I remember the first time I saw a white pine in the not-very-wilds of cottage country just north of Toronto. Unlike the pines I knew in Alberta, it was all twisted and bent from the wind. As my sister-in-law said, “There’s a reason all those Group of Seven paintings look like that.”
Indeed. They were painting what they saw.
There’s a reason, too, why so many paintings of the West Coast look sort of misty, even on an otherwise clear day.