I live on a farm on the central coast of California with two small groves of towering redwood trees that I visit each morning when I walk my dogs. I love to stand amid the trees, my head tilted up, enjoying the view of the sky through their branches. I often lean back against a tree, tuning into its strength before turning around to hug its thick bark. My arms would need to be much longer to fit all the way around the circumference of these giants. It makes me feel like a young child embracing a beloved grandparent many times my size—comforted and protected.

With the first official day of winter less than one week away, I’ve been reminiscing about growing up in Brooklyn, where seasonal changes were dramatic compared to my current home in Northern California. As a young girl, I eagerly waited for temperatures to drop below freezing so my parents could take me and my sister ice-skating in Prospect Park.