My first memory of "willows" had to do not with trees, but "pussy willow" bushes that grew near the edge of the swamp north of our home. I loved them because they were a "sing of spring". My father would bring some to my mother as soon as he found some while out hunting. Or my mother and I would go in search of some when we thought spring was right around the corner.
The only willow trees that I knew personally as a child were the big willows out back of my maternal grandmother's house. The story was told of how there was a wet area back there that my grandmother didn't want to be there. Somewhere she got some willow branches, brought them home and stuck them into the ground. By the time I knew them, they had become about six huge willow trees. I admired my grandmother for what she did. When she saw a problem, she went right out and did something about it herself.
Willow trees were just not a kind of tree that I took much notice of when I was growing up. Once I moved to western New York, I noticed that there were lots of willow trees especially along creeks, streams, wet areas and lake Onterio. They were more commen here - like the maples had been where I grew up.