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Growing up in the Piedmont region of Georgia, pine trees were ubiquitous. Many a childhood Saturday morning was spent collecting pine cones so that my dad could mow the yard without running over them- he's particular. I spent the afternoons with my neighbors, climbing into the ramshackle treehouse strung between two tall pines, running through the woods near our homes, and in the summer, collecting cicada husks from the bark and pine straw. Pine trees are the reason why flatlanders swarm to the Southern Appalachians in the Fall for relief from the monotony of evergreens. The bark is easily recognizable by most, making it relatable and, for me, nostalgic.