Moments to Moment

A1

2012-03-01T16:41:00.000-08:00

Family

2012-02-27T22:24:00.000-08:00

A portrait of my brother in San Francisco. He's about to be a dad for the first time in his life.

Angel, working

2012-02-24T00:36:00.000-08:00

Angel

2012-02-21T15:46:00.002-08:00

Study

2012-02-09T22:52:00.001-08:00

Rigo

2012-02-07T11:57:00.000-08:00

I moved to Shotwell St. in September. Rigo has lived there since he was born, 23 years ago. He accepted my request to take his portrait. Here he is, on his stoop, wearing a fresh haircut and new shoes.

Published work update

2012-01-31T11:34:00.000-08:00

Been getting more work. It's making me happy. Click on the pictures to read the full articles.

Priscilla

2012-01-25T19:26:00.000-08:00

More exploring, just north of San Francisco. Trying to show what it felt like being there. I've spent a lot of time gaining experience to do this, and trying the best I can. I hope to always learn, and improve my abilities to deliver the feeling of being "there" to whatever viewer.

Priscilla looks at the world outside from the inside of her mom's sparsely decorated and sun-filled house.

Oakland hearing for the SF Chronicle

2012-01-22T11:01:00.000-08:00

A bunch of folks met Friday to talk about the gap between people growing up and living in Oakland to other places in the US. It was said in the assembly meeting that a black boy in Oakland, on average, will die 15 years earlier than a white boy born in the hills. Crazy. I think the biggest asset is that the meeting took place and people created a space to talk about these issues. Things aren't right, so talking about them is the first step to changing them.

Hercules

2012-01-20T17:12:00.000-08:00

I met this wonderful family at a Hindu temple in Vallejo. They invited me to their house Wednesday.
It feels good to get out there, explore and photograph.

For the Chronicle

2012-01-08T20:57:00.000-08:00

I had a really fun time on this assignment with Chan Quach and Chronicle staff writer Meredith May. Click on the webpage above and you'll be taken to the story.

Young eye view

2012-01-05T14:06:00.000-08:00

My cousin Tessa, under the table during Christmas dinner.

Back in Oregon

2011-12-30T15:00:00.000-08:00

Last week I drove back to Bend, Oregon to continue photographing the story about Liliana and her family. Liliana was deported to Mexico in September and left her three American-born children living with their grandmother in Oregon. The changes have been hard for the family, and they're finding a way to move forward.

Deportations tear some families apart for USA Today

2011-12-06T18:36:00.000-08:00

A story I started while interning at The Oregonian was picked up by USA Today. You can check it out by clicking on the screenshot above. It was great to work with reporter William Welch. He did a fine job on the words. He shares the story and critiques the issue. It's worth your time. Also, there's a gallery with more images. If you're wanting to click through more click HERE. I'm grateful for Liliana and her family letting me in to tell their story.

For the SF Chronicle: Oakland mayor seeks tips in shooting that hurt 7

2011-12-03T19:09:00.000-08:00

Hunting in California

2011-11-29T00:29:00.001-08:00

A's Michael Taylor for the SF Chronicle

2011-11-28T10:54:00.000-08:00

Had a fun day shooting for the San Francisco Chronicle the other day. I was trailing tall-man, Michael Taylor for a day while he interned at the Radio Station, KNBR. More photographs can be found HERE.

Dancing

2011-11-22T01:25:00.001-08:00

Parade dancing down 24th Street in San Francisco celebrating Day of the Dead.

Lighting city trees for Christmas

2011-11-18T15:22:00.000-08:00

Grants for the Arts for the San Francisco Chronicle

2011-11-11T11:04:00.000-08:00

The last week I was in Tijuana photographing Liliana Ramos. She was deported in September, and was forced to leave her 3 kids in Bend, Oregon. I started photographing Liliana over the summer, when she was still together with her family. It's been hard for her in Tijuana, she's without her family and has not had luck finding a job. When I crossed the border into the US late last night I felt the 50 foot stretch of land between Mexico-US easy for me to dance between. yet, it's so hard for others.

The story was picked up by USA Today, so a writer William M. Welch met me across the border. I was happy to see that this story, representing many similar stories, will get exposure.

While I was away, another assignment I shot for the Chronicle was published. Click, click on the web page screenshot above to take you to the article.

