Disclaimer: Tolkien walked in beech woods and imagined the rest, these are his places.
Above all the Shire’s trees Frodo loved beeches best. In Spring, he loved pale green buds unfurling against fresh blue skies. In Summer, the woods became shady halls supported by silver-grey pillars, and in Autumn the forest-floor was thickly golden – he’d never seen beaches, but he thought the hummocks of leaves must look like sand-dunes, while in Winter, the branches were grey lace laid over greyer skies.
Years later, Lothlorien seemed strangely familiar, the Lady’s grey-on-grey gown, silver-trunked Mallorns, their roots drifted with swirling golden leaves, and always the wind sighing in the branches, a perennial sea-call to far-away shores.