I live in Virginia where we experience four distinct visual seasons. Between 2009 and 2011, I photographed the four dogwoods in our backyard as a way to ground myself during a time of personal transition.

I had just moved in with my husband, John Grant—the first time I’d shared a home with someone beyond a roommate, and the longest I’d stay in one place since leaving the house where I grew up. Though exciting, the change felt uncertain. I turned to something familiar for comfort: the dogwood, Virginia’s state tree.

As a child, I remember helping transplant wild dogwoods to line the driveway at home. Years later, I found myself drawn again to their presence. Over three years, I watched the trees shift through seasons—their limbs reaching outward, buds forming, flowers blooming, and leaves unfurling. The foliage turned, fell, and left bare branches behind. Then, quietly, the cycle began again.