Distinctively in Esquire, Russia

2011-10-31T23:19:00.000-07:00

Esquire, Russia, printed Distinctively. I'm happy to see it get some exposure. They put the images on their blog too. Click the picture to take you to the spot.

Occupy Oakland

2011-10-27T02:18:00.000-07:00

Lots of people out protesting, lots of police out too

2011-10-26T10:08:00.000-07:00

Occupy Oakland

2011-10-25T17:09:00.000-07:00

Sega Jackson (above) joins protesters standing outside the police barricade in front of Frank H Ogawa Plaza in downtown Oakland on October 25, 2011. Jackson had been sleeping in the encampment until police in riot gear evicted her and other Occupy Oakland protesters early Tuesday Morning. Oakland police say they arrested 75 people while clearing the protest that had grown into an encampment with dozens of tents.

Lenscratch

2011-10-15T18:42:00.000-07:00

Distinctively was featured on Lenscratch, a blog that showcases different photographer's and their projects. The blog is run by Aline Smithson. She writes some nice words and gives a run of the story. Click on the picture below and you'll be taken to Lenscratch.

6 signs of the changing times in South of Market for the San Francisco Chronicle

2011-10-13T13:57:00.000-07:00

Last week I photographed my first assignment for the San Francisco Chronicle. It felt good getting out there and making photographs for a publication. John King wrote the column, and it's really good. It was printed yesterday, I was really stoked. Click on the screen-shot below to read the full article, and look at the other photographs.

Prized

2011-10-05T13:24:00.000-07:00

Animal heads, prized on a wall at Foster's Bighorn. Rio Vista, California.

Separated

2011-10-03T10:29:00.000-07:00

It's been a little more than a week since Liliana Ramos drove herself out of the United States. Leaving her children behind, she was deported on September 24. She's now in Tijuana. Waiting to return to Bend. Return to her kids. Return to the life she had lived for 21 years.

In the photography Liliana, on the right, has just been told she has to leave the country. She stands, telling her Church friends what was said during the meeting with her immigration officer.

I want to continue working on the story. Get myself to Tijuana to be with Liliana. Get myself back to Bend to see how her kids are moving along in the new direction, without their mom.

If you want to read more, THIS story from the New York Times is worth a read.

The resourceful website

2011-09-07T10:13:00.000-07:00

A good friend and classmate, Matthew Craig, created a website displaying my work for a class project. The website is in the direction many of us photographers should venture towards for our stories or projects. Instead of clicking through a set number of images on a portfolio site, someone can go to a site like this and access a more encompassing amount of information.

The website that Matt made contains a tab where you can click through the photo story Distinctively; a story about a family raising identical twins, one of which was born with Down syndrome. In another tab you can find resources; a place for parents, for people to gain background information about Down syndrome and also how to get involved.

Anyhow, it's a really sweet site. And, not because it's my work. I'd like to get into making websites like this for the stories I'm working on. I hope to see others do this as well. Stories are vehicles to talk about issues, so it only makes sense to create a site that allows people to maximize what they can learn.

Below is a screenshot of what you'll find when you click HERE to access the website.

Last day at The O

2011-08-26T15:59:00.000-07:00

It's been better than I expected working as an intern at The Oregonian. I feel really positive about the time spent here--the people I met, the conversations had, the stories I've worked on, and the improvements my photography.

Posting a few images (and the related story) that make me smile.

A video from this assignment, for the above and below image, click HERE. Story, click HERE.

Video for the below image, click HERE.

Bond

2011-08-20T00:13:00.000-07:00

I've been working on a story in Bend, Oregon--A mother relocated to Oregon from Mexico, and has spent the majority of her life in the United States. She's undocumented and will be deported in September. Her three children that were born in Oregon will remain, and wait for her mother to return. Her hope is to return in two years, when her oldest is 21 and will facilitate the process of her citizenship.

This image is of her and her 11-year-old daughter's grasp.

Words and pictures

2011-08-15T12:51:00.000-07:00

I was given an opportunity to write for a story that I photographed. The text can be viewed by clicking HERE.

The assignment was one of the sweeter ones. It was a gathering of friends to watch a film in Bill Keene's backyard. People indulged, for an evening, in the simple pleasures of life. Picnic blankets, warm summer evenings, dessert, family and, certainly, friends.

The video...

