By the time I was 8 years old, I had come to dread the sight of pine trees. Our town seemed to be filled to it's borders with them. I associated them with the people of this area and the general unhappiness that I associated with Louisiana as a whole. Pine needles covered the ground in the winter and as a child, I longed for just a small blanket of snow.

I walked in the park today, one and a half weeks after spraining my ankle. I didn't realize how much I would miss my evening walks. They help me to clear my head, which, trust me, is no easy task. The park is filled with the Pine trees of my youth. At 32 years old, I have come to think that geographical landscape has a lot to do with how the attitudes of people are formed. The pines are tall and straight, reaching for the heavens with everything they have. Like those in this town, they are hoping their straight and narrow paths will help them to reach God. When, in reality, all they are doing is littering the earth with needles and pine cones and getting in the way of clean swimming pools and bright sky light.

I hated the look of this area. I longed for serene beaches or crooked mountains or anything that seemed to change or move or have life. Pine trees didn't even have proper leaves. I saw the ocean for the first time with I was 16 and decided then and there that I was made to live on the beach. I loved the smell of the water and the consistent breeze and the utter vitality of it all. Then I came back home to the pines, depressed at the sameness of it all.

It would be years later, after my divorce , that I would be able to appreciate my surroundings. Trips to the bayou made me realize that this, indeed, was my homeland. You see, the bayou was filled with cypress trees and knotted roots and the creepy moss that reflected the inner workings of both my mind and heart. Those long walks on hot summer nights and cool fall evenings finally set me at peace. The bayou was a dark place, secluded in mystery and spiritual deceptiveness. Voodoo queens lived here and I was waiting to be crowned. This is what you find when you reach the depths of the trails in the park. Two miles into the woods, you come upon a creek and trees so twisted that you could never hope to find their beginning or end. It's dark because the leaves and moss overlap the path cursing the sunlight overhead and making the air that much more muggy and humid. I pause here. I sigh. I belong.

Learn more about this author, Jennifer Brister.
Click here to send author comments or questions.

---

Add your voice

Know something about Essays: Nature?
We want to hear your view. Write now!