A tree that is beginning to grow sends roots down into the earth even as it reaches and opens to the sky above, seeking light. In the same way, we can envision ourselves as treelike beings, imagining that we have roots reaching down into the earth, strands that keep us connected. At the same time, our heads and hearts lift and open to receive light from above. Recent studies have shown that underground, where roots are growing, trees intermingle their web of roots to communicate with each other, to share resources, and to warn of danger. As our roots with others intermingle, our web of connections gives us strength, and help in time of need, and deeper insights into the world around us. We also share creative ways of growing, regardless of the challenges we come up against in our environments. Trees will grow through rock, shattering it in their effort to reach the soil and air and light they need to survive. We are similarly resilient, with a built-in propensity for growth and the conditions that promote it. We find creative ways around the obstacles we confront as we move along our paths, getting fed and in turn giving back to our world. I wanted to be a tree this morning. I wanted to feel the soil under my feet, the bark against my skin, and the sun and wind on my head. I knew Hoypus Hill would give me a huge community of trees to join up with. I hiked into the forest before sunrise on a toasty warm morning. I started at the Ducken Road trailhead, a quiet access point in a busy park. Almost immediately I heard robins chirping an alarm, so I looked around and found the source of their irritation: a barred owl sitting on a branch not far from the trail. I followed the Logging Road trail to the Big Swamp trail, then headed deeper into the woods along that rougher route. In 1984, before it was a park, Hoypus Hill was logged and replanted. Some old growth can be found, but many of the trees date from the Eighties, almost forty years ago now. I found an inviting tree and I hugged it for a minute or two, feeling its rough bark, sensing the life underneath. Then I slipped off my shoes and walked the trail barefoot for a while, recognizing the earth’s sustaining energy below me and the occasional sharp stick. Then I sat on a log and sat. And sat. And listened and smelled and breathed and became a tree. A bee buzzed the huckleberry next to me. A squirrel chattered nearby. A Pacific wren walked the log across from me. A raven called to a partner, who answered back. A rooster crowed in the distance. A rooster? An unseen bird flapped its wings high above the treetops. And the trees just stood there, as they have for decades, growing slowly and deliberately. Not trying to impress, but impressive anyway. Steadfast, rooted, grounded, strong, dependable. I became them. Sunlight dappled through the high crowns. Here on the ground the air smelled rich, almost tasty with oxygen. A chickaree walked across the log in front of me, up the next tree, and called to a mate, who chittered a reply. A nuthatch whined loudly, a flycatcher called for beer, and it was time for me to move on. I followed Big Swamp to Hemlock Hideaway, which features groves of hemlocks of course. That dropped into Fern Gulley, which slips through an amazing field of swordferns. That connected to the North Fork Trail and back to Ducken. Now I could hear distant sounds from the highway and our human way of life. I got back in my truck and became a part of that noise, separate from the world of the forest that had bathed and cleansed me so well this morning. Getting there:
From Highway 20 follow Ducken Road to its easternmost end. The parking area is round to allow horse trailers to turn around. The Logging Road trail heads north past the gate and kiosk at this parking area. Take a photo of the map on the bulletin board if you didn't bring a map with you, as there are no obvious landmarks other than trail signs in the woodlands. Be sure to have your Discover Pass displayed in your vehicle.
0 Comments
Your comment will be posted after it is approved.
Leave a Reply. |
Authors
Maribeth Crandell has been a hiking guide in the Pacific NW for over 20 years. She's lived on Whidbey and Fidalgo Island for decades. As a frequent bus rider she easily makes connections between trails and transit. Archives by date
April 2024
Categories
All
|