The Backyard Film Society from Dania Patricia Maxwell on Vimeo.
This video is © The Oregonian, 2011. It is illegal to sell, copy, manipulate, distribute and/or use any of the content from this video without written permission from the copyright holder.

A1

2011-08-04T21:01:00.000-07:00

It's always a boost to see a photograph I made representing a cover story. Here's what a couple looked like, with the story linked, of course.

The story is available to read if you click here.

The story is here.

Late night drive home

2011-08-01T02:04:00.000-07:00

I've been working on a story in Bend, which also means long drives there (from Portland), and long drives home. Usually, I zip through the transit, trying to get to my destination asap. But, patience was on my side tonight. I stopped my car to appreciate the sky.

Bear-hood

2011-07-30T23:38:00.000-07:00

Wrote this story as part of my feature writing class last quarter. The assignment was to describe a place. I choose one from my childhood. Sophie and I called it Bear-hood.

Enjoy...

In the shade of two pine trees, we had no rules. We could be anything. I could be a mad scientist who was finally able to reveal her true self as a frog. I had the ability to slow and pause time. My best friend, Sophie, could be a giant ant. She could tell fortunes to mysterious looking life forms that traveled from planet Mars to meet her.

Sophie and I spent hours on top of the dirt-floor that was between the curtain of pine-needles and a tree trunk. We played there because it was hidden from outside view. We played there because in that secret place we reveal our true selves. We were seven year-olds who believed in our fantasies.

Our secret place was just across the street from Sophie’s house. We found it one day, after deciding to pack up a few of Sophie’s belongings and exit the picket fence that bordered the front of her house. We filled a paper grocery bag with a random assortment of things we would naturally want to carry with us: a neon-colored slinky, trolls of all hair dyes, and stuffed animals of sorts. We stopped at her next-door neighbor’s house and collected a few white rocks, known to us as crystals.

We had made it across the street when we pushed our way through pine needles and discovered what would soon be known to us as Bear-hood. We imagined it was a suitable place for bears to go about their time, and thus decided it should be named after them.

Bear-hood was in a space formed by an umbrella of two trees’ worth of pine-needles. There was enough space to walk ten or so paces before having to turn back. The branches were high enough for our short bodies to play under, and could be used as shelves for the items we brought. The pine-needles that coated the exterior of the tree were full. Easily ignored was the sound of the passing cars just on the other side of Bear-hood. We could escape the must-do’s and the do-not’s of the world outside.

Soon, we would bring more items to our secret space. We brought cement blocks for chairs and stuffed animals for extra company. We strung sheets as room dividers and designated a corner as a bathroom.

Everything felt different inside of Bear-hood. Sophie and I could form our own rules. We could converse with a stuffed lion, or pour tea from a rock at our side. We simply had to believe in the things we were thinking. For me this task was simple, especially when Sophie was doing it too. We allowed our imagination to run free inside bear-hood.

We discovered bear-hood a few months after Sophie had moved to my hometown, Santa Barbara, a ritzy suburb in southern California. I was in the second grade and, at first, I was resistant to her becoming my friend.

Sophie required a lot of space. Her voice was deep, and permeated like a base guitar. She talked too much, too loud. It was a daily practice for her name to find itself chalked on the board in our classroom. She grinded her fingernails into her legs that were thick with eczema. She bulldozed her way through her lunch and then went for mine.

Meanwhile, I took up a diminished amount of space. My test scores were average and my voice was soft. Rarely spoken was my name; my friends were few.

Sophie moved into a house that was only a few away from mine. It made sense for our parents that the two of us walk home from school together. Soon after her move, our mothers became friends and our brothers became friends too. It was inevitable that Sophie and I would follow. Sophie was like my sister. She was forced upon me with no option, and with time, I began to love her.

After several weeks of our discovery of Bear-hood, it was ruined. A neighbor rang Sophie’s mom to inform her about an abundance of toys that hung from a tree on the other side of a wall that framed her house. The neighbor also told her that the toys were multiplying. She wanted everything removed. That was the end. We carried the weathered dolls, toys and games back into Sophie’s house.

Years later, when we were in high school, we planned an adventure to go back and visit bear-hood. We had since moved homes and experienced our first tastes of being a teenager. We had not seen bear-hood for years.

We each carried a turkey sandwich and some fruit in a backpack, and rode bikes to the long, lost bear-hood.

