The interaction between architecture and nature has always been appealing to me, but it wasn't until we lived in Fredericton that I began to explore this concept with my camera to find out just why I liked it so much.  Beyond the wonderful texture of the old worn buildings (which I have already gushed about here), I was intrigued by how the trees and flowers and grasses responded these rigid architectural elements.  Of course, many photographers have done gorgeous and sometimes haunting work documenting abandoned buildings that nature has slowly reclaimed, and my images here are nowhere near that grand in scope.  I find I like to tell smaller stories.  In the midst of a bustling city though, I found that nature was still pushing back in its quiet way.

The gardens in our neighbourhood in Fredericton were, as a rule, wonderfully unruly.  Perhaps my memories have grown slightly golden since we've moved to 'the big city', but the gardens I remember most fondly were well cared-for, but not aggressively manicured.  There was a certain wildness and naturalness to the yards:  bushes were allowed to grow over and through fences, and vines were everywhere.  

It was the fences that held my attention.  From the perfectly painted white picket fence, to the worn slats of cedar on the corner lot, fences were stoically defining boundaries, and the plants were steadfastly refusing to listen.

I know, I'm making this all sound terribly dramatic and romantic here.  I think what it all comes down to is that I'm a country girl.  I miss living in the midst of a forest with acres of wilderness around me.  So I am eternally attracted to that which is green and alive and reminds me of the big wide world outside the city.   

Whatever the reason, here are some pretty photos of flowers and fences.   

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