ABSTRACT
When I walk the wide dirt roads of the Armidale Pine Forest, I feel as though I’m strolling through my past. The conifer forms that texture this pocket of Australian land preserve some of my earliest memories. The pines hold the shape of all the years I spent living beside them – from an early childhood searching for pine cones with my mother, to hazy teenage years of booze and boyfriends, these trees, despite their exotic origins, have been intimately familiar throughout my life.