What we found felt different from what we had remembered. Spiny, fallen pine bristles covered the dirt floor. We wondered if the trees had lost their density, or maybe if we were the ones who lost our ability to dream.

As we sat eating, we knew the cars that passed could see us sitting cross-legged. They would wonder why two teenagers would want to do such a thing.

This is Soph and me a little while back. She'll always be like a sister to me.

Editing

2011-07-30T01:47:00.000-07:00

Been editing, a lot. Trying to package a more up-to-date portfolio....

wanted to share some of the images from these hours while looking back...

Forrest

2011-07-16T23:43:00.000-07:00

Sometimes the feelings of extreme are worn on our sleeves. There are times when we can't hold back our cries or laughs, especially when everything around it is controlled by that emotion. Last week I went with a reporter at The Oregonian to photograph a fire in Warm Springs. By the time we arrived, the fire had mostly been contained. There was one man, Forrest Tewee, who lost his house. I was with the other reporter, Stuart Tomlinson, in front of Forrest's home when he appeared. His words were short, and his look was taught. I photographed him as he entered the home for the first time since it had been charred. He had lived in the home since the early 1980’s, his mom left it to him. Without insurance, it will undoubtedly be difficult to put the pieces back together. The story is here.

No more waiting

2011-07-14T22:41:00.000-07:00

I met Joyce Long during an assignment for The Oregonian about national drug shortages affecting patients. The story can be seen here. She was visiting the doctor for chemo. Since being diagnosed with myeloma, things changed. Her priorities are different. She doesn't wait anymore, she just does. For two years she resisted from wearing her bleach-white Birkenstock shoes. They remained untouched in her closet for two-years. Not anymore.

Character Study

2011-07-09T15:50:00.000-07:00

Created a new gallery in my website. You can see it here. It's a project that was completed during the last quarter of classes at Ohio University. My graduate class took it unto ourselves to design a class. We called it Character Study. The idea was to make portraits, critique, and learn how to make better portraits. We read some photo critiques and discussed the meaning that pictures of people can have, and how these meanings are dialogued and represented to the world out there. The perk? To have another class together. One last bang with the crew. I can't say it enough, I am so fortunate to have had my classmates. They provided a selfless desire for the other to improve.

We had a gallery opening for our "final". The house, also known as The White House, that Victor and I lived in was transformed into a gallery... furniture was removed, photographs were hanged and food was served. Faculty and students came. Twas an amazing night. I'm happy, so happy, for the two-years in Athens at OU, and with my classmates. Thank you.

What it looked like...

And, some words from Sheila herself...

Hello Portland

2011-07-02T18:20:00.000-07:00

I'm now a two-week old intern at The Oregonian. So far, it's been good. The practice of being out, every single day, photographing something different has already been a big learning experience. Coming back to the office and being in the mix of the staff is another learning experience. I'm looking forward to 8 more weeks of this internship.

Be here now

2011-06-26T00:46:00.000-07:00

Moments after entering the Neebraska storm my hat flew from the car. Goodbye hat.

April Wonder Mckinnon. St. James, Missouri. I went to Ohio University because of my experience at Missouri Photo Workshop and getting to know April and her story.

Lewis Hall. Deadwood, South Dakota. He reminds me of this song.

Jim D. East. Somewhere in Kansas. He's holding onto the metal rack I use to hang my photographs. Craig and I found him locked out of his car. We used the rod to push the lock to un-lock. Success.

Craig Edelman. Driving my car along the moon-lit lake in Kansas.

The best off-the-main-road side-track. Somewhere in Kansas.

Kevan Lary. He worked the Super 8 motel in Deadwood, South Dakota.

Craig. Stargazing.

A tribute to veterans. Mt. Rushmore, South Dakota.

There is something fine about driving West. Maybe it's that I'm heading in the direction of family and home? I've been in the Midwest for the last two years, and the roots I laid down brought me much to gain. I want to keep it all with me--the stories, and moments within each.

Packing up in Athens, leaving the things I'd found over the last two years, was tough. Leaving is the hardest part. But, something I want to live by is to be here now--to be present, not let moments slip past ticks on a clock.

I hope you enjoy these images of the west-bound drive. I enjoyed making them.

Feature: Public Tap

2011-06-23T00:30:00.000-07:00

Public Tap from Dania Patricia Maxwell on Vimeo.
A free and public drinking water source in Buchtel, Ohio.

