountains has no power over it; the heavy and rigid trunks of this tree defy the power of the storm. It is always silent, no matter if the wind roars in canons and uproots pines and firs; or if the day is calm and full of sunshine, the burly juniper is always immovable, always rigid, like a column of ice, and grand in its silence; and if it dies it is only from old age, for the juniper can brave the storms of centuries.– The New York Times
The shoes I wore weren’t actually donned to meet the architect. They were worn to meet the arborist. The certified arborist who will trim the 40′ Western Cedar in our neighbor’s back yard to make way for our second story. Our neighbors Connor and Mo: he, the radiologist. She, the musician. The tree, whose lacy, swooshy, coniferous branches reach way over into our yard, whispering over the chicken coop, enabling moss between the roof tiles on the garage, disabling any grass that might grow beneath.