Young Scott and his father have a personal way of learning the trees and remembering their names. It’s a game they like to play, one you’ll want to play too!
Learn the name of the swallowtail butterfly who loves to sit on the dogwood branch, see the majestic beauty of the black-and-yellow Argiope spider, or see what makes the beech tree so special (its bark is smooth and gray just like the skin of a hippo).
Featuring beautiful paintings by nature artist Robert Hynes and the exquisite language of renowned author Scott Russell Sanders, Meeting Trees captures the delicate details of bark, branches, and leaves while enchanting readers with the beauty of the natural world.
About the Author
Scott Russell Sanders is the author of more than two dozen books for children and adults, some drawn from history, some from imagination. As writer, teacher, and public speaker, he seeks to convey his wonder at the vast, marvelous, unending show we call nature, and his curiosity about the two-legged species to which he belongs.
Robert Hynes is an illustrator for the National Park Service and Smithsonian Institution, among others. He has won numerous awards from The Society of Illustrators, Communication Arts, New York Art Directors Club, and Washington Art Directors Club.
Read an Excerpt
One summer day, my father and I were in the workshop making a stool for my grandmother. I measured the walnut board, my father sawed it, and both of us fitted the pieces together.
We had to wait for the glue to dry we could rub The stool with oil, so my father cocked an eyebrow at me and Said, "Scott, you reckon the trees are lonesome?"
I stared through the open door At the woods behind our house. "They look mighty lonesome to me," I answered.
"Then lace up your boots," my father said, "and let's walk."
Boots laces up, we hiked through the garden, where butterflies were flitting, then by the pasture, where ponies were munching grass, then past the barn, where owls and bats would be sleeping and mice would be scurrying in the bay.
Beyond the barn we entered The shadowy woods. Here and there Light broker through where a tree Had fallen and let in the sun. As we Passed through one patch of light. I looked up at my father and said. "You've got sawdust in you hair."
"That's what makes it curly," he said, raking fingers through his wavy red hair. My father often smelled of sawdust, because he loved working in his shop. He made my bed and dresser and desk, made treehouses and trucks.
We never hurried in the woods. "Trees don't rush about," My father liked to say, "so why should we?"
We moseyed along, taking our own sweet time. We stopped to listen for birds twittering, squirrels chattering, and wind whooshing among the leaves. We paused to look at crayfish and minnows flickering in the creek. Squatting down, we studied ferns and flowers and moss, and we smelled the rich dirt.
We stood for a spell watching a spider weave her web.
Then my father asked, "Do you see any beech trees?"
I glanced around until I spied a trunk with smooth gray bark like the skin of a hippo.
"There's one," I said.
"Right you are. Now how about a yellow popular?"
I squinted up until I saw pointy leaves shaped like tulips waving against the sky. "There!"
Excerpted from "Meeting Trees"
Copyright © 1997 Scott Russell Sanders.
Excerpted by permission of Indiana University Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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