Rodney Galinten drives his fire red truck along a concrete road in Buchtel, southeast Ohio. In the truck bed, 18 one-gallon plastic jugs reflect a pastel colored mid-morning sun, uncovered by clouds. Empty, and contained by two plastic crates, they shudder with the intermittent roar of the engine. The once sky blue caps have faded to pastel. The jugs have long been emptied of the 2% milk for which they were originally purchased. Now, bouncing along these Buchtel roads, carrying water is their new purpose.

Rodney makes his way past a Marathon Oil gas station that dominates the main road in Buchtel. Small houses and trailers, none of which have surrounding fences, scatter the landscape like a checkerboard. He turns left onto Franklin Street from Marietta Avenue and arrives at what Buchtel inhabitants call the “watering trough,” a source of free and public drinking water.

The water at the trough gushes nonstop from three holes dug out from a concrete structure and splashes into a rectangular bathtub-sized catch basin underneath. In the center of the basin, a rusting drain remains continuously open, so the tub never overflows. The walls, streaked with moss, are covered by cracks that resemble the wrinkles that have creased Rodney’s face over time. A yellow paint that once covered the grey concrete has turned soft and been chipped by the everlasting rush of water. Wild, overgrown grass grows in patches around the structure.

Rodney has been fetching his drinking water from the trough all his life. He says, “that water they sell at the store [is] the biggest brain washing job they ever done on the world. They get that water from some municipal water system and put it in a bottle. They tell ya it’s some natural spring water and all it is, is city water. It just amazes me what they can brainwash the public on sometime.”

In 1938 the World Progress Administration (WPA) built the current concrete structure for the trough. “It’s getting old, and showing a little wear,” said Rodney. “There is still a couple old gentlemen up here that said that when they grew up horses would drink from one end and children would drink from the other.”

Anywhere between 50 and 100 people visit the trough each day. They come from near and far. Rodney is inquisitive, routinely asking his fellow water fetchers where they are from.

“I was out there a little while ago and I saw three people getting water and one waiting. So, I pulled up there on the little side road. There was one from McArther, one from Columbus, one from Amesville, and I don’t remember where the other was from, right off. But, they come from everywhere around here to get water.”

The reasons patrons visit the trough vary. Certainly, the fact that the water is free is attractive. Buchtel is nestled inside Athens County, a place where 75% of residents are living below the poverty line. Many who are in financial need avoid purchasing store bought water, and save a few dollars each month using trough water. Some use the water to fill their fish tanks, feed their horses, or they even use the water for their morning coffee. Other people come to the trough to avoid using the city water. Rodney says that the city sends “letters [that] tell you what all is in that water, and what all side effects you may get. The letter basically says you can drink it, but it will kill you eventually.”

Although there is usually more than one car parked in front of the trough, Rodney’s is the only one today. He carefully backs his truck next to the trough, making it easier for him to carry the crates when they are full of water.

Today, Rodney is collecting water for his 80-year-old friend, Harvey Dupler. Harvey cannot drive to the Buchtel spring anymore, so Rodney does the pickup for him. Every other week, Rodney fills 18 water jugs for Harley.

“We’ve been friends all my life,” Rodney said. Going to the water trough for Harvey is “just something I do.”

Rodney plunges a homemade funnel – the top half of a 2-gallon soda bottle tipped upside down and a plastic hose – into one of the rushing watering holes. This style of funnel is common amongst those who fill up regularly at the watering trough. Water rushes out from around the funnel and through the bottom-end of the tube, as he fills one bottle with water while peeling the cap off the next.

The water at the trough is piped to the surface from an abandoned mine that now serves as a holding tank for the hillside water. Years ago, when the coal mine was in operation, water began seeping into the shafts. The coal company tried, unsuccessfully, to stymie the water from pouring into the mine. The water prevailed and the company closed the mine. Water filled the shaft and the coal company constructed a pipe to guide the water to the surface for all to enjoy.

The water quality is often tested by Monday Creek Restoration Project in New Straightsville, a town located a few miles north of Buchtel. The organization is dedicated to the restoration and protection of water sources in the area. It is trying to reverse acid mine drainage, a bitter side-effect of environmentally unsustainable coal mining. Acid mine drainage occurs when water mixes with air and pyrite, a substance found in coal. Together, the three elements create sulfuric acid, and rubs into the natural water that seeps out the hillside, or in springs.

