I have a thing about light, so when three giant maple trees were taken down in our backyard last week, I was delighted.

Suddenly the house is much brighter. I can feel the sun’s warmth on my face as I stand in the kitchen, washing dishes or preparing meals.

It’s heaven.

The chair I place in the dining room window every January because that spot tends to be sunnier than other parts of the house is now drenched in sunlight.

People don’t understand my love affair with light, which goes way, way back.

Having grown up in a house with lots of light, I think it’s just part of my nature.

My father, a painter, talked about light a lot during his life. One winter he planted his easel in the kitchen so that it faced north toward the field and woods — the best light for painting, he said.

When I was a child, I never drew the curtains at night. I wanted to feel the sunlight on my face when I awoke in the morning and watch it ease its way into the room, and thus into my consciousness.

I did not understand people who lived in dark houses, with shades drawn.

Even today, as I drive through neighborhoods and see homes whose windows are curtained or shaded or shuttered, I imagine what sadness lurks therein.

When I was a college student moving into a dormitory room, I’d choose the bed that got the most sun. Later, when I went apartment hunting, the characteristic I sought most was that it have good light. No light, no deal. Nothing worse than a dark apartment, which to me would be like living in a cave.

To me, the most beautiful home in the world is nothing without proper light and thus, warmth.

My husband is amused by my penchant for light. After all these years, he knows the routine when we go away overnight or for a longer vacation.

The first thing I do when we enter a strange room is pull the curtains, raise the shades — and throw open the windows, if it’s summertime.

I prefer reading in natural light to artificial, and I love my car’s sun roof. Give me a sunny porch, any day, to one in the shade.

Didn’t we invent windows in the first place to bring the outdoors, including the light, in?

Aren’t we naturally drawn to light ?

Our cats get it. Like me, they crave the warmth that light provides.

In winter, they gravitate to sunny spots in the house, stretch out in yoga poses and nap for hours, their fur glistening in the sun. They go into cat comas.

In summer, when it’s not sweltering outside, they stretch out on the lawn in the sun, squinting and sniffing the air.

My mother used to say that sunlight was a natural disinfectant and bleach.

She hung white sheets and tablecloths in the sun to make them brighter; she lay rugs in sunny spots on the grass.

As January turns into February and the days grow longer, we appreciate those extra minutes of sunlight at the end of the day.

And as they increase, reminding us that summer is coming, we can hope.

Amy Calder has been a Morning Sentinel reporter 27 years. Her column appears here Mondays. She may be reached at acalder@centralmaine.com

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