In the 1860’s coal mining became the dominant industry of southeast Ohio. Coal companies sucked natural resources out from the land through tunnels that they dug into the ground. After WWII, heavier coal extracting machinery swept back through areas of southeast Ohio to scavenge any coal left behind. Surface mining became common procedure, and without any environmental regulations, the companies chiseled away at the ecosystem.

Once the coal had been extracted from the land, the corporations exited, leaving a skeleton of mining shafts and the community of people who had remained. “Some of the coal towns survived and others completely disappeared,” said Rodney. Though the population of Buchtel has been dwindling since the 1920’s, it is the one town in the area that has survived.

Coal mining in Buchtel is gone, and while many of its harmful remnants remain in the surrounding hills, the water at the Buchtel trough is different. The water completely floods the underground mine – without even an air bubble at the surface. Without air, the pyrite does not turn to sulfuric acid, leaving the water filtered and fresh, without the poisonous mixture. Monday Creek Restoration Project has determined that although the water streaming from the trough has a higher metal content than your normal household tap, it meets water quality standards and is certainly good enough to drink.

Once all the bottles are filled, Rodney slams them back into the truck and starts the ignition. Like raindrops falling along a window, condensation drips from the exterior of the bottles. He drives in silence, listening only to the sounds of the coming season that breathe through the air.

He shows no signs of being rushed. Passing a cemetery along Garden Hill Buchtel Road, where generations of his family are buried, he is 10 clicks under the 35-mile speed limit. His eyes scan the road and its perimeter. On the right, water seeps out from the hillside. The fallen leaves and brush are wet from the continual trickle of the water. “It’s not drinkable,” Rodney says. “It’s toxic, not like watering trough water.”

Rodney pulls into Harley’s driveway. A single chair sits empty under an unlit porch light. Harley is inside, sitting at his table, sipping on a cup of black coffee, made from Buchtel water.

Rodney carries two crates holding the jugs into Harley’s kitchen and joins Harley. Together they scan through calendars from years past. It’s mushroom hunting season and they are trying to determine, from the calendar’s archive, the best time to gather them.

The phone rings and Harley struggles to understand the strong voice streaming out from his speakerphone. A woman on the other end of the line is offering Harley life insurance. The woman tells Harley he should be thinking about the price of his funeral. He hangs up. “Why would I want life insurance when I’m half dead already”? Harley resumes his spot at the head of the table with Rodney.

Rodney and Harley converse with ease. They speak of their plans for a steak dinner later in the evening, and decide on a day for the mushroom hunt. Rodney says Buchtel was a much different town when he met Harley. In its early years, Buchtel was self-sufficient. Though there was a train that came through town, the people living there had no reason to leave. The coal company had built a school and a church. Coal companies erected a hundred homes in the area for the miners who worked in debt.

“If you lived around here 130 years ago, all it was, was a company-built coal mining town,” says Rodney. An old song, known in the area, goes

I can't afford to die.

I owe my soul to the company store.

“People knew everybody back then,” explains Rodney. “If you was a little kid and got in trouble, mom would know about it on the other end of the town before you got home and there wasn’t even telephones.”

Nowadays, the watering trough is a remnant of the interconnected past. There, one can find a community of people sharing, if only for a moment, the common need of water.

Ohio Senate Bill 5

2011-06-13T18:10:00.000-07:00

For the final in my portraiture class me and the other graduate students created a series based off the Ohio Senate Bill 5. I wanted to take portraits of people that represented varying perspectives that the SB 5 bill will affect. I also wanted the people within the frame to speak for him or herself.

Thanks for reading.

The tree is grown

2011-06-09T02:06:00.000-07:00

I tend not to notice time until a big chunk of it is gone. Recently, I've been aware of it. My two years at Ohio University is coming to a close. It's bringing a lot of emotions, mostly from something good.

The other day I was sitting with a woman, on her porch, that I have been photographing for two years, Sheila. She was looking at a tree that had grown into its maturity. The tree was adjacent her home and she mentioned that when she first moved in, the tree was only a twig. Eventually, it grew into its matured size. We spoke about how she didn't notice that the tree grew from day-to-day, and only noticed it years later.

Sometimes you don't notice time until the tree has grown.

The days go slow, the years go fast.